Jaspar Corncrake & Delia Verdigris, or, Where's My Phone?

Yesterday I set up my stall at the Fusion Sunday market in Newmarket Square, Dublin 8, for the last time. (Although, having said that, the last time was also meant to be the last time.) Anyway, I did the usual: set out my cards and prints and packets of letter-writing paper, then went round the still-assembling market, looking for someone who would sell me tea and some sort of breakfast. Back in my seat, I placed my book, copybook and pen in front of me, and then reached for my phone.

But my phone WAS NOT THERE!

I'd left it at home. I drank some tea nervously. I gazed about. I wondered how I would cope, not knowing who had said what on Twitter. Maybe someone famous had said something objectionable. Maybe someone else had quoted them and added a witty retort. I WOULD NOT  KNOW! I ate some almond-and-orange cake, which was delicious, but not as delicious as feverishly following an argument about lobsters.

I thought to myself: Calm down. You lived many, many years without a phone.

I took up the novel.

After a while, I put the novel down, and began to doodle in my copybook. I drew a little vampire. Then I drew a little witch.

I read more of the novel. I thought, this is great.

I went back to my copybook and gave the vampire & witch some friends: a dog, a cat. I wondered about the names of the vampire and the witch. I decided to call them Jaspar Corncrake and Delia Verdigris. Corncrake is a melancholy word to me, because the corncrake is dying out in Ireland. I called Delia after Delia Derbyshire, because I love the song "ziwzih ziwzih oo-oo-oo". I gave them a bat and turned a stray scribble into a spider.

I wondered how I could get rid of my phone for good.