'Babe! Where are you? Are you coming?' the hubs shouts. I'm meant to be in the shed helping him with 'stuff'.

'I'm on the BLOODY LOO!' I counter to his impatience. But I'm not on it so much, but staring down it.

I dropped my phone in the loo, or rather, the dunny, as we call it here down under. Whatever you call it, I'm stuck in those few seconds where you're a little incredulous this happened (again) before plucking it out, shaking it off, and delicately wiping it off with a tissue and a smear of sanitiser. These days it's not a disaster if your phone falls in the thunderbox - most have a degree of water resistance.

In those seconds however, in a similiar way to one's life flashing before one's eyes, I think of life without a phone.

Imagine.

No whatsapp messages from @galenkp reprimanding me for forgetting the #weekend-engagement tag from my post (note, it's on this one!), or from random Nigerians trying to start a conversation with me, some of which I entertain to waste their time before blocking them, lest they find a way to get my passwords, which I don't even know myself. No pictures of my son sleeping on the couch from my daughter in law. No goodnight hug gifs from my husband from the other room, after we've already hugged, smooched and loved each other goodnight.

There would also be no marketing texts from companies I've already bought items from. No emails from companies I keep meaning to unsubscribe from. Everyone wants your email and phone number these days and you have to be on the ball to purchase something and get around the accidental adding yourself to a marketing list.

There would be no missed calls from my Dad that are always missed calls because my phone is always on silent. There would be no voicemail messages from Dad asking me to give him a call because he wants to talk to me about anything and everything because he's the best Dad in the universe and loves to talk to his favourite eldest daughter.

There would be no immediate way of knowing the temperature save goosebumps or sweaty armpits. I would have to use a paper map to get places, you know, like Melways or the AtoZ or other old fashioned books that the youth of today wouldn't know how to use if I belted them across the ass with it.

Gah, that all sounds like bliss.

Last week I found two old phones when I was cleaning out some drawers. A big part of me wanted to pull my SIM card out of my smartphone and pop it in my phone. The only people that would bother me would be Dad and marketing texts and calls from places like the Phillipines and Sydney.

To entertain myself I could, hell, you know, read a book, stare out the window, or play Snake. Sounds like heaven.

Still, I whip the phone out of the loo, wipe it off, and get on with scrolling through Hive, as you do. What else are you going to do when you're having a wee?

Until the inevitable shout comes again: 'HONEY!!!! ARE YOU STILL ON THE FLIPPING LOO!'.

Oops. I better get a wriggle on.

With Love,

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