Don’t call me and I won’t call you either

We are supposed to be surprised that one in four children’s injuries at home occur when Mum is on her phone. That may also be the reason several home fires last week, when stoves were left unattended.

How can the accursed mobile be more important than your children? How can it absorb you in preference to your home?

And why do walkers insist on chatting merrily away as they walk out into the road? They blissfully ignore traffic in the mistaken belief that the cars, buses and lorries will always manage to stop or swerve to avoid them. My hatred for mobile phones is no secret. As a young reporter, I had to find a kiosk to call in my story to the newsroom copytaker. You needed lots of heavy copper coins that seemed to impregnate the red box with their smell.

Buttons A and B… one worn away with use as the GPO swallowed your cash, the other less well used on the odd occasion that you had to disconnect after your call went unanswered.

If you were lucky you could reverse the charges – providing the person at the other end would accept your call (and the cost).

But first you had to get the operator to answer your call, and then she had to ring the number on your behalf.

All the time there would be a queue building outside the kiosk as others waited, usually with little patience, while you made your long call.

You would think I would welcome the advent of the mobile – I don’t.

Now people think they can call you any time of day or night, anywhere on the globe, and you’ll be delighted to talk to them.

Well, some of us like to sleep. Some enjoy eating meals uninterrupted. And occasionally we simply want a bit of peace and quiet.

Some of us don’t want to take part in marketing surveys, reveal which way we will vote or participate in a surefire moneymaker – providing we meet some of our new-found friend’s early expenses.

That’s why I won’t answer the phone if I can possibly avoid it.