For the first time I can remember since I bought a mobile phone, about 25 years ago, I forgot to take mine with me when I went to a fancy lunch in London the other day, while my wife stayed home looking after the dog. .
It wasn’t until I got to our local station that I realized I had left it in my everyday jacket when I put on my suit. For a moment I was overcome with panic.
What if someone needed to contact me urgently, say Mrs. U, or someone from work (more than five years after I semi-retired and wrote only one day a week, I still live in daily fear of a call from my bosses in the office)?
What happens if I can’t find the restaurant and I don’t have Google maps to guide me? What happens if my train is delayed and I can’t let my host know I’ll be late for lunch?
My first instinct was to head back up the hill to look for my phone. But then I told myself to stop being so stupid. Not only would I miss the train if I went home now, but hadn’t I lived perfectly happily without a cell phone for the first 45 years of my life?
Tom Utley’s dog Minnie is a Jack Russell-dachshund cross that requires long walks and constant attention throughout the day.
Tom says he hadn’t fully realized the extent to which our four-legged friends can rule our lives and restrict our freedom.
Surely now I could do without one during lunch and a couple of trips, to and from home?
As soon as this thought hit me, the panic began to give way to a feeling of liberation.
On the way into town, I looked at my fellow passengers around the carriage, neurotically checking their messages, typing emails, or making ostentatious calls to employees, to show everyone within earshot how important they were (” Could you have that on my desk?’ before the close of play today, please?’).
I felt a kind of pity for them, these slaves to their smartphones, electronically tagged every moment of their lives, as I had been for a quarter of a century. Wouldn’t these people also be happier without their cell phones? Indeed, lunch was a special delight, free as I was from that familiar buzz in my pocket and the constant need to furtively check my latest message under the table.
When I finally got back to my cell phone at home, I saw that I hadn’t missed anything more important than the usual 46 emails from PR firms reaching out (how I hate that expression) to ask if I’d be interested in an interview. experts about an exciting new hair care product or the prospects for inflation, and a message or two from readers, informing me that the world would be a better place if I had never existed. There were no missed calls either.
But if I felt relief at being free of my mobile phone for a few hours, this was nothing compared to the wave of euphoria that washed over me when we parked our dog with dear friends for five full days and nights while in the West Country during Las celebrations of our last grandchild’s first birthday on Sunday.
Do not misunderstand. I love our Jack Russell/dachshund mix with all my heart. It’s just that until we were separated from her last week, I hadn’t fully realized how completely our four-legged friends can rule our lives and restrict our freedom.
Well, that’s certainly true of our Minnie, who has ruled almost every moment of my existence since she joined our family as a Battersea Dogs and Cats Home puppy in my semi-retirement five years ago. I had fondly imagined that she would spend my new free time visiting art galleries and stately homes I had never seen before; They’re not everyone’s cup of tea, I admit, but photographs and beautiful buildings have long been my passions.
But there hasn’t been any chance of that with Minnie around, demanding long walks and constant attention throughout the day, as she’s banned from almost all the places I most want to visit. (And don’t tell me I could tie her up outside the gallery or leave her in the car or at home for too long. If that’s what you think, you don’t know Minnie.)
Vacations are also a big problem, with the difficulty of finding dog-friendly hotels or willing pet sitters the only alternatives to the crippling expense and potential distress of kennels.
Worst of all, Minnie appears to be a full member of the Temperance Society, suffering from an extraordinary aversion to pubs. Every time we approach one of her during our walks, she drops anchor and refuses to take another step. If I’m thirsty (which I usually am), I have to carry it.
I used to think that she just hated my place, because she knew that there she would be doomed to an hour of boredom while her master drank and chatted with the regulars.
But friends he stayed with in Surrey last week, 40 miles from home, said he behaved in exactly the same way towards them every time he saw a pub sign he had never seen before. I think there is more going on in a dog’s mind than we can know.
Ah, but as much as I enjoyed my period of freedom, by the fifth day I found myself missing Minnie terribly.
Yes, it was a blessing to be separated from her for a while. But, as other dog owners will understand, she has also brought some much-needed structure to my life, and I know I would soon collapse if I had to go more than a few days without her.
In that sense, aren’t dogs a lot like cell phones… and wives?
Ten weeks later I STILL haven’t gotten my car back.
Warning to all modern car owners: guard your electronic keys with your life and do not let thieves or thieves get close to them. Because if you lose them, it might be as maddening as losing your car.
This is what I have discovered since more than ten weeks ago a thief took the keys to our Mercedes Class A 180 and left the car locked.
I last saw him the night after our robbery, March 19, as he was being loaded onto the back of a lorry to be taken to a garage in Orpington, Kent, which belongs to our insurer, Direct Line.
There it remained for two long months, while I received the occasional message, assuring me that they had not forgotten me. More than a fortnight ago she was back on the road, this time transported to a Mercedes workshop in Maidstone, which is supposedly equipped to change locks.
Since then, I’ve heard nothing but an apology for the endless delay and a warning on my Mercedes app that the car’s battery is now dead. For the love of God! My Merc is a best-selling family hatchback, near the bottom of the range. There must be many thousands of them on our roads.
Can’t I be the first poor bastard to have the keys to his A-Class stolen? Are there really no measures to change the locks in less than half a lifetime?