Goodbye Moto

I hate mobile phones. These days it's almost impossible read a book on a train without being interrupted by a hideous ringtone followed by someone shouting banal comments into their phone. Businessmen are the worst, particularly the ones who sound like second-rate actors in an afternoon TV soap:

'Well, that's no good. Tell APG they've gotta fast-track the order otherwise we lose the account...yeah, there are some operational issues...we need to be more robust about the schedule...'

Then you discover they're talking about incontinence pants.

As for texting, what's all the fuss about? It's the John Bull Printing Set of the 21st century. I really can't be bothered spending five minutes tapping away at keys to produce a message that could be spoken in five seconds. Life's too short. That's why I'd never contemplate Twittering.

I know that Twitter is becoming increasingly popular, but I don't get it. There's a limit to how much I want to know about someone's life and on Twitter, even Stephen Fry is boring.

But worst of all is the camera function. It is the Kodak Instamatic of the digital era, producing blurred, grainy images that look as if they've been copied from CCTV. I will never understand those people who record the most important events of their lives in glorious 0.3 megapixels resolution. I briefly used my phone's camera function until I discovered how crap it was.

Here are some of the pictures I took:

One evening I was walking to Lewes station when I saw these oil paintings, attached to some railings. I don't know why they were there. The next day they were gone.

This giant human figure, lying on the floor of Victoria station, made the normally grim-faced commuters stop and smile.

This is the famous Lewes Dancing Man, strutting his stuff to a Rolling Stones track. During the last few years he has acquired a minor cult status and there are now videos on YouTube.

Überchav, sitting opposite me on a train. Luckily he was too engrossed in his game to spot me taking photos. The camera failed to capture his wispy little blonde moustache.

These two drunks staggered around a shopping arcade before collapsing on top of each other. What began as a comic scene ended up being sad and touching, as two men nestled-up together and fell into a deep sleep.

In my last shop I reluctantly agreed to let a local woman have an 'angel healing' evening. Before the event began she requested some time alone on the shop floor so that she could 'cleanse the space'. She was standing right in front of the CCTV camera and I'm afraid I gave into temptation.

As you can see, some of these images might have made good photos if they hadn't been taken on my crappy camera phone. I shall never use it again.