It was a Saturday morning in 2001. I was doing a project at Uni on epitaphs, writing my own actually, and as part of that I went to do some rubbings of the headstones in Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral’s graveyard.
It was quiet, I thought it was safe to leave my rucksack whilst I went in to a corner to document a beautifully-engraved tomb that was tucked away. Whilst I was busy with my graphite stick, someone who looked very much like this guy stole my phone.
Strangely enough, I had seen him already, walking his dog. Didn’t think anything of it.
And, it wasn’t a good mobile. My uncle had given me it for the previous Christmas. It had a flip-down bit to speak into and the texts were in capitals, but I used it often and quite liked it for retro value.
I got home and rang the number a couple of times. He answered.
“Was that you drawing the gravestones?” he asked, without any embarrassment.
He said I could have it back for thirty quid. Thirty quid I couldn’t afford at the time, so he laughed and told me he was going to get stoned and watch the match… Liverpool were playing that afternoon, to secure a European place. they won 4-0. Plus ca change.
I managed to get a new, better phone. I forgot all about the mobile phone thief.
Meanwhile, his recreational drug habit got worse. Mine wasn’t the only phone he stole – and phones weren’t the only thing he stole. He also developed a habit of calling prostitutes whose notes to each other he found whilst walking his dog, which he then had to pay for… his life was a vicious and not very pleasant circle.
Somewhow, Gaz sorted himself out. He always tells people it was Istanbul that did it. This photo was one from the set he used with his agency application form, it got him the job in the call centre where he still works. I found it in a gutter a couple of years ago.
But even now he makes the occasional phonecall to a number he got somehow. Knows he shouldn’t. Sends the odd text too. Just wants someone to talk to.
