
At home I’ve more or less stopped answering the phone. If Nigel is in he will answer it. If he’s out we’ve agreed it’s probably better if I let it ring. The chances of it being someone phoning me via Next Generation Text are infinitesimally low. The times Nigel has had to come home and solve the mystery of a muddled conversation in which I have completely misunderstood the caller (indeed sometimes misunderstood who the caller IS) are many. It wasn’t worth it. Let it go. It’s a shame the Tesco delivery man can’t ring to say he’s held up, but life goes on.
However, the other late afternoon the phone rang. It was dark, raining and I had been starting to fret about Nigel’s absence with our dog Izzy. Continue reading







