I nearly gave myself fits yesterday. I was panicking, running around the house, praying, cursing, begging, tossing things in all directions, like some lunatic who just escaped from the local asylum.

All because I couldn't find my phone and I was expecting a call.

Fortunately, this sad little story has a happy ending. I managed to find my phone. I'd accidentally tossed it into the laundry basket with my jeans. Close escape.

Which led me to think about a lot of things. Mainly how dependant on my phone I actually was.

Its got numbers of all my friends in it. And several of these friends I would never see again if I lost my phone. The number there is literally the only teneous link I mantain with them.

I can't even remember a single number. I mean seriously. Every new friend you meet, every new client you shake hands with, every girl you dance with, every guy you get into a game of pool or soccer with, goes straight into the phone. Why bother even remembering?

When I was back in Primary, I actually wrote my friend's numbers down. Called them from my house phone often enough, and eventually the numbers would get engrained in my head. I still remember the house number of a friend who I've known since primary. And he still remembers mine.

Which brings us to today. How did people my age back then keep track of all the numbers??? I mean I can imagine the girls all having a neat little organiser where they keep all their numbers. But the guys? All I have a vague memories of little pieces of paper with numbers scribbled on them. And with all the numbers I have in my phone right now, I'd need a whole post-it pad to keep track.

If you really take some time to think about it, you realise how all these small little things are really big things. And how these little changes are really really big changes.

Imagine yourself maybe 10, 15 years from now. Imagine trying to tell your kids you actually used to write things down. On paper. Sounds a bit far fetched? I wouldn't know.

I felt a little lost for a moment when I thought back and imagined my children having experiences completely different from what I had.

My childhood brought a lot of good memories. And to realise that my children will have none of the kind I have, made wonder whether living in the past sometimes is such a bad thing at all.