Telephones

Back in the 70s, a friend told me recently, his brother went to work in Canada for six months. He needed to get a phone installed and, being used to UK bureaucratic procedures, mentally steeled himself for the gruelling task ahead. Debating if it was even worth the effort as the waiting list for a home phone in UK at that time was 16 weeks, he placed the call. "Certainly sir" said the chirpy girl at the other end. "Are you sure one will be enough? And what colour would you like, black, white, blue or this month's special: avocado?" He ended up with three phones all in avocado and they installed them that afternoon. Of course, the story spread like wildfire when he phoned home with the news and it was all anyone in the street talked about for a fortnight. Sure the Brits were impressed with Canadian efficiency but there was also an underlying sense of disappointment. If it was that easy to get then where was the fun in having one?

It made me think back to our first phone. Also avocado. I was about twelve years old. There weren't enough lines available to keep up with the demand so for years we had a party line. That sounds pretty cheery but it just meant that we shared a line with a neighbour. If she was using the phone then we couldn't and vice versa. It also meant you could listen in on her conversations but as dying of boredom would be the price you'd pay for that sin we never bothered.

Yesterday I went out to the shops (a two minute walk away) and half way there realised I hadn't brought my phone. I was about to go back and get it when I thought, "Duh! it wasn't so long ago that I didn't own a mobile phone. I managed perfectly well without one for years why do I feel lost without one now?" I lived in Africa and didn't touch a phone of any sort for two years. I lived in Borneo and could only get enough of a mobile signal to send even a text message by standing outside the staff toilets of the local primary school and leaning over the verandah as I pressed 'send'. And yet I have become addicted to the dubious thrill of being constantly contactable. It's not like I get regular calls from Brad Pitt (sigh) so I can only assume it's a type of modern day vanity. We all think we're so important.

Any other theories?
Tell me your telephone stories.

Jane Austen and the Vampires

Have you ever wondered how vampires look so tidy when they can't ever see their reflection in a mirror? Another of life's little mysteries. Back to that later.

A friend emailed today to say what a perfect day he'd had driving around for miles and miles singing along with Bruce Springsteen. Somehow that manages to encapsulate all my ideas of hell in one sentence. I am spending my holiday alternating between watching Jack Bauer save the world from nerve gas in Season 5 of 24 and lying on my bed reading and eating ice-cream. I am reading a book a day pretty much which perhaps says more about my choice of literature than my reading speed. Yesterday I amused myself with the original novel (by PD James) the movie Children of Men was based on. It was very good but I could see that the movie writers had followed the usual formula: summarise the book in one paragraph then get someone who hasn't read the book to write a screenplay based on that summary. The book and the movie were both entertaining but it was hard to see much of a connection between the two.

Today's offering had an attractive cover with a prominent quote from a critic (or the author's mum) saying, "If I could eat this novel, I would..." Jim often refers to my 'eating books' because I seem to get through them so quickly perhaps I should be checking out the calorie count.

The book? It's called The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler. Here's a sample:
Bernadette was our oldest member. Just rounding the bend of sixty-seven. She'd recently announced that she was, officially, letting herself go. "I just don't look in the mirror anymore," she'd told us. "I wish I'd thought of it years ago...
"like a vampire," she added, and when she put it that way, we wondered how it was that vampires always managed to look so dapper. It seemed more of them should look like Bernadette.

Today I am wearing a pair of shorts that Jim threw out as being too old and shabby and a t-shirt with attractive coffee stains. Here's to growing old gracelessly.

Anybody reading anything interesting?