6 am Flights and phones

My phone remains inactive. Actually, that's not quite right. It remains inactive when I leave it alone, but when I plug it in, it boots up merrily except that it never quite accomplishes the process before starting over again. A bit like a hamster running on a treadmill, or the spinning sails of a windmill - are they sails? Or are they blades? I'm not sure and at this point in time, don't have the energy to look it up. Anyway, terminal (or shouldn't it be interminable) loops of the boot process. Poor thing, I think of it as becoming OCD - it's a bit like me actually on days when I have too much on my mind and I check that the door is locked 3 or 4 times before leaving, and even then I have this sense of unease that I have left the door unlocked and in consequence can't get any work done for lack of focus. The whole point of this paragraph? To show that despite what the mocking and laughing at me Drs. C and J have to say, I do empathize with my phones. I am one with them as they will never be with theirs.

At a dinner this evening with the Sock - he having chosen the veritable Shiros on Cambie St, we sat and supped, but the quality of the food and congeniality (generally) of the company was insufficient to sweeten the sense of bitterness that I had over Dr. J not buying the Sony Xperia Z3 Compact so that I could have his N4 for a week, not to mention he who shall be unnamed for offering to buy my former phone only after breaking it - imagine - who breaks phones?!

Anyway, the conversation went on a tangent and the three at the table looked at me and said smugly that they had had the same phone for varying number of years from 2 to almost 5, and they were proud of that, as if it were a disgrace that I, on average, own a phone for 11 months or so. Really. It's like Nancy Mitford once wrote, when you get old you must have diamonds so as to have something sparkling around your face (your eyes and skin now having become dull, you see). It's the same thing with fancy new phones - they detract from the wrinkles and liver spots on your aging hands.

It's the end of the year again, and that means two things. The crowds are out in full force hunting down the bargains, or the latest must-haves to put under a tree what has been cut down in its early infancy just so that it can be gilded with artificially silvered strips of plastic and lit up with oool, energy efficient strands of lights, only to be tossed onto the dump heap in a few weeks' time. Poor tree. Silly humans. Maddening crowds. I dipped one toe into the crowded gene (mostly degraded) pool of humanity at a mall, and rapidly took it out again before it withered. I had to leave quickly and hied immediately to Amazon dot com to send out some presents to Big M and K, but went to shutterfly instead to procure something for little M. I hope she likes it for I immortalized (acid free paper you see) some family (in one case, Nigella's family) recipes.

Oh, and it's 345 am. Time to go now for I have a 6 am flight to catch and the line ups for immigration and customs can be very long this time of the year.

I shall be back to enlighten you on the other things that crop up at this time of the year. Ta ta