If you look at your new Nokia/Siemens/Orange/Bluetooth mobile phone with its catchy name which sounds like it should be on a watered down racetrack rather in your lint-free pocket, a minute camera that you sparsely use now but remember a time where you actually remember taking so many pictures with it, that your eyes bled reviewing them and the annoying ring tones which you constant aggravate people with while you change it on the tube as they try to 'commute'. Now flip over to the address book of that incredible Dick Tracey gadget and what do you find?

Well I know what I'll find from my ancient beast, a list of random numbers including hotels (another story over a bottle of red wine), old work numbers which you have yet to delete, my bank account number under the code work 'Payroll', women I once dated and possibly had horribly bizarre instances, information lines which can tell me whatever I need to know such as the name of the dog from Fragglerock, as well as bizarre digits which once possibly had some purpose in your life and one number marked 'Home' which has more importance than the rest. Now consider it is not the place you have been living the last eight months of your ill-equipped life in amongst the throng of Antipodean's, European's, South American's and the odd English lad who have passed through your cave like a circus of gypsy's while you are still wondering why you aren't the ringleader yet. 'Home' is where I grew up, it reminds me of the safe, warmth and secure confines it brings when I look at that grey now-foreign overseas number, it's family but it's so far away.

But then you have the names. Lots of names, so many names that you have to flip through them and do the who's who. Someone you have known for a few years to someone you met 4 months ago at a fateful smoke-filled venue and you have been meaning to call them... next week. I call them acquaintances or randoms, people who have existed in my life for some brief stint and then remain a memory until I find the courage and reasoning to actually delete them from my existence as that message which pops up 'Erase? Joe Smith - Yes or No' always makes me sympathetic to Joe's cause. Do I make the decision to contact Joe now through some peculiar SMS that may make them think they still have an acquaintance? Who are these people? How did they manage to infest my phone and then become forgotten? How many address books am I forgotten in? Who will be my next random? But I think the biggest question on your mind right now is what really was the name of that damn dog from Fragglerock?