As I lurch forwards, blinded by the dazzling aura of technology which is so very last year, I find myself pondering the need for a smartphone.
To those who have been iPhone-ing or Balckberry-ing for years, this may seem an absurd subject to consider. For the people who sit dribbling on the bus or in cafes while they scroll up, down and sideways through life, I might as well be pontificating on the relative merits of having a skull to keep my brain in.
I can see the value, especially as a journalist (not a title I'm yet comfortable with. I'm convinced someone is about to unmask me as an impostor any day), and there have been occasions when being able to access e-mails on the move would have been very useful.
Such thoughts inevitably make me think back to rehabilitation in the spinal unit. In these memories I am wheeling nervously around the hospital in loose fitting comfortable clothes with a mobile phone on a cord around my neck.
I was nervous because my balance was poor at first (learning to sit up is commonly one of the biggest first hurdles one has to conquer after a spinal cord injury). But the phone was not a glorified personal panic button. The mobile enabled me to speak to friends and family at any time of day or night. The phone meant that moments of isolation could be filled with words.
people called me from all over the world to have a chat, and this helped to counter the inevitable feeling that I had of having fallen through the cracks. While my log term future seemed to have vanished, I could devote time to more modest, immediate plans. I could ask friends or family to bring me obscure food stuffs or arrange for personal belongings to be brought up to the hospital. Through this time, I found I would often try and imagine what rehabilitation would have been like had I had my spinal cord injury before the advent of mass electronic communication.
So now I am getting sucked into the next level of distraction. I have an increasing feeling that silence will be presented in museums, along side dial phones, fountain pens and letter paper.
But for all that, I have the confidence to do many things on my own because I feel that help is mine to summon easily should I need it. this makes driving or even pushing a fair distance much less intimidating. And I can also remember what it feels like to depend on the phone for my sanity. The old adage is "Don't shoot the messenger." It's not his fault if we burden him with sacks of junk mail.
To those who have been iPhone-ing or Balckberry-ing for years, this may seem an absurd subject to consider. For the people who sit dribbling on the bus or in cafes while they scroll up, down and sideways through life, I might as well be pontificating on the relative merits of having a skull to keep my brain in.
I can see the value, especially as a journalist (not a title I'm yet comfortable with. I'm convinced someone is about to unmask me as an impostor any day), and there have been occasions when being able to access e-mails on the move would have been very useful.
Such thoughts inevitably make me think back to rehabilitation in the spinal unit. In these memories I am wheeling nervously around the hospital in loose fitting comfortable clothes with a mobile phone on a cord around my neck.
I was nervous because my balance was poor at first (learning to sit up is commonly one of the biggest first hurdles one has to conquer after a spinal cord injury). But the phone was not a glorified personal panic button. The mobile enabled me to speak to friends and family at any time of day or night. The phone meant that moments of isolation could be filled with words.
people called me from all over the world to have a chat, and this helped to counter the inevitable feeling that I had of having fallen through the cracks. While my log term future seemed to have vanished, I could devote time to more modest, immediate plans. I could ask friends or family to bring me obscure food stuffs or arrange for personal belongings to be brought up to the hospital. Through this time, I found I would often try and imagine what rehabilitation would have been like had I had my spinal cord injury before the advent of mass electronic communication.
So now I am getting sucked into the next level of distraction. I have an increasing feeling that silence will be presented in museums, along side dial phones, fountain pens and letter paper.
But for all that, I have the confidence to do many things on my own because I feel that help is mine to summon easily should I need it. this makes driving or even pushing a fair distance much less intimidating. And I can also remember what it feels like to depend on the phone for my sanity. The old adage is "Don't shoot the messenger." It's not his fault if we burden him with sacks of junk mail.
Sadly Fritz got nicked for not using his hands-free device.