A hysterical female voice was on the end of the telephone line that, because of her high-pitched alarmed tone, I couldn’t make out who it was. I passed the receiver over to my wife to see if she could decipher the caller’s problem.
I miss the old original phones. The ones with the huge round dialling face. It was an effort trying to ring an 8 or a 9 number on one of those cumbersome machines. Your pointer would trail round the track with a NASCAR’s differential until it reached the end of the line. Then you let go and the wheel spun back. Pure bliss. Continue reading “Call me Charlton Heston”