I don’t use my phone very often.

I’m certainly not one of those moderns that can’t put the damn thing down for a minute or two. I tend to use it as a tool and not as some kind of alternative mental universe.

I use the torch function quite a lot. Living in an old house there are lots of dark corners and I spend a lot of my time on the floor shining the light under furniture looking for errant pills, or stray mice or something.

I use WhatsApp too and have all of five contacts with whom I have the occasional [once or twice a month?] chat. Daughter introduced me to that one as she kept texting photographs of the Grandkids which would take ages to load. WhatsApp uses my Interweb connection so it’s free and fast.

I have a couple of applications I use to solve problems on my little home network. They’re also handy for sniffing out free wifi when I’m out and about or trying to hack neighbours’ wifi.

The camera has come in handy but not very often.

I do actually use it as a phone, which may come as a surprise. I bring it with me whenever I’m out and about so Herself can call in the case of emergency. She usually manages to phone me [about something unimportant] just as I’m parking the car in the front garden. Her timing is impeccable. Daughter phones occasionally but only when she wants something. Bless.

Then there’s the text thingy.

I get the odd text. Someone might text to say they are going to call in [or why they’re not going to call at all]. I get texts telling me the progress of parcels. I get texts reminding me to put the bins out. Those latter ones usually arrive the day after collection. I get texts from a Chinese takeaway that I used a while back so they keep sending me cheerful texts suggesting I treat myself to a curry. Why do they always arrived just after I’ve cooked the meal?.

I got a text yesterday. It’s from SVUH and wants me to attend Suite 1 next month. That’s it. Date and time and nothing else.

I happen to know what SVUH is [I used to be an avid crossword fan] – it’s St Vincent’s University Hospital, sending me a message after two and a half years. But what the fuck is Suite 1? Do they want to remove my tonsils? [they’re sixty seven years too late]. Do they want to accidentally infect me with the Virus? Do they want to just see if I’m alive?

The last time I was in that hellhole was with my little heart “Event” two and a half years ago. It must be something to do with that? Are they like the Chinese place and just looking for repeat business [please have another heart attack – you know you want one]? Are they going to award me with a certificate for still being alive?

I was going to ignore it but Herself wants me to go. She says it might be important. Or maybe she just wants a few hours peace and quiet?

I have to wait until Wednesday fortnight to find out what it’s all about.

If the suspense doesn’t give me a heart attack in the meantime?