A Weekend Without Blue Dots

Anna: So, are we really doing this? A whole weekend with no phones? Jack: That was the agreement, and I've already told my mother, who took the news with the composure of someone being informed that the sun had been cancelled. Anna: Ha! Mine wanted to know how she'd reach me in an emergency. I said the cabin has a landline, which she found only marginally more reassuring. Jack: Funny, isn't it? Fifteen years ago, nobody would have given it a second thought. Now an unanswered message is practically a crime. Anna: I'll admit I'm slightly dreading it. Not the quiet, exactly, but the withdrawal. I caught myself checking the weather on my phone yesterday while looking directly out of the window. Jack: Which is precisely why we need this. Although I'd be more convinced if you hadn't glanced at your screen twice during this conversation. Anna: That was pure coincidence. Anyway, what are we taking to fill the time? Jack: Board games, a ludicrous quantity of food, and, as a concession to my pride, a paper map. I refuse to be reliant on a blue dot. Anna: And a camera? Jack: Now there's a loophole. Are you proposing we use the camera on a phone? Anna: No, a proper camera. My uncle's old film one. I've got three rolls, so we'll have to be disciplined. Thirty-six pictures each, and no deleting. Jack: Brilliant. That's the most appealing part of the whole plan.