As I sat down to dinner in a lovely old country pub my reservation was cancelled by my iPhone, which was having a tantrum.
The owner of this restaurant was serving us with a smile, we had been shown to our table, drinks and menus had been brought. But the buzzing lump of metal in my bag was adamant this was not happening.
My iPhone had packaged up a montage surprise, complete with a replay of our private conversation
I was experiencing one of those moments where reality splits into two: the one you are experiencing and the one your phone claims you are.
A lot of people obediently accept the phone’s version no matter what. This is presumably why drivers follow their satnavs into garden walls, or swerve along the motorway looking at pictures of dogs on Facebook.
‘It’s coming up on the left,’ said my friend as we were looking for a farm shop not long ago.
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