The phone rang this morning. It was a drama.

Back in the day,  the phone was a large black rotary dial model ATTACHED to the wall you never lost it. Yes children you read that right, the phone was physically ATTACHED to the wall. It was in a high traffic area of the home (ours was in the lounge room at the start of the hallway). If you wanted to talk to your friends you sat on the floor with legs spreadeagled in front of you while your Dad kept walking past muttering “how long has she been on that thing? They’ve just spent all day at school together, what the hell have they got to talk about NOW. For God’s sake can you move out-of-the-way”.

My children talk about privacy – I got privacy WHEN I MOVED OUT OF HOME.

The whole telephone thing was a pretty simple procedure. The phone sat in the one place, it rang, you answered it. It was incredibly low maintenance. It didn’t require a battery, or charging, or extra leads. It did just one thing, it allowed people to speak to each other.

The phone rang this morning. The children didn’t respond. After all Mum used to be an Executive Secretary then she went to a radio station and manned the open line switchboard, Mum is a PROFESSIONAL phone person. So frankly, there’s no need for them to move. Despite the fact Mum’s friends long ago gave up calling because they can never get through, it’s only the telemarketers who persist now, and guess what folks, Mum doesn’t want to talk to them.

So the phone rings. The children do their best impersonation of statues (despite knowing that the call will undoubtedly be for one of them – they leave it to their secretary for screening). I CAN’T  FIND ANY OF THE THREE PHONES.

Three phones. I know, what was I thinking? In my head there would be one in the kitchen, one in the study and one in the bedroom. Convenient. Well there’s three empty charging units in the kitchen, the study, the bedroom. It’s just that vital piece of equipment – the portable handsets – which are missing in action.

I toss cushions off the lounge, I throw grocery bags of the kitchen counter, I chuck the washing waiting to be folded off the dining table, eventually I follow the incessant ringing to the Hippie Child’s bedroom where I find all three handsets under her doona. I miss the call. So apologies if you rang me this morning. I didn’t recognise the number and I was on the way out to work so I ignored it. If you did actually want to speak to me maybe we need to work on a code, ring three times, hang up, ring back, say??

Of course this is only the home phone. Don’t get me started on the mobile phones – which need recharging, re-crediting, downloading and backing up – they are greedy for endless bloody attention.

Sometimes I pine for a simpler time.