Pleasure is based on pain

Teachers are often forced to use the term ‘peer pressure’ to try to explain away to indulgent middle class ostrich-like parents some of the ways in which the blameless fruit of their loins behave when placed in the hell holes known as schools. It allows parents the barrier of hiding their naughty kids behind the excuse which involves the seemingly irresistible effects of evil hordes of other people’s children forcing their little angels into anti-social behaviour which is so different from that which they habitually exhibit at home (sic).

Too often it is an effortlessly easy method of using a reason which satisfies all parties in a disciplinary situation from actually making an effort to discover the real motivations.

I know that I sound a little Manichean and heretical, the thoughts after all do suggest a ‘dyed in the wool’ innate, badness of character in the human (especially in the young human) condition. Far be it from me to bring upon myself the wrath of an anti-Albigensian crusade (the Languedoc has bled enough) but, surely, there is enough imagination left in the world to consider that some folk must just accept their responsibilities and admit that sometimes we just do wrong because we do.

Forget looking for an infinite number of sociological, psychological, physiological, historical, cultural, religious, or any other reasons – we’re bad because we are like that for some of the time; and then we’re not. That is the Human Condition; pure and simple.

All of that has been brought on by mobile phones. Now my linkage with the evil little gadgets goes back some time and, as soon as they were within the bounds of reason to buy, I bought one. Unfortunately, I bought it as a gadget icon rather than as something which was actually useful. I remember that I was pleased with the svelte beauty of the thing (compare with the utilitarian massiveness of the GPO attempts at mobile phones of yesteryear, but I think that I rather thought that they should sort of run themselves and not need any sort of maintenance, or power, or top up, or telling people that I actually owned one of them. The fact that I knew that I owned one was enough. And, I have never lost my detestation for people actually using them in public; for which they were designed. I know, I know: illogical, counter intelligent etc.

But I do believe that the law which states that people cannot use their mobile phone while driving should be extended to all those in the car and all those who are in public. All ring tones of public phones should be banned at once and only the vibrate setting be allowed.

I think that there should be padded, enclosed phone kiosks for those people who, knowing by the vibrations that someone has tried to reach them, feel the need to contact their caller before returning to their domestic havens.

Any public misuse of a mobile phone (that is, any public use) should be punishable by immediate confiscation of the phone and its public burning by a specially appointed Savonarolaesque custodian of morals.

The owner of the phone should also be heavily fined (the fine being the equivalent of the full price of the mobile phone or the full cost of a 12 month contract; whichever is the higher) and be prohibited from owning a mobile phone for five years, or, in the case of a person of over 25 years of age [as they should have known better] 10 years prohibition from ownership. {Not sure about the use of the preposition in that sentence.}

So I am in the paradoxical, contradictory situation of owning a mobile phone while not actually approving their existence. Thinking about it that goes for much of modern life. Consider for a moment the sheer weight of possessions by which we surround ourselves and which we resent: irons, Hoovers, toilet brushes, spare rooms not used as libraries, road tax discs, umbrellas, dinner jackets, fish ponds, washing machines and oxo cubes – the ordinary stuff of life. Yet we put up with it all.

As this screed moves to its conclusion I am finding the strength to combat the almost overwhelming pressure that I am coming under to replace my little Toshiba mobile. Although my phone is unusual, it is, perhaps, prosaic. It does not have the sleek beauty and ergonomic elegance of, say, a Motorola SL7 Red. It also does not have the 5% donation to charity that the previously mentioned phone possesses. I am too scared to look too closely at the range of features that the phone has in case the case for my acquiring one becomes too much. I am resisting now with a supreme effort of will, not helped by the gleeful boasting of my partner who is rejoicing in the flaunting of the phone with a smugness which makes the normal domestic tabby look like Albert Schweitzer. Unfortunately, tomorrow is, as they say, another day and the day after that is also a day in which I will be able to satisfy my gadget longing.

It’s going to be a long, long weekend – not least because I have broken a tooth and the first appointment I can get is 10.30 am on Monday.