Phone Photos

I am preparing to get a new mobile phone, and it is only with a reluctant neccessity that I do. You see, I am very much in fear of the possibility that to get a new bells-and-whistles type means to spend time being owned rather than owning. There are many other reasons I could choke out through my spittle, declaring my waxing hatred of phones, such as friends with other friends who spend time texting yet more friends instead of just enjoying the company of those actually present, blah blah. I shall however, for my sake and yours, refrain. My brick has served me very well. It contains photos spanning five years, and the O.A.P. that it is, the only way I can get them off my phone is to text them (at the last minute and at great expense) to my email account. This means I was selective, and rescued only those that remind me of the fondest times.

Just like the time I met that rockstar (unnamed) I wasn't supposed to take a photo of, but did anyway.



Or that time I sat in the Notre Dame of tents with a good friend of mine, constructing a face out of used midnight picnic goods.



Or that time our cat jumped in a roll of my mother's unfixed pastel drawings, and we had to bath her for fear that she'd lick the pastel off her and get ill.




Or that time I painted a guy in UV paints in a car park in Bath for his band.