For nearly a decade I have resolutely refused to get involved in mobile phone gadgetry. I have stood by whichever basic model Nokia that I owned – between 1999 and 2009 I got through three, although the third would be still going if I hadn’t recently and cruelly removed its sim card. They made phone calls and sent text messages, and hadn’t got cameras and couldn’t go on the internet, only had two colours on their screens and could play single-voiced ringtones that you could program in yourself as if writing a text message in note values and letter names. That was their only special feature. I quite liked that one – I programmed in the traditional Nokia Tune with the last note a semitone sharp as my ringtone, which always made musicians and musical-eared people laugh very loudly, and caused other people either ask me whether there was something wrong with my phone, or remain apparently oblivious.

(Incidentally, the Nokia Tune comes from a guitar composition written in 1902 by a Spanish guitarist called Francisco Tárrega. A guitarist I know was learning to play it a few years ago, and in the middle suddenly found his fingers playing an incredibly familiar ringtone…)

Anyway, for several years, despite my resolve that a phone was a phone [and occasional Nokia-tune-corrupting-device] I did find myself wishing I had a camera with me when I saw things that were amusing/interesting/silly. So I have caved in. I have bought, secondhand and incredibly cheaply from eBay, a handset that is essentially a tiny digital camera with optical zoom, which can make phonecalls and send text messages. [It has mp3 ringtones though. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about that. I have considered the possibility that I might record my old phone's ringtone in the studio, convert it to mp3 and bluetooth it - oh yes, it does that too - to the new phone. But that might be going slightly too far.]

So now I can take photos of things which, for reasons best known to my punctuation-nerdly self, I see in shops and consider worthy of preserving in pixels:

The pans are important? Or is there a colon missing?

I promised I’d resume complaining. But it’s sunny, and therefore I am, unfortunately, in a good mood. I went into the centre of town this morning [well, I say "morning" - actually it was ten to two, but I appear to have developed Self-Employment Jetlag from staying up until 2am every night and then waking up at what are generally regarded as quite slovenly times in the morning]. Usually this makes me quite unreasonably irritated. Today, it was sunny, there was no queue at the Post Office, and the Post Office was staffed by smiley men and not the disapproving looking-over-glasses why-on-earth-are-you-posting-something-to-the-Wirral -type women. Additionally, there was no queue at the bank either.

In town I saw a woman with two small dogs on one lead, which was like a normal lead with a second-dog extension on it. This pleased me in its efficiency.

Saw a man standing in the middle of road where all the High Street shops are [but it isn't called the High Street - they don't have one here. It's called Coney Street, just to unnecessarily complicate my explanation] holding one of those giant phallic balloons that are about two and half metres long, and which I guess some people must buy so that they can indulge in hilarious visual puns, or something. Every 30 seconds or so, he advertised their presence by declaring ‘Giant balloon for a pound’ in the most unenthusiastic, miserable and fed-up manner that I think it’s possible to achieve in a market-cry. Which, to be honest, I thought was rather appropriate and he was quite entitled to. I don’t imagine that’s a very inspiring line of work.

The shops are beginning to contain giant knitwear, which is pleasing. I know it’s meant to be summer, and I like warm weather, but there is a definite benefit to winter in the form of enormous cardigans. Wearing them is like still being in bed.

That’s my day so far, summarised. Not a lot to complain about. But I will try to get irritated about something soon.

Oh – you may have noticed this blog’s domain has twitched a bit. If you had a bookmark for the old one, it’s probably a good idea to change it, because the redirect has the potential to wander off and point to somewhere else in the future. If you’re using the RSS feed it’s fine, though – the old one will still work.

I have belatedly found an amazing website that sells boots that are made in different calf-sizes. Most boots do not fit around my calves – they gape horribly and I look like I’m wearing wellies [although having said that I do tend to go out wearing actual wellies fairly often - even when it isn't raining - because a) they're easy to put on, and b) for some reason it makes staff in large, posh department stores treat with me the utmost respect. One time it also led Flirtatious Older Checkout Guy in Sainsbury's to inform me that I had 'kinky boots' which was ... um ... enlightening, or something]. Anyway, it may end my lifelong search for low-heeled black lace-up knee highs… If it does I promise never to buy another pair of boots in my life. Except maybe green ones. Or red ones.