Dog and Bone

It used to be relatively simple, communication.  To get in contact with loved ones you either had to make the effort to visit them, or write a letter, or in times of bad news, send a telex.  I remember ‘in the olden days’( as my kids refer to my childhood with more frequency) when answer phones revolutionized our lives, and the fax machine was like something out of Star Trek.  Some people, even in those days couldn’t get the hang of technology – a very dear old soul in the office where I worked regularly used to send a fax by picking up the handset and shouting ‘I’m sending you a facsimile right now!’, and to carry a mobile phone entailed a handbag the size of a small suitcase. 

And then there was the car phone – originally attached by a long curly cable reminiscent of the original telephones, the driver had to act as a contortionist as he spoke into the phone, balancing it on his shoulder as he drove.  Even the later speaker phones were so directional that you found yourselves leaning so far into the windscreen area that your view of the road became rather like playing a game of Mario Karts than reality.

Now we are bamboozled with communication – emails superseded by social media and cloud systems mean that anything we write or say can be communicated instantly and around the world.  Now this isn’t necessarily a good thing – not everyone, for example, wants to read a blog such as this when they wake up to their morning cuppa.  And although you get to know the ins and outs of peoples lives, sometimes it gives you too much information.

My friends and I have always preferred the phone as a mode of communication.  The good old Dog and Bone. A phone call in my house is peremptory if you are male, ‘Yes, yes, no, see you’, pretty much covers it. However, I uphold the record for females everywhere with long phone calls to all of my friends.  (One lasted 3 hours – I know because BT were running a special at the time, free calls under an hour and so my friend kept ringing off at 59 minutes and then calling back again).  I even have my own phone chaise longue, and a retro silver phone with a curly lead so that I can give whoever calls my fullest attention by staying in one area.

This drives all the men in my household mad  - including Muttley.  As toddlers the kids used to get louder and louder whenever the phone rang, so does Muttley.  And it was always during a phone call that they got up to mischief … need I finish the sentence?

R called me from her car phone – now although I know a car phone is the necessity of a busy executives and mums, and indeed all of my meetings and appointments tend to be made via a journey somewhere – I do find a call from a car phone slightly irritating for two reasons, you don’t know who else is in the car, and the signal is often rubbish.  The latter was the case in this instance and as R was giving me the juicy gossip on what Alpha Mum had been up to in the car park at school, I was finding it hard to follow – especially as at that moment Muttley decided to bark…

‘Aahh’ said R. ‘Is that the dog?’ and carried on, as I vainly flapped the dog away and threw one of his tennis balls to occupy him for a split second.  Toddler like he was back for more and again I threw the ball and he disappeared.  In and out of signal area the phone went as the story progressed and it required absolute concentration interjected with a few ‘Noooo!...  She didn’t….she never…’s’ to keep the communication going.  At this point I realized that Muttley was too quiet.  And like toddlers, when they are quiet, they are up to no good…

‘Anyway, what I really phoned about was…’ and at that point R cut off completely without a crackle, or a crossed line, or a goodbye.  I shook the phone, nothing.  Then I looked up.  Unlike a toddler, dogs have sharp teeth…Muttley was sitting there, severed phone wire in mouth, looking immensely pleased with himself…

My mobile rang.  ‘I think we got cut off!’ said R.  I rolled my eyes at Muttley ‘You have no idea how true that is’, I sighed…