Can you live for a month using only an iPhone to pay for things?

Christina Bonnington sure hopes so.

According to the tech press, one of the "missing features" in the iPhone 5 was the lack of "near-field communications", or NFC, technology. The promise of such tech is that it allows you to turn a phone into a programmable contactless card, and wave it at readers to make payments all day long.

As Matt Drance writes, there was never really any doubt that Apple would not introduce the tech in the iPhone, because although it's a promising technology, it doesn't actually have any use. At least, not today. And so Apple is waiting until it does have some practical applications before moving to roll-out.

In the meantime, one Wired reporter is finding out that it's perfectly possible to make payments with your iPhone today, NFC be damned. Well, not perfectly possible; but doable with a little graft.

Christina Bonnington is living walletless for a month:

You never realize how handy cash is until you don’t have any.

I learned this lesson one day last week when, overcome by hunger, I wandered into the Wired kitchen to grab a bagel for breakfast. I reached into my pocket and suddenly remembered I couldn’t pay for it. See, I’ve decided to spend a month living without a wallet, using my smartphone and various apps to pay for everything. We’re pretty wired here at Wired, but the kitchen still demands cash. Luddites.

Dejected, I went back to my desk and, facing a deadline and unable to venture out into the world, grabbed the first thing that came to hand: a granola bar that’s been sitting in the bottom of my backpack since CES. This culinary disaster was the one setback in what’s been an otherwise flawless week without a wallet, and it taught me a valuable lesson: Be prepared.

We'll see if she can pull it off.

A woman uses Square, a US-only app enabling any iPhone to make mobile payments. Photograph:squareup.com

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt