Random Ramblings by our Local Lad
Poke a What?
I’ve just become aware of Pokémon GO. You know, the ‘have to have’ game on mobile phones at the moment. Not because I’ve downloaded it or anything you understand, but because of the groups of people gathering outside my house and enthusiastically gesturing.
Thankfully it was a neighbour who suggested that it was probably much more likely that these hordes of adolescents were trying to find a Squirtle and not, as we first thought, admiringly pointing at the enamelled budgies on our mantelpiece, magnificent though they are.
‘Trying to find a Squirtle?’ An imaginary cartoon character overlaid on reality by your mobile phone’s camera? Really? I struggle finding my reading glasses these days let alone walking around glued to the screen of my smartphone seeking a Pokemon thingy.
Mind you, don’t get me wrong, I’m not averse to new technology; I love my smartphone. I’m sure I never use it to it’s full potential however, although I do have an app which compares the price of Ritz crackers across various supermarkets for me. It’s extremely useful when planning a little soirée. You know the kind of thing, an elegant gathering over a finger-buffet with a few friends and neighbours chatting over a slice of quiche and a vol au vent, glass of Babycham in one hand… a Kirstie Allsopp inspired centre-piece on the table, hand-crafted from discarded Princes Shrimp Paste jars and adorned with tinsel.
But, you have to agree with me that some people are really daft with their mobile phones.
As a starter, my dear old dad (sadly no longer with us) used to call me from his mobile, leave me a message that used to simply inform me that: ‘It’s only Dad.’ He’d then kill the call, and promptly switch off his phone rendering it impossible to call him back.
Then there’s the guy, that always seems to be on the train who insists on making himself appear important. He sits there in pinstripe trousers, red braces, floppy hairstyle (which he flicks out of his eyes before checking his reflection in train window…hey looking good). He presses his mobile against the side of his face (moisturised so it shines, eyebrows threaded to perfection) and speaks. The Kirton accent has miraculously transformed into ‘London Wideboy’. He uses all the sales lingo available to him in a voice so loud Audrey in the loo can hear.
After five minutes the entire