Not so much of the old

A couple of weeks ago, I took the plunge and bought a new mobile phone. I thought it would be easy peasy to switch over from my old one, but in spite of my children doing it all for me, it turned out I had the wrong sized sim card. After much huffing and puffing from me, finally, it started working. I’m still a bit hazy about what’s what, but am gradually getting there.

I found myself installing apps. Gosh it was fun. No nasty messages about running out of space or deleting unwanted files (no, Lenovo, I want them all!) However, the downside of all this technology is that my phone, rather cheekily, has started making extremely inappropriate suggestions.

Picture the scene. Pleasantly weary after a hard day of lock down activities, I settled down with a Pimm’s. I asked my phone to tell me about the weather. This it did, but then immediately decided to send me a picture of a pair of feet sporting frankly alarming looking footwear. The text read thus.

“New sock is helping millions of seniors turn back the clock on their ageing, aching feet.”

Next, it suggested that I might want to join my local weather community (whatever that might be) and then reassured me that there would be no precipitation for at least 120 minutes. Presumably in case I wanted to take my old feet outside for a quick totter down the lane.

Call me pedantic (you’re pedantic, Ruth) but I found a lot wrong with that sentence. Should it not be, “new socks are helping…” rather than, “new sock”? Also, why did my phone assume I am a senior? I may have started watching music documentaries on BBC Four and saying indignantly, “Surely that didn’t come out thirty years ago? It seems like yesterday!” but I am still relatively perky, all things considered. My feet do ache from time to time, but usually because I’ve been running up and down the stairs and working hard on various home-related activities.

My phone may be a bit too big for its boots. It supports lots of apps, effortlessly, and clearly wants to be my new best friend with its constant suggestions and updates. I leave it in the house when I go over to the veg patch as I don’t want it hearing my conversations with my husband. A sample from the last week includes rhapsodies over the new little courgettes forming on the plants (give it a fortnight and I’ll be begging strangers to take them away), genuine excitement at the appearance of a ridge cucumber in the greenhouse and mild hysteria at the discovery of the first crop of mange tout.

Twenty-five years ago, I would have smiled derisively if you’d suggested that one day, I would be getting all het up over vegetables. Mobile phones back then required a small trolley to wheel them around. Times have changed, I’ve changed and the things I used to care about don’t seem to matter that much any more.

So, after a hard day’s toil home schooling, washing, drying, cleaning, writing and reading, my aching, ageing feet can look after themselves, thank you very much. No special socks needed. And certainly no more apps.

Images by Pixabay

Ruth is a freelance writer, speaker and poet. She is married with three delightful children, runs a catering company and keeps chickens and quail. She has her first novel in the editing stage, another two on the go, writes poetry as the mood takes her, writes for a number of Christian charities and has her own business writing blogs for small Suffolk businesses. She is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She blogs at @bigwordsandmadeupstories, covering topics as diverse as King Zog of Albania, a Christingle plagued by punch-ups and tummy upsets, and the inevitable decline of elderly parents. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life.