Ohh, Jemima. How we love thee. Although all we’ve ever seen of you is your byline and small image, shown here, and we only just heard about you last week, your smiling visage and Cockney rhyming slang — we think that’s what it is — are so refreshing in this sea of pale, pasty men with large bums. We’re so happy that you finally bought an iPhone. Welcome to the social.
OK, so I caved in. I could have bought one in the States and knobbled it, I could have waited six months for a 3G version, I could have bought something far better spec’d for far less or I could have ignored all the nonsense and carried on with my beaten up Sony Ericsson.
Instead, I went to the O2 store in Notting Hill on Friday after work: straight in, no queue, five minutes, job done. Bob is, as they say, your Dad’s brother.
Bob is your Dad’s brother. My gosh. Marry us. Brits — who is this Miss Kiss and why did she just suddenly appear like an angel in our hearts?
The iPhone – a confession [Guardian]