Much of my life this weekend revoled around my free phone from 02.   After some considerable difficulty I managed to get the back off, and insert the Sim card, but it didn’t work - which is not surprising since I don’t have an account with O2.

Then I took the Sim card out of my current phone, and placed it in the new phone - and lo and behold it worked… up to a point.

First off the phone asked me which language I wanted, and I was about to click on “English” when it gave me Italian.   At this point I pocketed  the phone and went to Blake’s for the regular morning meeting with Janice - but she was not there!  I wanted to phone her to find out where she was, but of course couldn’t work out how to make a call in Italian.

Half an hour later Binky turned up, listened to my problem, and had the phone working in English within 30 seconds!   I am stunned.

I continued working on phone and eventually managed to get everything set - including time and date - and so called Janice.   She answered in a distant manner and said she’d see me at the Bollard for the quiz night as usual.   I was in the process of asking her why she had not turned up for coffee when the phone made a strange noise and cut me off.  I looked at the screen and it said “Emergency calls only”.

At the Bollard Janice turned up with Derek, and both he and Binky put on brilliant displays.  We won the competition hands down, but somehow I could share in none of the triumphs.  Somehow my life feels empty.  Even the postcard through the door when I got home saying that I would receive information of great importance in the near future failed to cheer me up.

Sunday lunchtime my next door neighbour who I have never seen before came round and said his microwave was broken and would I care to go out for sunday lunch with him?  With nothing better to do I accepted.

During lunch I got two messages - both of which puzzled me.  One from my sister saying that her baby had put on six ounces this week, and the other checking that I would be at the recording session tomorrow.  I puzzled over these for a long time until I realised that both were messages from two years ago - when my niece was just a few weeks old and I had gone out briefly with a man who played cello with the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra.

Telephones that work in Italian and which enter a time vortex are not my cup of tea, and after several hours I managed to get the back off the phone and change the Sim cards back.

My neighbour, I discover, is a fan of Doctor Who.  He spent the whole of lunch talking about last night’s episode and debating whether “Micky” will turn up on Torchwood next season.

Not, all in all, my best weekend.