IT APPEARS THE authorities might have caught the person who stole my phone. The incident occurred moments after I had told my mother how much I hated the device because, to be brief, it wasn’t an iPhone.
A young man on a bike cycled past me while I stood making a call and swiped it out of my hand. Be careful, my ma said later when we went for post-traumatic scones, what you wish for.
At the time, I was more annoyed about my failure to grab the elastic of his tracksuit bottoms with a view to foiling the crime than I was about losing the phone. If I cried, and I may have briefly, it was only because it brought back memories of failed basketball tackles and lost games of Monopoly.
I had wanted a new phone. More accurately, I wanted a new iPhone so I could join the masses and go on Twitter and tell people that I was nearly in tears watching Kerry Katona’s toddler being screamed at by her parents and that I had home-made pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast.
I am not saying you need the iPhone to go on Twitter. But if I was going to go on Twitter to tell people stuff like, “sitting in a bright room with a few hundred others waiting to see if my name will be called for jury service”, then I wanted to do it on something slick.
On a tangential point – jury service. I can’t say enough good things about doing one’s civic duty. When I first got the summons, I confess I went online to read tips about how to get out of it. But then I came over all civic-minded and presented myself at the new architecturally award-winning Criminal Courts.
The first good thing is that you get as much free tea, coffee and extra creamy hot chocolate as you can swallow while you wait. Then you get to feel as though you might be about to win the lottery when the names are pulled out of a hat (okay, so it was more of a tombola) by the court registrar.
And if you are very lucky, you get to go on a jury with 11 lovely people from all walks of life who you might never have met otherwise.
You also have your own jury room with two bathrooms and an endless supply of shortbread. A kindly minder escorts you everywhere and makes sure you don’t get lost. It’s kind of like being on Big Brother and even better than a juicy episode of Judge Judy. There’s also the small matter of a free lunch, which on the day my name was called out, was a choice between gammon steak, chicken jalfrezi and spring rolls with a sweet chilli dip.
Oh, and of course you get a fascinating glimpse into our justice system and a sense of playing your part as a citizen, but unfortunately I can say no more about that part of the process for, er, legal reasons.
But back to the phone. Yes, for ages and ages I wanted an iPhone. So I could tweet about stuff like standing in a queue with my three nieces waiting for an audience with Jedward.
On another tangential point – Jedward. Polite, confident, happy and excellent at jumping around as though they have no control of their limbs and shouting things like “hey guys, we love you guys, J to the E to the D to the ward”.
Generation Celtic Tiger often gets a hard time, but the brothers Grimes are worth celebrating, if only for their relentless cheeriness and gratitude for the position they find themselves in. Long may they keep hairspray manufacturers in business. Also: Jedward for president.
That’s enough tangents for one column. The upshot is that I don’t want an iPhone any more. I was offered one, but when push came to buttons came to touchscreen technology, I decided not to bow to peer pressure and stick with the Finnish brand that has served me well for years. News that the new iPhone is tricky to use for left-handed people (some of my best friends, and so on) has only confirmed I was right to stop my iFetishising. I’m over it, as Jedward might say.
Not long after the great phone robbery, I got a letter from the Garda saying someone had been made “amenable” for the crime. I think that means they might have caught him but I can’t be sure; he sounds quite friendly, anyway.
Feeling retro, I used my home phone to call the garda handling the case. I rang him several times but he was always on leave. Eventually he came back from leave and so I told him about the letter.
He said he would ring me back later that afternoon to tell me how the case was proceeding.
That was weeks ago and I am still none the wiser as to what’s going to happen about the amenable alleged phone thief. I do hope the garda calls me soon. Otherwise I might have to tweet about it.
THIS WEEKEND
Róisín will be tending her runner beans and trying to stop the relentless, if slow, advance of the snails by pouring coffee grounds on the plants. Any other ideas?