Because my Blackberry can’t take pix to save itself, here’s what The Age saw…

In the last century, it used to be said that television was the new fire – in that we all crowd around it to stare into its depths, mesmerised by the flickering light. Let me suggest that for this century, the new fire is the mobile phone.

I came to this realisation via two separate events – the first was while sludging through the mire of technicality associated with downloading tv programs onto your mobile, a genius invention that lets you further screw your eyesight on the tram to work, watching Two and a Half Men, because you haven’t got enough of Charlie Sheen, even though, anywhere in the world, at any given moment, some lazy network is playing a three-hour back-to-back marathon of hackneyed repeats.

The second time I realised that mobiles are the new fire is at a U2 concert last week. Bono and the boys were in fine form – before the concert, Amnesty was taking petitions through the crowd, collecting signatures for more public toilets in Nairobi (althoug I suggest such unmonitored spaces are ripe picking grounds for Nairobi’s thriving mugging scene, but then I stayed in hotels there, with toilets aplenty). Then, during the concert, Bono made a reference to the newly released Burmese leader, Aung Sang Suu Ky and the world AIDS epidemic.

To capture the moment and our hearts, he asked the 60,000-strong crowd for a minute’s silence and to raise our mobiles on high. I’m tellin’ ya: once, at concerts, it used to be candles, then cigarette lighters. Now phones.

It’s been just three weeks since Amr Diab’s latest album, Wayah, was released, and I’m convinced that all Egypt knows every song, every word.

For those playing catch-up (I was ignorant till I came to Egypt) Amr Diab is Egypt and the Arab world’s most successful pop star. He’s the face of Pepsi in this neck of the woods, and his face, for that matter, changes with every album. He gets younger and more sculptured with each year, a fact not lost on Egyptians. But they love him, so they forgive his love of the surgeon’s knife. The boy from Port Said is 48 years old this year.

This album, Amr’s been doing cheekbones and arms, which are on display in his tight, white singlet as he launches his brooding ‘street brawler’ look. Despite the tough-boy stare (think ‘Blue Steel’, people), he still adheres to the principle that all Arabic pop songs are composed primarily of just five words: habeeby (darling), hayeety (my life), donya (the world), alby (my heart) and bahebik (I love you).

This being Egypt, there is sport to be had with Amr’s album releases. The game is to see if you can download the album beforehand illegally from the internet, then blast it from your car speakers to the envy of all listeners. Indeed, those who managed it this year were infinitely coooooooool, as the album has been long delayed – being at least three months late.

Despite the delays and the internet leaks, my mate Wiki says the album sold more than 1.22 million copies in its first week, so he must be doing something right, eh?