Thursday, 20 September 2012

I predict a riot

I hate my phone. Well, that's not strictly true as it has an awesome camera and a Where's Wally? background which I love. What I DO hate is the mess I get into when I text someone. The invention known as 'predictive text' is meant to be a real boon to communication, but my clever little phone goes one step further. It remembers previous messages you've typed out, and if your message looks similar to a previous one my phone inserts what it thinks you're going to say. Which in some cases is pure genius. But in other cases, it's downright bizarre and makes me look like I have a kind of written tourettes. For example, when talking to a friend about a problem she was having, I managed to send her the message 'Not good fingers :( Hope you get it sorted'. Unless I thoroughly proof-read all of my texts before I send them, I'm likely to send a perfectly sensible message with the word 'bum' or 'cheese' randomly inserted in the middle of them. Maybe my phone knows this, and has a really evil sense of humour. It preys upon my quick fingered haste with it's minefield of possible embarrassing errors.

And not only that, but it also tries to trip me up with it's habit of replacing my frequent swearwords with innocent alternatives. I don't swear in front of the kids, so expletives in texts is kind of a release. It doesn't have the same effect, however, when I send The Husband a message saying "Some mustard's just cut me up in Asda's carpark, I gave the arsenal a right mouthful" or "I was out when that tucking delivery came for suck's sake!".  Life was so much simpler when I had to tap out everything letter by letter. It might have taken an age, but at least the margin of error was slim. I might just get rid of my fancy handset and go retro with a Nokia 3310 off Ebay. Bigger it.

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