Today I bought a mobile phone from... a real live human being.
He hesitated slightly once or twice while setting it up for me. Explained things without kick-strting my migraine. His smile looked natural, if slightly lopsided. He didn't treat everything I said as a weak joke. In short he didn't work for a phone company, Carphone Whorehouse, or Fonesumatic.
Of course my new flip Sony Erickson may be part of a job lot write off, or stolen property. But I have high hopes for it, after the disaster of the last one (keys that refused to click in, designed to be pressed by ants' legs) and the one before (stolen, or consigned to one of eight privatised rail company lost property office, please apply in writing).
The shop I bought it from is a Internet Cafe, and I'll take it back if there's any trouble (eg in Alec Weston's own creaking OS). The guy had fled from Iran 6 years ago, when he was condemmed to a public flogging & imprisonment for distributing pamphlets hostile to the regime - the sort of thing often decribed here in the East Kurd blog. Next time I'll give him the blog's address.
Have you inhaled the damp smell of this autumn's leaves?
