Telephones are some of my least favourite innovations. They’re invasive — even if a telephone call does not involve physically entering another’s house, or, in the case of OZ, cave, it comes as close to this as possible without actually doing it. In times past, manners books wrote of telephones as something best left to close friends and family — all other correspondence would best be left to letters and notes delivered by servants. Telephones irk me enough, in fact, that I do not have a telephone at my San Francisco residence.
Recognising the nature of the world the closest thing I do have is a now very outmoded mobile phone purchased nearly 4 years ago which has only the most very basic of features and is primarily used as an alarm clock. (So… I also do not give my telephone number out to many people so the majority of telephone calls I would receive would be from telemarketers. At the end of the day there are few more irritating things) The matter of the mobile phone is yet another development in this chain of annoyances.
The home telephone, while domestically irritating, was at least limited to the home itself. Mobile phones are even more irksome. Sitting in the train, watching the world go by while drinking a cup of cocoa, is one of my favourite things to do. I might read a book or practise kanji as well while listening to music. Breaking the peace and quiet is a ring tone — a herald of worse things to come! Often the person who answers will not make short use of it. Rather, it seems as if the ultimate outcome is more often than not the inane blabbering — often at elevated voice — about nothing of any importance.
Whether it is on the train or elsewhere, these conversations often eventually divulge more personal information than would ever be considered appropriate. No, it is not of critical importance to the life of the other 10 people in the carriage that your “homie” or “dawg” was so pissed after last Saturday’s bender that (s)he walked into several walls before passing out on your front lawn only to be woken by the police, neighbours, or rain. It is also equally unnecessary to hear graphic accounts of sexual escapades. Such things are best left in private settings.
Boadicea's Chariot 
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