Phone: She literally can’t stop touching me.
Book: She touches me too. I get touched.
Phone: I am her constant companion. I’m with her all the time. A shadow. A twin. A better self.
Book: She looks forward to time with me. She thinks about it. She talks about it.
Phone: Er, hello – she said if she ever lost me, she would ACTUALLY die.
Book: People say that about heroin, you know. Addiction is not love, everyone knows that.
Phone: Listen, you boring bastard – you and your cracked spine and your, your, your un-updatable pages – what can you tell her about her emails or when her cab is arriving or JK Rowling’s Twitter spat with Piers Morgan?
Book: IN A GOOD WAY nothing.
Phone: You don’t have an inbuilt torch. You can’t play Purple Rain or let her watch YouTube videos documenting Kendall Jenner’s style evolution or clips of that time Holly and Philip were drunk on This Morning.
Book: You’re right, you’re right. It’s such a curse to only have the ability to improve her mind. I have to ask myself daily where it is I’m going wrong.
Phone: God, you people are so sanctimonious. “Look at me and my big words and my important stories about warring Russians and Hobbits.”
Book: You stop her sleeping.
Phone: Only because I’m so interesting.
Book: Yes, fascinating, in such an eye-damaging, brain-stimulating-when-she-should-be-sleeping, check-your-emails-at-the-weekend-thus-never-switching-off, texting-at-the-table way.
Phone: If she is separated from me, she panics. She fully panics and you know she does.
Book: Everything about that sentence is bad and not just the grammar.
Phone: I would emoji the arse off you for that if emojis weren’t totally wasted on you.
Book: What is this emoji you speak of?
Phone: Small images that express a thing or an idea. It’s practically a whole language now.
Book: OK, you need to go and spend five minutes with yourself if you think my problem is in any way language-related.
Book: That doesn’t actually make any sense.
Phone: It does in my world.