I spend an hour shuffling around mobile phone shops, comparing specifications and feeling my brains gently melting, which confirms what I already knew: all mobile phones are shit this year. Then I allow my feet to carry me into the O2 shop and plant me in front of an austerely minimalist display stand where halogen lights play their spotlight beams across the polished fascia of a JesusPhone, a halo of purity gleaming above it.

"Can I help you, sir?" beams one of the sales staff.

"That thing." My finger points at the JesusPhone as if drawn to it by a powerful geas. "How much?" (That's the only question that matters, you see: I've already memorized its specifications.)

"The 64Gb model, sir? On an eighteen-month contract—"

The JesusPhone, I swear it is smiling at me: Come to me, come to me and be saved. The luscious curves, the polished glissade of the icons in the multi-touch interface—whoever designed that thing is an intuitive illusionist, I realize fuzzily as my fingertip closes in on the screen: That's at least a class five glamour.

The next thing I think is, I shouldn't have let myself get so close. But by then I'm on my way out of the store, clutching a carrier bag and a receipt that says I've put a dent in my bank balance big enough that Mo's going to have something new to swear about this month, to the benefit of Apple's shareholders.

I slink home with my metaphorical tail between my legs, clutching my shiny new JesusPhone like a consolation prize for my lack of a real life.

IT IS 4 P.M., THE COOL RAINS HAVE BROUGHT THEIR GURGLING freight of water to the overflowing gutter above the kitchen window, and I am sitting at the table with a laptop and a freshly jailbroken JesusPhone when the doorbell chimes.

(You didn't expect me not to jailbreak an iPhone so I can run unsigned applications on it, did you? That would be no fun at all!)

I get up and slouch towards the front porch.

"Surprise party!" It's a pair of familiar faces. Pinky is holding the umbrella while Brains hefts a pair of beer casks at me.

I take a step back. "Hey, what's the big deal?"

"Beware of geeks bearing beer." Pinky cocks his head and looks at me madly as Brains makes a beeline for the kitchen and clears some counter space. "We heard about the whoopsie and figured you might want some company."