iDrones

Mr P has finally succumbed to his techie-geek side and purchased an iPhone. Luckily for me, he states that he won’t become one of those people who download every app under the sun / use it to play games on during conversations with friends at the pub. If I see one more simulated pint of beer being ‘drank’ or hear one more Keith Lemon comment, I’ll scream.

The worst is the photos. Most people with iPhones will happily show you photos of their offspring, pets and – yes, this has happened to me – their recently decorated living rooms. They will scroll merrily through the boring snaps, shaking their ‘phones in case the picture would look better in landscape when I just want to scream that I don’t give a shit.

iDrones showing you their albums of nonsense are exactly the same as little old ladies whipping out inch-thick Truprint packets and talking you through their caravan holiday in Bognor.

And who wants to hear about that?

NOBODY.

My friend, Mr H, is probably the worse iDrone offender. We see him only occasionally but every time we do, he will produce the newest picture of, his admittedly gorgeous son, LJ. He will hold it up in silence, smug grin plastered on his face and completely bring a halt to the conversation while I have to coo (because, you know, I’m the girl) and the boys have to make some appropriate comment about how cool his hair is, or merely just nod approvingly.

I don’t mind seeing pictures of friends’ children but only if I ask to.

And before you ask, I have no desire whatsoever to follow Mr P down the smartphone path. And here’s why…

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This entry was posted in Comrades, Criiiiiiiiiinge, Just a Little Bit About Me, Miss Ranty Pants. Bookmark the permalink.

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