Itwas my lovely, attentive sons who issued me advice on the ownership of a mobile phone. ‘Come on, Mum, it’s time you entered the 21st century. Dump that old Blackberry. You need an iPhone – slim, elegant, superfast, anything you’ve ever wanted right there at your command.’
So it was their intention I should join the 97% of people over the age of 12 for whom the smart phone is so much more than a means of communication. One could almost say it’s an addiction. I had no desire to dump my old Blackberry. OK, it was a bit chunkier than the slender gadgets with which they appeared to be somewhat obsessed, but theirs were intensely irritating. Every few seconds an annoying ping. And the pings were never ignored. How many times had I to say, ‘No phones at the table’? I knew, though, they were hiding them under the table. Those wretched machines were never left in another room; they’d always attract attention.