Yes, I’m still without a phone. After six days the psychological trauma from absence of 24/7 connectivity is off the scale. Further confirming how little things have changed for women in their thirties since the 90’s when Bridget Jones first hit our shelves twenty years ago. Here’s how I survived day’s four to six without my iPhone.
Rachael Butler’s Phone Free Diary.
Day 4: Thursday.
Hours without phone – no longer care owing to number of alcohol units consumed. Alcohol units’ millions. Calories zillions. Thoughts about never using internet again 1.
9am. Heavenly morning without phone. Took dog out for 10km run and actually spoke to other human beings – in form of dog walkers and runners as didn’t have headphones in. Felt fab, at one with nature and indeed world.
1pm. Went for a walk on lunch break to tea room where I’m hoping to organise a friend’s baby shower because I have no phone to call them. After having a lovely chat with the lady who runs Lord Hurst team rooms, over cake obviously rude not to sample, she offered to let us do BYO bubbly. Not having a phone and talking to people in person seemingly has magnificent benefits.
9pm. Night out in Donny for Italian at Villa Romona with my friend Sazzy. Decided to pop into Relish for a night cap where we bumped into young male friend. Funny how people under the age of 25 try to sound older. Suggesting to boy that he was young i.e. only 19 years old was met with look of horror equal to throwing drink over him. He retorted ‘like fuck I’m only 19, I’m 21 in three months’. After clearing that up he was indeed 20 and three quarters. Wonder if I could have a 20-year-old pet instead of dog? Given it’s been so long since had boyfriend, can you remind me how often they would need taking to gym considering size of muscles? Do men feed themselves these days?
11pm. Chatting to young male specimen is indeed much more insightful than swiping through Tinder. Youth explains concept of catfishing when we ask why he is talking to us, rather than very attractive scantily clad girls giving us dead eyes. Apparently they are total catfish in manner of girls who look totally amazing on filtered Instagram selfies but a total mess up close.
Midnight: Absolutely devastated. Just went on the drinkaware.co.uk website to work out how many alcohol units that I drank. Turns out the I bottle of white wine I consumed tonight has 11.5 units in it. That’s OK you’re allowed 14 in a week. But why did they have to tell me that that’s 795 calories? Or rather 80 minutes of running – I only ran for 60 minutes this morning. And consumed melted brie starter and seafood linguine in restaurant. One doesn’t need a GCSE in Maths to realise this doesn’t add up favourably in terms of potential weight gain. Then I remembered also had 2 gin and tonics and a glass of red in Relish. Fuck fuck fuck. Am now considering stopping using the internet in case I see such horrible information again. Wine is grape juice; it is therefore technically a fruit. Wine is in bible. How can something that is so good be so bad? Surely drinkaware website is wrong…
Day 5: Friday.
8.30am. Fuck fuck fuck. Sat in car waiting to go into Doncaster Business Conference 2016, looking at people walking in, in very smart suits and panicking that I’m not dressed smart enough. Then realise front of shirt is covered in mud, likely a result of walking dog in work clothes and playing fetch. Oh and I’m still wearing my converse trainers. Double fucketey fuck fuck fuck.
Had to scrub shirt with baby wipes and try and polish a spare pair of heels with said baby wipes. Very much hope people staring think I am career woman, who is successful juggler of numerous responsibilities, including three small children rather than hung-over singleton who cannot remember to change shoes after walking the dog – not the best start to the day.
10.30am. Conference is actually very good. There’s free bacon sarnies. Everyone knows you can never start a diet on a hangover so decided to have one to soak up the alcohol from last night. Lots of twitter action going on. Thank god for the iPad with sim card in it so I can still join in, three of my tweets got put on the big screen. Very immature to revel in such ego boosting activity but considering absence of actual phone self esteem needs boost.
3.35pm. Starting to really enjoy the freedom of not having a phone. But keep forgetting that people do not expect you to not have a phone and constant access to email, the internet, instant messaging and general connectivity in this day and age. Soon to be business mentor, who I’m yet to meet, emailed asking if I’d like to meet up at 3pm and he’d come to my office. Fuck, fuck, Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck it’s 3.35pm, not the best impression to give someone who has volunteered to help you with your business acumen and you can’t even reply to an email on time.
5pm. To take mind off absence of phone and boost feelings of productivity from last nights’ epic calorie fail decided to try and sort out my car out after last weeks reversing debacle lead to a huge paint scrape on the side of car. I also suspect I should check my tyre pressure given that my car has been draining fuel.
5.05pm. Hmmmmm very very bad. My front tyre is 6psi. One doesn’t need to know much about the workings of cars to know that this isn’t good when it should be 32. Car is once again a dream to drive. Fears of broken clutch have evaporated. Instead replaced by fear that am indeed an absolute twat for driving with pretty much flat tyres. Feeling bad about blaming poor car when clearly it has been chewing fuel due to own stupidity. So decided to wash and T-cut scrape mark out of car to make it up to car.
5.55pm. When I say I washed my car, I really mean I watched my Dad wash my car, whilst I tottered around it holding a sponge and trying not to get my white converse wet.
6pm. Yey. Car is now like new again, well good enough considering some actual paint has totally come off. But if you stand two meters away when you look at car, you really can’t tell I’ve scratched it – well not that much.
8pm. Feeling very proud about doing manual work of washing car and T-cutting scratches out, plus feeling good about quality father daughter bonding time. Surely I deserve a little drink as a reward. After all it is Friday.
8.30pm. Sister is home from week of working in Birmingham. She asks me why there are 13 missed calls on house phone, therefore have to explain that whilst I know how to answer house phone have not worked out how to make a call on it. She looks at me like I am total idiot. On the plus side, after short lesson, I now know how to use house phone to make actual telephone call.
10pm. I am drunk, my sister and I have consumed the entire contents on two bottles of red wine. Have now drunk 2 weeks’ worth of alcohol units in the space of two days. Fucketey fuck fuck fuck. Will go to Body Pump at Dome in the morning to put this right.
Day 6. Saturday.
9am. Fuck fuck fuck. Slept in because a) am hung-over b) phone is alarm c) am a total twat.
11am. Decided to go to stay at my aunts in Castleton for the night. Was initially going to meet Tinder date but his dog is poorly so canceled. I don’t know if this is very caring in manner of future husband material or just plain wet. Who gives up possibility of sex over taking dog to vets?
7pm. No longer care about man from Tinder. Am successful business woman and have got loads of work done today to promote new company. Feeling very proud of oneself.
9pm. Hours without phone – who cares. Alcohol units 0 ( too hung-over to drink), calories zillions.
Too hung-over to drink today. Would be something to celebrate but have eaten entire packet of chocolate biscuits, curry and magnum ice-cream in hung-over state. Most definitely need to get jaw wired shut in preparation for races in two weeks. Lack of phone and access to tinder is entirely to blame.
Am now faced with dilemma. Whilst not having phone is very freeing and provides lovely sense of presence with people and world. It is also causing me to drink more than usual. Maybe this is because I need something to do with my hands? Absence of texting, scrolling and swiping has lead to dramatic rise in drinking hand action. Or maybe constant state of being drunk is what is making me happier and more present without phone instead of actual absence of phone? But maybe need haziness of wine to calm nerves from FOMO about not having phone?
Either way I’m not liking this. Absence of phone or increase in wine – whichever it is is now making me think I need to join slimming world sharpish. If it’s not one thing, it’s a-bloody-nother. Only two days til get phone back, although fear may be the size of house by then…