It was aptly cold, desolate and gloomy – a bit like the first chapter of Great Expectations when Pip meets Magwitch. I opened the bottom drawer, which squeaked a little for effect, and with a deep breath, laid my old mobile phone to rest for eternity. Or until its battery runs out of juice – because although it wasn’t completely dead, it had frozen. Like Miss Havisham, it refused to acknowledge the passing of time and its clock display had stopped at 11.03am and refused to heed my resuscitation efforts (which basically involved switching it off and on repeatedly).

You’d be surprised how difficult it is to relinquish a cell phone- Adrien Brody

Admittedly, I was a bit sad. Because I wasn’t simply burying a bit of plastic – I was also letting go of five years of memories, call logs and messages which I couldn’t transfer to a new phone.

On the other hand, I was relieved because my old phone was becoming a bit embarrassing. No, not because it was a five-year-old ugly duckling which, compared to modern smartphones, would tug at my trouser like a brick. And it’s not because it wasn’t fancy – true, I couldn’t browse or receive e-mails on it. Like a classic car, it didn’t hug me with comfort but it got me from A to B without any fuss.

Rather, it was because, like an old relative, it had started forgetting things. The alarm wouldn’t wake up, the reminders wouldn’t remind me, and during calls, it would just drift off and I would find myself talking to my echo.

So now, I can finally move on. And move on I did to a new phone which, sadly, still hasn’t adapted to my (apologies for the forthcoming anatomical details) fat fingers – Consequently, I’m sending texts that read like Sanskrit, putting calls on hold when I should be answering them, and shouting at the voice command because it just doesn’t understand me.

But I’m sure we’ll get used to each other. And hopefully, five years from now, I’ll be in mourning for it.

techeditor@timesofmalta.com