As
with all these things, it started on a lake in New Zealand. I was on a boat, exuding
effortless nonchalance by taking endless delighted selfies of myself on the
deck when another guest offered to take a photo of me. ‘Thanks,’ I said. She
dutifully took my iPhone and snapped away before passing my phone back to me. I
never saw the photos, so I can’t comment, but based on the inadequacy of her
spatial awareness during the iPhone handover, I assume they weren't much good.
My iPhone flew with remarkable speed into the lake, and the other guest turned
to me, horrified, to explain that I ought to have purchased travel
insurance.
I
returned to London and wondered where I was going to get the vast sums to
purchase a new iPhone from. I mooched about a bit, wondering why an English
Literature degree hadn't led to incomprehensible worldly gains. ‘You should do
copywriting,’ one of my friends suggested.
