I, Robot

Yes, that's right, you read the title correctly, I think I am a robot. Aside from the fact I have more OCDs than David Beckham, and the fact I am clearly allergic to everything electronic...or should I say everything else electronic, I do actually think magnets run through my veins. I seem to break every mobile phone within four months of owning it, and must have battled with at least three pieces of hardware (meaning PCs etc) during my University years as nearly all of them had some fault or other. But the phone thing? That does really get to me. I had six phones in one year once. Ridiculous I know, but honestly, when I call up O2 nowadays, all they say is, 'What handset do you want to try now?' Even they've stopped doubting that I drop them down the toilet before phoning. But I can't omit that when my phone does switch off in the middle of a six-part text message full of gossip to Louise, that I do tend to throw it across the room in some kind of fit of feral rage. The saddest part is last year...hmmm let me think, probably about three phones ago, I had a lovely Nokia 6300 which took fab pictures and I loved it dearly, it never crashed, never died of battery seven hours after I'd last charged it, it was just brilliant. Until the night I left it in the Jovial Sailor in Ripley. That Sailor wasn't feeling particularly jovial the next morning after I ranted and raved at the staff claiming some horrible cleaner had stolen it. Well, in any case, it had gone, along with my lovely text messages (some say keeping up to 1000 in your inbox may cause it to crash therefore could be the root of all my problems, but I say, what's the point in the memory allowing it to contain more than 1000 texts if it can't handle it?) and all my lovely photographs, such included photos of my dearly beloved Nanny and Grandad, (aged nearly 81 and 96) poppies in their garden, and some rather embarrassing ones of me posing...in ah hem, let's just say in the way a 13 year old poses when she tries on her first bra in the changing rooms. Anyway, after this I was sick, sick with anger at the first phone I'd lost that I wasn't able to retrieve. Obviously down to the credit-crunch that seems to have lasted my entire adult life, I didn't feel up to paying £7.99 a month for insurance. So, with desperation, I asked O2 how much was the cheapest (and probably most shittiest) phone they'd got. What luck! When they said I could buy the same lovely Nokia I'd had previously for just £50. This may seem like a lot to some readers, but honestly, my phone is my life...at least I haven't got into blackberries yet eh? Anyway, I waited and it arrived, without a box, a soul or a memory card. (this is what happens when you buy them cheap and 're-furbished'-knowing my luck it was probably my original phone that had been sold on). I soon discovered that a lack of memory card was like lacking a brain or a pulse. It functioned, barely and after 9 short months, I was back on the phone to O2 asking what was out next. Choosing the upgraded version of the same phone (it's basically thinner, silver and harder to text on) I was happy at least that it came with some decent image memory. Well, I can reveal, that four months on, true to the day, it has crashed. On more than one occasion. And before you ask, yes I do have 1378 text messages in the inbox still. Maybe it's me after all.