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Which is tragic, and stupid, but more pressingly:
R.I.P. the evil hum of my Goblin ringtone.
I feel blue...
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
what, you work in a riverside office and you just leaned too far out the window?
I work in a riverside office and I was leaning on the balcony and when I went to change the song on my iPod I dropped the phone in. I'll never be able to listen to Modey Lemon's Caligula again
who has been living in the Thames for the best part of two decades.
We all need friends
WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Time to get a decent phone, you tramp.
You don't get to comment.
I find those with the flashy latest models consider them a status symbol and are probably more trampy than thames boy
What if you just like a newer phone because it's a bit quicker than the old slug you had, has some useful extra features but don't consider it a status symbol?
It's how I roll...
That thing would have no friends down there
Profondo Rosso theme. Ended when I got a phonecall at about 2am and it scared the ever loving hell out me and then-girlfriend.
you need to start buying a better brand of mascara.
Maybe when the sea level rises your house will be spared.
Is that rather like sacrificing a rat that's infesting your kitchen to Neptune instead of your first-born daughter and expecting him to suck it up?
He don't keep up with modern technology. He gets up at 5am and rides the Duckbus for no reason.
built like a soviet tank, those old nokias. if you fished it out itd still be working.
<3 clunky but incredibly reliable things
I'm only on my second mobile and I'm cooler than all of you lot.
He wants a website populated by hip young trendy things who do everything online and buy the latest kit, yet between 9-5 we're all chatting babyclothes, 'I wish my mobile could send text messages', favourite scent of Jif and the agonies of gout.
Oh fucking hell. I give in. I blame my dodgy hips.
Sri Lanka/Ceylon and Kampuchea/Cambodia or myanmar/burma.
I'm allowing it.
i feel your pain. I can't find my phone of four years right now
phones are for crims apparently
but that was sacrificed to whatever god it is that has dominion over the track at Tottenham Court Road's westbound Central line platform. I like to call him Centlor. Now my phone turns off whenever I put it down with anything other than supreme care.