As I tuck into my cut price milk chocolate santa tree decorations, I am decidedly disgruntled. While in Goa, I succeeded in frying my mobile phone battery - correction, an idiot of a Welshman did this for me with some blasted gadget or other that he said would do the trick. Ambled into Oxford centre this morning and after fighting my way through the bargain hunters (and what a ghastly breed of people they really are) managed to speak to an offensively ugly sales person in Dixons. Who informed me a replacement battery would be around GBP60, and that was if they could get hold of it, which they can't. As apparently my phone was only made for a brief period and discontinued. He essentially also pointed out that most people who own mobiles aren't stupid enough to fry the battery in the first place... and then tried to sell me a replacement handset for nearly GBP200. It may be Christmas time but I'm not a total sucker.
In effort to make the trip into town not entirely wasted, I poked my head into Waterstones (bookstore) who ostensibly had a Huge Sale taking place, but personally I don't want Jamie Oliver's cookbooks at any price. Nor a guide to Restoring Antiques, fascinating though I'm sure it was. (Aside: my milk chocolate santas are faceless. Disturbing. Or is it more disturbing that I'm concerned by the lack of face on a chocolate tree decoration? Oh, I don't know).
Well, the upshot of all that is: you can't contact me by phone. I haven't checked my messages in nearly three weeks so if you've texted and are offended by lack of response, there is my reason. If you want my landline number then email me and I'll send it you. Bear in mind that I have no way of getting anybody's mobile number either so I can't call even if I want. At least it gives me an excuse to be permanently online for the next few days. I'm now reminded of a great quote from Wilde that I'm going to paraphrase for my purposes: my huff has arrived and I'm departing in it.
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