For the consideration of others, please turn off your phone!

ROSIE DAVIES

Mobile phones. They have become so ingrained in everyday life that we would most likely not know what to do without them; holding them has become second nature, almost as if they’re an extended part of our hands.

Fiddling with their buttons absent-mindedly, or attempting to crack the various levels of games offers one way to pass time when waiting for a train, a bus, or friends. Issues with dodgy signal, the expense, the inevitable radioactive brain freeze and the weird deep-vein thrombosis feeling in your arm after using them for a decent length of time aside, they are extremely useful and in some instances life-saving.

But let’s all agree for a moment. At times, isn’t it easy to think that they’re the bane of modern life?

They manage to creep into every single facet of life, including places where they are categorically not invited. The theatre and the cinema are two that spring to mind. We’re all familiar with the ‘don’t let your mobile phone ruin the movie’ trailers, but as I’ve experienced so far, they don’t really work. I recently saw Harry Potter in one of those huge Odeon cinemas. Ten minutes into the film a girl four rows down got out her phone to browse Facebook. For crying out loud.

Aside from the fact that the light from her phone was terrifically distracting, who the hell starts social networking when they’re at the cinema? Who is that much of a slave to their cyber social life? And who has the attention span of a gnat to give up on a film so quickly? I personally managed forty minutes of The Wedding Crashers, a film so bad I have had constant nightmares about Owen Wilson’s nose ever since, before walking out. Even then I didn’t resort to my phone for comfort.

Then there’s the theatre. It’s more of a treat to go to the theatre, a little more cultured. Most of the audience will be of your parents’ or grandparents’ generation, so you’re lulled into the assumption that the majority have the decency and manners to turn off their phones, if they even own one.

Not a bit of it. Last night, whilst at the glorious Tricycle Theatre in Kilburn, a woman at the back let her phone ring three times before the eventually the actors intervened and gave her a good mouthful. Luckily, the play itself involved mobile phone sounds, so the cast could be fairly good-humoured about it. despite the outraged huffing and puffing from the audience. Unfortunately, the offender didn’t do much to help her fast-growing reputation as public enemy number one by calling out ‘I don’t know how to turn it off!’  Who has a mobile phone they can’t operate? I hope she thanked her lucky stars it wasn’t Shakespeare.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not 100% chaste. I’ve definitely heard mine whirring away in my bag on unsuitable occasions, trying desperately to cough loudly enough to cover the noise up. But I am bemused at the situations in which people think it is perfectly acceptable to use their phone, forcing everyone else to join in on the experience, whether they wish to or not.

We’ve all been next to the guy on the train forcing everyone within the radius of three carriages to know that he was ‘TOTALLY FUCKING WASTED LAST NIGHT’, and the vacuous girl who manages to have a conversation that doesn’t actually involve any real information. ‘I know, I was like totally…yah, I know, I just said to him like, it’s…really?! Yah, I know…I was like…oh my God, I KNOW!’ Why don’t the socially inept and those with little or no manners realise they are just being a plain sodding nuisance?

And then there’s dating. Most definitely NOT the time to constantly fiddle with your phone. We’d all like the person we’re sat opposite to think we are at a least relatively interesting, or attractive. However, here’s a stark warning: there are people out there who, on a date, will not only make you feel invisible by regularly glancing down at their mobile, but who actually have the nerve to text someone else whilst you’re talking to them, as if you’re just an interruption to their evening. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the hat trick: they’ll wave their phone in your face at some point to let you know they’ve received a text message which they are powerless to ignore, and make up some wet excuse to leave. I think I’d even prefer the fake emergency phonecall to that.

So, what to do? We can hardly get rid of them. But, just in case you do come face to face with those who ignore basic etiquette and manners from time to time, make sure you order enough surplus popcorn to throw at tossers in the cinema, and thoroughly enjoy the self-righteous moan you can have in the theatre when the perfect moment of poignant silence is broken. If in doubt, practise your best angry glare, and, if you can, move seats on the train. Better still, keep it in your bag once in a while, to savour the messages when you do finally have a quick peek at work. And most importantly of all? Sometimes, just sometimes – turn it off. Read more by Rosie.

Wrap up warm: there's a nasty bout of underdressing going around

ROSIE DAVIES

You can just imagine the scene. The sky is a clear ice blue; the trees are stark and bare; your breath leaves your body in a little cloud when you go outside. The first leaf you step on when you leave your house crunches under your heavy boot, rigid with frost. You inhale fresh, icy air and think, with a wistful sigh, ‘at last, winter has arrived.’

At least, you think winter has arrived. You have become quite excited over the past few weeks, thinking about the upcoming annual celebrations, like Halloween and Bonfire Night, and the official start to the mulled wine and firework season (short though it is). Pulling out musty winter clothing from the attic fills you with - well, joy - and you can’t help emitting a little squeal of delight at the thought of ditching your summer clothing and climbing into a new wardrobe altogether. Out come the boots, and the gloves, and the many, many scarves. The possibilities are simply endless.

And then you go for a little walk, or you meet some friends at the pub for a drink. Or, to get the weekly shop, you nip down to Sainsbury’s, dreaming of the delicious winter soups you’ll be making. Hmm, root vegetables. A glance in the wrong direction rudely interrupts these scrumptious thoughts. You screech to a halt in your tracks. A person, around your age, has just walked past you. You quickly glance down at yourself, checking to see that you really have donned thermal leggings, tights, woollen socks and boots (amongst other things), and that you haven’t jumped the seasonal gun. You look up and crane your neck to see the said person walking off in the distance, just to get a second look. No, you weren’t mistaken. They were indeed wearing FLIP FLOPS.

What is it with people who wear summer clothing, and, might I say, the most extreme summer clothing, in the depths of winter? What, I ask you, goes through their minds as they are getting dressed to leave the house? Can’t they see the frost on the pavement outside, or the icicles hanging from the drainpipe?!

I first came across this phenomenon at university, where I witnessed fellow (mainly male) students lolling about the campus in late November dressed in t-shirts, joggers and Havianas. Despite the fact that joggers are hardly the most flattering items for a man to wear at the best of times (can I apply the words ‘swinging about’ here?), it was even more ludicrous for them to have barely anything on their feet. Didn’t they get cold? Didn’t they get wet? Did wearing a selection of coloured Brazilian flip-flops really make them that cool? It’s tempting to think that the reasoning behind all of this is comfort and convenience.

I can understand the need to pop to the corner shop and back for a pint of milk in your pyjama bottoms and sandals, simply because you can’t be bothered to change and they’re the easiest things to slip on. I’ve even owned a few pairs of jogging bottoms in my life, and if they didn’t make me feel like a small, walking bin-liner with a saggy behind, I’d wear them outside all the time. They’re probably much warmer than a pair of jeans. But flip-flops, hot pants and vest tops? Ho-ho, you must be kidding.

It is precisely the thought, rather than the lack of it, that goes into all this that really rattles me. I appreciate the need to look attractive on a night out, but when I’m standing in a queue for a nightclub surrounded by girls in flannel-sized skirts, skin-tight vest tops and absurd heels, I’m torn between shouting at them and running home to grab my duvet in order to cover them up. It’s almost worst when the ridiculously inappropriate summer clothing is teamed with winter favourites; last weekend, on the way to watch a fireworks display, I spotted a girl wearing a t-shirt and a pair of flowery, cotton culottes, which just reached past her bottom. She was also wearing Ugg boots (shudder) and a very over-the-top faux-fur hat, with bobbles. This wasn’t comfort. It was called freezing your knackers off for the sake of fashion. A good combination it was not.

Perhaps my feelings over this issue stem from long-given advice on the part of my dear mother, who, when I was growing up and looking with mild envy at much cooler girls with miniature jackets, assured me that wearing the winter version of a crop-top would inevitably lead to a ‘chill on my kidneys’ and other assorted illnesses. I have occasionally dabbled in risky clothing decisions in the winter just to rebel, look nicer, or be a bit more original, but I’ve always come to the same conclusion. Blue lips, goose pimples, and chattering teeth? No, thank you. I’d rather have my circulation, and feel my toes at the end of the night. Read more by Rosie.

Never mind flat hunting; join us in our hunt for good manners

ROSIE DAVIES

I’ve just started the delightful task of flat hunting in London and, after just a few hours of it, I’m ready to give up. It’s easy to become disillusioned by London; it’s monstrously expensive, very over-crowded, and full of extremely rude people. I thought I’d dealt with my fair share of ill-mannered people, until this morning. When I started ringing estate agents.

I know these people have a reputation that precedes them, and it’s probably something they can never really escape or, indeed, do anything about. Much like tax inspectors and traffic wardens, estate agents must enter their respective worlds knowing they’re not going to fill the most popular of shoes. But, unfortunately, like their loathed counterparts, they are very much a necessity. Which is probably why some of them think they can get away with it.

My wrath was excited this morning by my very first call, so you can understand why I was at boiling point by lunchtime. The woman at the other end of the phone was practically sniggering before I’d barely opened my mouth; when I told her my budget she emitted a loud snort, then tried to cover her tracks by quickly rattling on about a ‘suitable property’. She made me feel like a complete waste of her time, and, to add insult to injury, corrected my pronunciation of my own name when I told her what it was. When I went on, with gritted teeth, to explain why I had pronounced it so, she laughed and actually said the words, “yeah, whatever”. The NERVE.

Unfortunately, any estate agent I spoke to after that didn’t really stand a chance, even if they were nice in a snivelling kind of way. Most of them seemed to be irked that I’d phoned them at all, broaching the rather worrying question of what they thought their office phones were for if not for speaking to customers. I realised very quickly that as a young female with a small budget, I carry very little weight in the property world. If the London housing market were the Masai Mara, I’d be the tiny insect eaten by the oxpecker which sits on the elephant’s back. ‘Insignificant’ doesn’t even cover it.

The crux of the matter, particularly when it comes to people like that ghastly woman from this morning, is that they know they’ve got you in a bit of a bind. Without them, flat hunting is a damn sight harder, and people who can’t stomach their condescending tones have to resort to using word of mouth or Gumtree. Believe me, I’ve tried both, and neither have been fruitful. The latter, when I last checked responses to my ad, was rather terrifying. Note to all ladies: steer clear of Gumtree users who use the words ‘nice lady’ and ‘willing to’ in the same sentence. Yuck.

My main point of frustration in all this is the complete lack of manners exhibited by people who are there, and who are getting paid, to help you. Quite what they think they’ll get out of such bad customer service is beyond me; they won’t get customers, for sure. But perhaps this is a minor glitch, and just beginner’s bad luck. Perhaps there is a glorious estate agent waiting for me around the corner, with a plethora of properties all snugly within my budget. And with lovely manners to match. Read more by Rosie.