A Hand Bereft

Last night my right hand felt naked. There was a void, an emptiness, as – horror of horrors! – I’d lost my phone!!!

IMG_0966.JPGInsert phone here.

The moment when I went to my handbag and discovered my phone wasn’t there was (I’m ashamed to say) the same gut-wrenching lurch as when you turn around in a shop to discover your toddler has vanished.

Which way to turn? Which way to turn?

I traced my tracks. I’d definitely had it at work. I could picture picking it up as I cleared away at the end of the day (the fact being that I’m so attached to my phone that even when I’m not likely to need it I feel reassured to have it visible and within reach. Again I’m ashamed.)

But it was very definitely NOT in my bag. I pulled everything out: purse, key, cup-a-soup sachets and Graze tubs, make-up, more make-up, broken Remembrance Sunday poppy brooch, pens, hair clips…but NO PHONE!!!

I turned out the shopping. No sign.

It was obvious. There were three options:

1) In the rush to make a bid for freedom I’d left it at work. Nothing I can do. I’d just have to wait til Sunday morning.

2) It had fallen from my bag, squeezed out by my joyless lunch options and face-saving cosmetics. Which meant it would now be in the hands of the staff/customers of either the toy shop or make-up shop (because absolutely I had needed to buy yet more despite already having enough to squeeze a phone from my bag. In my defence, my nails look fabulous…although my hand still felt bereft).

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Hopefully with one phone call I could have it returned to me.

3) Some thieving arsehole had obviously taken it from my bag. I cursed myself for not making the most of the chance to turn it into the telecommunications version of Fort Knox. I was obviously going to have to call the police, get an incident number and file an insurance claim, resigning myself to losing all my photos and contacts. And having my bank accounts drained because obviously I store all of my passwords on my phone. Not all of them work, mind you, but that only flummoxes me as opposed to the master criminal who must have dipped into my bag.

I tried to call it. It didn’t ring. Part of me hoped my bag would make a noise and the phone had just temporarily turned invisible when I’d searched for it before. Even though I’m not sure Apple have thought to make that a feature of the iPhone 6, although you never know. It went straight to answerphone. Obviously it was Option 3. It had been stolen and switched off. Although sometimes I don’t get a reception at work, so Option 1 was still a possibility. And maybe the customer/shop staff had switched it off to save the battery whilst dithering about whether to keep it or hand it back.

There was still hope. But in my mind, what horrors could someone be reeking with my beloved phone!

Why do I have no clue how to use Find My iPhone?!*

The evening couldn’t have lasted longer. I couldn’t text my friend during Strictly. Obviously it turned out to be the most thrilling episode yet, but there way to text my excitement.

I couldn’t take a photo of Boo’s amazing hair-do from the princess party she went to.

And what to do without the world at my fingertips?! I couldn’t play my life-wasting games whilst waiting for the kids to get to sleep (and you can’t read a normal paper/book in the dark). I couldn’t Google-search every query. (Do you know a shortcut to crazy? Have a child ask you how many minions have names and not be able to Google the answer!)

I couldn’t check WordPress!!!

In the middle of the night I woke, convinced that I’d heard the buzz of a phone switched to silent and a call trying to come through. I was wrong. I couldn’t get back to sleep. Instead I hatched all possible scenarios for the morning, from best-case (it turned out to be at work) to worst-case (gone, all gone, and the insurance company hold me accountable).

This morning, for once, I didn’t long for a lie-in. I wanted to be up and out. Damn stupid Sunday trading hours!

I felt a bit sick as I walked across town towards the office.

Please be there. Please be there. But what if it’s not? Please be there!

And relief at the greeting I got:

‘Ah, we’ve been expecting you.’

Which would have been a bit scary-Bond-villain if it didn’t mean for certainty that my phone was there!!!! And there it was, sat on the side in the kitchen.

My mind’s at rest. My hand feels complete again.

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Happy day!!!

*****

*I actually wrote this post on Sunday morning, but had to schedule its publication whilst waiting for Eve to send me the last picture. However, whilst waiting, Apple just happened to send me this email:

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Coincidence? Or surveillance?!!!

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8 thoughts on “A Hand Bereft”

  1. Oh, the irony. Nothing is worse than lost phone panic. I, too, keep mine within reach at all times JUST IN CASE one of my babies needs me to drop everything and hop on a plane to come to their rescue. Or tell me some awesome news. Or text me something funny they just saw. Or just say hi. My phone is my lifeline. I’m SO glad yours turned up. And your nails are to die for. I am VERY envious.

    1. Aw, thank you. Essie’s Millionails should be thanked. Before I found that my nails were a mess. I would definitely recommend it.
      And we’re so quick to judge the younger generation for their phone obsession, but I’m right there with them. Although i can remember life pre-mobile phones I still wonder how we coped.

  2. That iOS update was me. I still don’t know how to switch the SIM cards around (it kept saying invalid) when i put mine in and was told, by apple, that updating to the latest iOS might help. It didn’t. -S

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