You to Wolverhampton

Texting is a whole new language. It has all but dispensed with the wonder and virtue of the vowels instead now crowding the tiny screens with over confident consonants wrestling with meaning.

Older ... some might like say wiser but let's face it, we're probably just pedants ... wrestle with the new technology to ensure the vowels have a place on the tiny screen. I struggle with not being able to find apostrophes and commas. But I will not abandon the Good Ship Vowel. See will never be 'C' for me. You will never sink to the new 'U' lows that have befallen the textual machinations of the young more hurried texters.

Predictive text has a mind of its own. Less agile or chubby fingers cause all manner of textual chaos when texting in a hurry. You becomes Wolverhampton (a useful word in the New Zealand text lexicon) and sex is only a stroke away from pew. In haste, a number of nonsensical messages have been greeted by bemused friends who usually ring back to find out what the message was, hence negating the use of this cheaper form of communication.

When I bought my last mobile phone, the shop assistant asked 'What would you like to use your phone for?' I replied truthfully, 'Making telephone calls.' I nearly had to resuscitate the poor thing. I may be able to multi-task but I don't always want my 'things' to be able to do the same. It's just all too confusing.

Ah Technology ... gr8 if nt a bt flmmxng.