Wendyl Nissen: Ringing the changes

Most people back from the United States go on a diet as a reaction to the fact that an average serving over there would feed four and everything comes fried - even the salads.

On my return from the US I put myself on a diet, but not that one. I'm on a cellphone diet. For a month I will not use my cellphone as a protest against two things: the ridiculously high cost we pay to use them compared to other countries, and the terrible service you get when things go wrong.

I know cellphone charges are cheaper elsewhere because I had to get a phone in the States so I could ring Vodafone in New Zealand to find out why my phone wouldn't roam. After talking to two customer services representatives before I was cut off, I swore off cellphones.

"That's it! No more cellphones for me!" I shouted to no one in particular on a New Orleans street before having a quick rethink. "Once I get back to New Zealand, that is, because I really need to keep in touch with my kids!" A cop with an impressive hand-gun glanced in my direction but thankfully failed to arrest me for disturbing the peace.

A holiday just isn't a holiday if I worry about the kids. I stress that they've run out of food, the hens have died or Rodney Hide's got himself in a bit of a pickle. So I settled for dirt-cheap calls to New Zealand on my American phone and saved thousands in roaming costs to Vodafone.

I arrived back and called to say my phone was no longer required, using my stern "I've had enough" voice. I was informed that they would be charging me $160 for the privilege and their termination technicians were busy and would call me back. At the time of writing this column, that was two days ago. I'm still waiting to be terminated, begging the question just why the termination team are so flat out. Are cellphone diets the new black?

So I have begun the diet regardless, pretending my phone has been cut off and already I'm feeling so much lighter in time gained and imagined financial savings.

I can now leave the house without being interrupted by calls. I feel so wonderfully disconnected and free. I'm not sure when I became convinced that I had to be available to other people every hour of the day. It's not like I save lives or deliver babies, or drugs, so most can wait a few hours for me to get back to them.

The perfectly nice phone that sits on my desk, connected to a landline, is getting more use and I'm enjoying its clarity of signal and resistance to cutting out during calls.

I have realised that most of my texts came from friends either arranging lunch or beginning their message with: "OMG you'll never guess!" The texts I sent were usually: "Don't feel like walking", which is code to my husband that I've had a long lunch and it would be really nice if he picked me up.

And the calls I get are mostly from my husband, my mother, my kids or old-fashioned clients who like to have a conversation rather than email. All of these things now happen on the landline, just like they used to, free. If you would like to join me on the cellphone diet here are the rules:

I will not become a text bludger similar to those people who "don't smoke" yet suddenly find the urge and cadge cigarettes all night. If I need my husband to pick me up I will assume that eventually he'll wonder where I am and turn up at SPQR before dark. Or dawn. Or I can get off my arse and walk.

I will wear a watch, so I know what time it is.

I will resist the urge to become predictably evangelical about my cellphone diet and encourage others to join my protest.

I won't accept any offers from Vodafone rivals to use one of their cellphones.

I reserve the right to stay on this diet for longer than a month and possibly my lifetime.