I own a Blackberry. Yes, I text people upon my little, overpriced, black square of technological joy, and yes, I enjoy it.
However, fortunately for anyone who knows me; this is where it ends. There appears to be a disturbing trend of sewing your mobile phone to your palm and staring at it with amazing vigour, as though it‘s inexplicably sprouting feet, leaving you incapable of communication, hence isolating yourself from a mildly entertaining conversation about a bizarre neighbour who eats gravel while sat in Nandos. Even more sinister is the baffling activity of constantly updating your Facebook status from the comfort of your palm. Shockingly, not everyone is particularly interested that you have “just had a cheese toastie” – no matter how much I am partial to a cheese toastie.
Of course, as mobile phones have improved and new gadgets have appeared we have all become as excited about a faster mobile browser than we are on the morning of Bar One Christmas Day.
It started off with the simple “Wow! This one has a two mega pixel camera” and perhaps even the scintillating “I can Google that actress from that film! You know, that film!” But it has gone too far.
This is particularly clear with iPhone owners. Iphone owners are anything but quiet about owning an iPhone. Please, if you’re going to download apps as pointless as ‘iLunch Picker’ – which is apparently a necessity for those who find deciding what to have for lunch simply too baffling – stop telling me about it.
What ever happened to manners and engaging in good old fashioned face-to-face chats? The plague has even reached my grandmother, who recently whipped out her new Nokia at a restaurant to email a friend about ‘bridge Wednesday afternoon’, while I was forced to slam my head repeatedly against the table.
However, she appears to be an exception; the trend seems particularly prevalent amongst young people, and I for one am not in favour of making our generation seem any more ignorant than we are assumed to be anyway.
So maybe when you’re paying for that coffee, or crossing the street; look up once in a while from viewing Rebecca Black for the 18 time from the palm of your hand and show the world there’s still something between those eyes. And I don’t mean just a whirl of rather pissed off looking birds, or the order to engage in “Fun! Fun! Fun!”