Precious Thing 2. It’s his birthday so generous spirited mummy and daddy decided to purchase a new phone. Well, nice mummy executed that plan, and she has now morphed into VERY MUCH NOT NICE MUMMY. Seriously, walking into a phone shop should come with a warning that the place will suck the very life force from you. I’m going to rebrand it “The Mood Hoover Store”. Whilst waiting for a customer service operative (which customer service training had she attended? I wondered) to give me my ‘options’ (broadly my options were to spend more money, it was just a question of how much more), I had to listen to the manager berating staff face to face in the store, I had to prove who I was by paying 89p on my debit card for it to be refunded immediately (I got tired of asking why this was necessary, nobody could answer me), I had to be passed to another customer service representative – this time assistant manager – to deal with my requests (apparently it is very complicated for an additional phone contract to be added to my contract). Actually I can’t even bore you with the myriad other reasons why I was there for nigh on 2 hours. Yes! Two painful hours of my life I will not get back!! And the worst of it? I return home to discover that my entire bank of contacts and details has been replaced with that of my 15 year old son. I don’t need Millie/Ellie/Lily/Molly/Emily/Tilly’s numbers (so many girls, though. Quite pleased for him but surely he must get them confused?). I want my own friends back (most popular names: Karen, Claire and Sarah). I want to cry and scream, and I know this is a first world problem, I really do, but I wish that we all had the wherewithal to confront these giant telecommunications companies and throw in the towel, and say, be done with you, mobile phone, be banished from my life, I will go back to writing letters and sending smoke signals. No, of course I won’t do that because I don’t like the smell of smoke too much, and I am rather fond of Whatsapp, but there has to be a better way of buying a new phone, doesn’t there? Somebody……??