A long time ago, when I was a better person, an Economist declared, in his charming British way, that he liked me because, for an American, I was remarkably uninterested in Consumer Gerbils.

Now, as a chat up line, that could probably win a prize. Also it was true, I wasn’t very interested in what the Economist was talking about, which after some moments of confusion turned out to be stuff like cars, televisions and washing machines (oh, I see, consumer durables). 

Reader, I married him.  I would like to say, for the record, that there were many advantages to being married to the Economist for nearly two decades.  He’d never mow the grass (on account of the opportunity costs) but he did teach me that it was okay to want stuff, that in fact under many circumstances I was doing good by wanting stuff. 

Nevertheless, on the whole, my wants are modest.  I like pretty things, but mostly I own trinkets, and I buy my clothes at outlet stores, final reduction sales or Costco.  I like housey things, but my life has been unsettled and nomadic for a couple of years so I no longer ever buy pretty cushions or crockery or candles, let alone consumer gerbils.

But the fact is, I like toys, and, for a long time my two favourite sorts have been bicycle stuff and telephones.  I guess they suit my peripatetic world.

A couple of Christmases ago, my gainfully employed elder son bought me a bicycle GPS thingy that tells me how far I have gone and what my heart rate was, and my speed and my average speed and how to find my way home, and I love it.  I never go on the bike without it.  This spring, when I quit my job my colleagues very generously gave me an Amazon gift certificate and instead of spending it on books (which I think they rather thought I would) I have spent almost half of it on a super light weight quick release seat post rack for my bike, a travel bag to fit the rack and a snazzy German made basket (good for groceries or poodle) – all extravagant stuff I never would have bought for myself.  I was so happy with my purchases that for a whole month I had the bike in the living room so I could admire these new accessories, stroke them as I walked by, strip away the velcro and pull the bag on and off, climb on the bike, balance the poodle and practice releasing the quick release lever.  The dog was very forbearing.

As for my other favourite: in England I had a phone, not a lovely sleek iPhone, but a great clunky thing. It didn’t fit very well in my handbag, but it did pick up email.  I tried to love it because it was a toy, and because of the email and because it was the very first (and only) thing I ever bought on ebay.  

I’m not normally a flakey sort of person (despite all evidence to the contrary) but I managed to lose the case (on my birthday) and afterwards carried the phone in a sock.

A couple of weeks later, I was racing (on my bike) in my lunch hour to the post office.  My daughter working for the VSO (British Peace Corps) in Uganda had sent an urgent SOS for knickers.  It seems that in Kampala there are no underwear shops, and, though she could buy anything else (including cell phones) on the street, she just couldn’t bring herself to buy underpants and bras.  Must be something about the way I raised her.

So I was sending emergency Marks and Spencer supplies, only I was late, and had the parcel on the bike rack and the phone in the sock and, well, I guess the phone fell on the ground (cause it was big and clunky and didn’t really fit in my bag).  As I was posting the parcel (where the guy in the post office shook his head and said this will never, ever, get there, but if you want to pay extra then they have to sign for it before they steal it), my friend, whom I was due to meet for lunch, was phoning to say she was going to be a little late.

Only I no longer had a phone.  It was lying in a sock next to my bicycle where it had fallen from my bag. 

Under normal circumstances I probably would have recovered my phone, in the sock, when I went back to the bike.  Not many people would want to pick up a sock lying by the side of the road.

But when the sock begins to play The Star Spangled Banner it is quite another matter.

I want an iPhone.  I really, really want an iPhone and if I get an iPhone I promise I will look after it and never, ever put it in a sock.