The Nokia Experience

Noel and mobile phones.


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Length: words

Notes: This is actually quite shit in my opinion but I figured I might as well post it anyway because it’s just going to go to waste otherwise.

The Nokia Experience by raynor

Noel stared purposely ahead of him, trying to read heat magazine instead of constantly glancing across to his phone which was lying there on the desk, taunting him with its blank screen and bright pink casing. It was like hell waiting for a text to come through, especially when you weren’t sure if one was even coming back or not. For the 5th time in half as many minutes he glanced down and rolled his eyes. Still nothing.

“It’s alright, alright, nothing to worry about,” Noel declared to the empty room. He checked around him to make sure that it still actually was empty, and that no make-up women or anything had come in and now thought he belonged in the loony bin. No, no make-up women. Just an empty room. “Come on,” he added, talking to the part of him that kept urging him to glance down at the empty Nokia screen. “Just read about Charlotte Church and how she’s getting fat again. Fuck the phone. Charlotte Church being fat is really interesting. She’s piling on the pounds cos she’s in love…too many vindaloos and pints…and fags…and…oh fuck it.”

He put the magazine down and sighed to himself. Sometimes heat was really fucking harsh. However, not as harsh as the Nokia. The Nokia was really more of a mocking bitch- like being chucked a lifeline when half of your body had already been mostly chomped to death and was in the mouth of a shark. Sometimes he thought as the invention of the mobile phone as a hindrance to society. People were always pulling them out and having a look at them to see if someone had bothered to send them a message in the most inappropriate places. Just the other day when he’d been doing the live show with Julian, some fucker in the front row had been texting away when they’d been doing the best parts of the show! Who in their right mind would turn away from the pink spangly pants of Barratt to check their fucking messages?!

Noel put the magazine directly over the top of his phone so that he wouldn’t glance at it anymore. It didn’t help that he always had it on silent. He’d explained it to Julian once that he liked it on silent because then when he looked at his phone; if there was something there waiting for him it was like a present. Julian had asked him if he was on crack.

He looked around the room to try and find something else to distract him. The problem was that in a big empty room there’s really nothing much to look at. Noel stared decidedly at the old grey sofa in the corner with foam stuffing sticking out of it at random angles. “Probably shouldn’t have picked at that fucker so much,” he said out loud, before glancing around him again to make sure that he was still alone. No more talking out loud, he told himself, making sure to use his “in my head” voice. Talking out loud is what crazies do before they head off to the asylum. Better to keep it quiet. Perhaps sing some Gary Numan.

Noel had just finished singing the third verse to “Cars” in his head before temptation got the better of him and he lifted heat up and glanced at his phone again. A message! He triumphantly banged the desk in front of him and unlocked his phone, reading the message with a smile on his face. “Fucking too right!”

He had just got through the first verse of “Cars”, singing out loud this time and doing impromptu shape making when Cath the wardrobe lady walked into the room, saw him and walked back out again. She shook her head as she walked down the corridor. As fun as the Boosh boys were, she had a feeling that they were all actually pretty fucking insane.

Noel carried on dancing, completely unaware. He glanced at his Nokia again and his smile broke out into an all-out grin. Some messages are worth waiting for.

Sure, your place at 9. Love Julian.