after video killed the radio stars

About a month ago, I lost a dear friend. A friend who had rarely left my side for nearly three years; a friend who accompanied me every day to and from work, who never failed to light up my day, didn't mind my off-key singing or bad driving... and fitted into my handbag.

Yes, I admit it. I was deeply attached to my iPod and I am still grieving its loss.

The death of said iPod was nothing short of dramatic. For the last two years, I have battled with a cheap made-in-China, bought-on-Trademe transmitter whose function has steadily declined. Frequent wrestling with the dodgy fuses and cheap plastic casing was its undoing; on Doomsday, the wires had actually come free and lodged themselves deep within the carpet on the floor of my car. I lack any sort of patience for malfunctioning technology; I shoved the mess aside (iPod still attached) stuck a CD in and drove home.

If the drive had been any longer than 15 minutes, my iPod wouldn't have been the only charred occupant in my car. In any case, by the time I reached home my sleek silver-faced companion was little more than a skin-blistering lump of grey metal.

I think my grief was less about the loss of 20gb worth of music (thankfully preserved by my computer). It wasn't really even facing the cost of forking out for a replacement between bills, my next warrant of fitness, petrol, food, new shoes, wine... a new iPod is quite a long way down the list.

No, the real tragedy was realising how attached I had become to 140 grams worth of metal and buttons.

I could argue it was a matter of convenience. My iPod was significantly easier to lug around than six bulky CD cases; not to mention safer (changing CDs whilst driving is something I do not endorse).

It's not even about having something that everyone has. Keeping up with the Cool Kids. Ipods are almost outdated now anyway - everyone I know has an iPhone.

If I'm honest, I think it was the fact that I could show I had music. And that I could have that music anywhere, anytime. Music I loved, music I hated, music I didn't care for one way or another. Song after song, album after album; every artist I had ever heard of and some I hadn't. Twenty gigabites of sound I had spent years collecting. I don't even know what a gigabite is. All I knew was that I had a lot of music, and that meant I was Knowledgeable. I had Taste.

Without the iPod, I am shamefully reduced to nothing but six CD cases of (mostly) burned CDs. My true identity is revealed. To real collectors of music, I am a fake. An imposter. I am no longer able to hide behind the satifying click-click of a scrolling menu and a illuminated screen.

If there's a lesson in this, I don't want to hear it. I can afford neither a new iPod nor 'real' CDs. And I refuse to fill my car with blank-faced CDs covered in sloppy handwriting.

So, until either Santa comes through or I win Lotto, I am back to how they did it in the good old days; Radio New Zealand and my own vocal chords.

And driving solo.