My phone is Lazarus

"If your phone gets stolen, you'll never get it back."

- Dan, yesterday

"Em, you're the luckiest bitch in the world."

- Amy, quite some time ago

One of the people quoted above was right, and the other was wrong.

I was eating my breakfast this morning when my mother came into the kitchen and handed me our house phone.

"It's the young man who found your phone."

I put it to my ear, my sleep-fogged brain not quite processing this sentence. The young man in question explained that he'd found my phone in a bush because he'd heard it ringing: presumably he'd picked it up, switched if off (not thrown the SIM card out, as I'd originally thought) to save battery, found my home phone number in the address book, and called it.

He said he was leaving it in the reception of the Royal College of Art, so I went there before my eleven o' clock lecture to pick it up. It still had two bars of battery and looked none the worse for its experience. The only problem is that as my mother cancelled the contract, it has no credit on it. So I'm carrying around two phones and can't call or text people on either one of them.

This all goes to show that having a worthless phone is a good thing. Yay for outdated technology!