As an aging adult in my late sixties, I believe my life experiences and observations allow me the freedom to offer my humble opinion of modern behavioural trends.
One such trend which is topical and irksomely pervasive is the compulsion to pay more attention to a mobile phone than the surrounding people and environment.
I find it quite offensive that people keep their phones within eyesight and reach and scrutinise it for new surprises almost every minute, notwithstanding participation in the conversation of company.
The terrifying sight of primary school cyclists pedalling along main roads while eyes-down and thumbing text messages is not uncommon.
App allure is clearly mesmerising !
I have muttered criticism and spouted off my horror and concerns frequently.
It is embarrassing to fall victim of that behaviour which I have so soundly castigated!
On my return from a fishing trip to Fraser Island with some gabbas* and a young son of one, I was determined to work on reducing my girth which had been subject of some very pointed comments.
So I arose before sunrise and dressed, pumped up my tyre (which was nearly enough to exhaust me) and prepared to launch on my first daily exercise.
As a techno savvy modern man, I had downloaded a cycling computer app onto my phone which tracked speed, distance, time, route, pulse rate and many other such things. I had even acquired a special mount on my bike for it.
I switched it on and coasted down the drive, but had to return for my spiky helmet (protection against swooping magpies). Now fully equipped I started on my familiar route through the suburb to the creek…
With mild concern I noticed that it seemed that the computer display was not showing distance travelled.
Fortunately it was a familiar road and no travellers were about at 5 a.m., so I could closely scrutinise the screen.
Concentrating and pedalling I rounded the corner and rode Whap! into the back of a parked car. I hit the road after my handle bar thumped my ribs. The same ones I whacked before…!
Looking around, I saw no-one was about and the car was unmarked. I picked myself up, got back on and my gears worked after a few creaks, so I rode off quickly.
My wonderful computer worked for another minute then the screen died. My battery was flat.
A bruise on the ribs serves to remind me that I must learn not to throw stones at people in glass houses or better still: leave my phone at home!
Some of you may detect a cycle of suburban tumbles: others are related in the links below.
*gabbas: Afrikaans slang for mates