Cut off from the world....or so it seemed

How can it take 20 days to unlock a mobile phone? Regular readers will recall that my last post was largely concerned with a nasty incident involving a Nokia handset, a car dashboard, an open window and a sharp left-hand turn into Mill Street, Tamworth. 

I had hoped to be reconnected within a couple of days, having bought a cheap handset from a well-known supermarket and acquired a replacement SIM card, but a cashflow crisis and then the fact that my new handset had to be sent away to be unlocked scuppered that.

But TWENTY DAYS? As anyone who has tried to contact me will know, at times I’ve felt like I was living in Outer Mongolia. Of course, there are times when it is useful to be incognito (the Friday afternoon of Derby Beer Festival, for a start!) but such is the nature of our all-pervasive communications world that not having a mobile can sometimes leave you feeling as if you have had your arm cut off.

Is anyone trying to contact me with offers of work? How many millions of text messages have I missed? How many of them were not viral jokes or cold calls, but actually important? Is there a problem with the switchover? Will I have to change my number? If I do, what happens to the £75 worth of swanky new business cards I have just had printed - which feature my current number?

It’s not been a fun three weeks, although I must say ‘Thank You’ to the man in the repair shop, who looked at me with increasing concern as my weekly visits became twice-weekly, then daily.

However, I’m now back in the land of the mobile phone and spent most of yesterday trying to fathom it out. It’s not a smartphone; it doesn’t make the tea, it just allows me to make calls, send texts, get on t’interweb and play games, should I wish. But it’s still complicated enough for someone who spent a few minutes trying to extract the SIM card from inside the handset to get at the authentication code. 

 And, of course, although I have been able to retain my phone number, I've lost everyone's numbers because my old SIM card was smashed. So if I haven't already asked and you think I had your number on my old phone, please PM me on Facebook or e-mail me with the details. It might help me feel as if I am back in touch with the world.

Up, down, broke, smashed - but still loving life!

It’s amazing that it’s been two-and-a-half years since I had what my wife insists on calling a ‘proper’ job. 

She defines that as one where you go into work at a given time of day, come home at (more or less) a given time of day and your employer drops a wedge of cash into your bank on a given day of every month.

The reality, of course, is that ‘proper’ jobs are few these days - especially in the world of the wordsmith. Since I was last in full-time work, my previous employer has had another two rounds of cutbacks and I learnt this week that the disease has spread to Australia. 

A friend of mine on a newspaper in Cairns could soon be faced with uprooting his young family to Brisbane (just over 1,000 miles away) or leaving the newspaper world which has been his life since the age of 16 - nearly three decades. 

There are jobs in the media, of course; I could move to London, while the work I do from home and which I love dearly as editor of British Naturism is as good as it gets, in my view. 

But apart from BN, I am one of many thousands of freelances scrambling to find work at a time when the market keeps diminishing. 

And after two-and-a-half years, following 24 years in newspapers, the ups and downs of this lifestyle are still the hardest thing for me to cope with. Take last week, for instance; I had a meeting in a smart Birmingham hotel with a client and a web designer over a project which could be one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever done. We made good progress, continue to do so and although the rewards are not great at the moment, the future looks bright.

On Sunday, I saw the lead story of a column which I ghost-write appear on the back page of the Birmingham Sunday Mercury. We rarely admit it but weatherbeaten old hacks like me still get a thrill out of seeing something we’ve written appear on the printed (newspaper) page. 

Yet last week also saw letters demanding that the family car be given its MOT and new tax disc. In years gone by, that was just an annual distraction. At the moment, the financial side-effects of having the two land at once have knocked us sideways for a while.

Then, this week - to be precise, yesterday, Thursday July 5 2012. It began in great style as I gave a presentation about naturism and my work at BN to the Tamworth branch of 4Networking.

It isn’t me, but the 4N area leader, who has gone on record as saying that “Martin had the room riveted as his passion and delicate advocacy of what can be a debatable subject was handled beautifully’ Thanks, Debs!

The meeting got even better as I then met up with a local businessman I have been trying to engage with for a while to talk about work. We have a meeting lined up next week and if our proposals go ahead, it will be another big boost. 

This sits alongside a separate project I was discussing on Tuesday; one that I’m sure can work although I don’t want to jinx it.

So, all good, yes? Until I rested my phone on the dashboard of the car while driving Mrs W home yesterday evening, then watched it fly out of the open window when I turned a corner.

With hindsight, stopping on a busy road and trying to retrieve handset, SIM card, battery and cover was not the act of a sane, rational 48-year-old with a 2:1 degree. I could have been run over; I should have just shrugged my shoulders; but you don’t, do you?

So I ran the risk, gathered all the bits together, reassembled the phone - and realised that the screen was bent and shattered beyond recognition.

I’d really love an iPhone (purely for work purposes, obviously..) but I can’t afford one at the moment, so off I went this morning to our local branch of a well-known national supermarket to buy a cheap handset which I can get unlocked at a store in town.

Unfortunately, this tale ends on a note with which all owners of small businesses will be grimly familiar - the cashflow crisis. I have three hefty payments due in next week; they will be paid, I trust implicitly the people involved. But the money’s not there yet. The bank account contains nothing; nada, nowt, zilch, as they say. 

The phone will have to wait. So if you’re trying to reach me by phone this weekend, I’m afraid it’s the old-fashioned landline. Just like back in the days when I had a ‘proper’ job.