The natty flip-open cellphone has disappeared as we've been lured on by the delusion that new is better, that more is better, that faster is better, and that only a lumpen tortoise can be content with what he has.
OPINION: I dropped the dog lead on the wharf. As I bent to pick it up my cellphone slid from my breast pocket, hit the hard-standing, burst into three pieces and two of those pieces, the back casing and the battery, flew from the point of impact, bounced down the seaweedy rocks and landed plop in the great grey sea. It was two days before Christmas. "Oh nice one, God," I said. The assistant in the telco store was 12 years old. "Let's make this simple and swift," I said placing the remains of my phone on the desk in front of him, "I doubt that in this throwaway age it is considered possible to repair this beast of mine, so just sell me a replacement and I'll be off." The 12-year-old said nothing. He was staring at my phone with his mouth open. He seemed unwilling to touch it. "Same model, same everything," I said, and I reached out and demonstrated the natty way it flipped open on its central hinge, like a compliant oyster. Still the 12-year-old did not speak. He looked around until he caught the eye of another assistant, who glanced at my phone then turned quickly away, her shoulders pulsing. "I'm afraid sir," said the 12-year-old at last, "we do not stock this particular model." I won't pretend I was surprised. I am aware of the hareish pace of technological change, lured on by the delusion that new is better, that more is better, that faster is better, and that only a lumpen tortoise can be content with what he has. "Then show me," I said to the ...
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