My mobile phone

Miracles sometimes happen.

I went to visit the exhibition ‘Save Brick Lane’ at 25, Princelet Street this morning. As I left, I heard a slight clunk and thought that I had ridden over a crushed Pepsi Cola tin. It must have been the sound of my mobile phone falling out of my pocket. By the time I had realised about ten minutes later, the mobile phone was, hardly surprisingly, nowhere to be seen. I looked under all the cars and quickly realised how totally dependent one now is on one’s mobile phone: a couple of years of photographs; contact details; my mind, camera and memory. It was a catastrophe. By the time I got home, I was in a cold sweat. I rang the number a couple of times in wild desperation in the vain hope that it might be answered. And then, miraculously, it was. The phone had been picked up from the street and was available for collection. This post is a way of thanking the person who retrieved it. I can’t convey how much it was appreciated.

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