I was straight after it, of course. Reflex decrees you jump out of the path of oncoming traffic and stick your hand down a toilet to save your expensive phone (at this point I should thank the staff of Sheffield station for keeping their facilities so clean). I swaddled the poor thing in tissue and took it apart, water dripping out of the back cover as I did so. I dried it off as best I could and stuck the pieces in the box with the teapot.
When I got it home I gave it a blast with my hair-dryer. Alas, I already had the feeling that this time I'd well and truly dropped myself in it. I gave it the night to dry off - airing cupboard and then a bowl of rice - and for a few brief seconds on Saturday morning it worked. Then it went kaput again. But at least my SIM card was still in working order. That gave me a little wiggle room. I still have six months on my phone contract and now at least I could get a new handset with the minimum of fuss. However, to utilise the benefits of my contract it had to be a smartphone. I looked at my bank account and grimaced. Then my father stepped in with an offer - a cheap smartphone as an early birthday present. I would've hugged him if we did things like that in our family.
A few hours later I had a new Samsung phone. Although I still have the same number all my contacts got flushed away so I need to build them back up again (email me!). It's a nice phone, although I'm tearing my hair out at the touchscreen keypad. I'm sure I'll get used to it or, y'know, stop texting completely.
As Doris would sing: "Oops, there goes another problem, kerplop!"