We have a talking telephone at home. By that I mean it tells us who is calling, which is why I never answer the phone when you call… And until the Resident IT Consultant reprogrammes the phone, we will keep being told that it is Aunt Scarborough calling, when in fact it is Aunt Ochiltree. (Not only did she move into her flat, but she kept the phone number.)
A couple of weeks ago, just as Gibbs was going to hug DiNozzo (the Resident IT Consultant was out, so I was watching the last episode of NCIS a second time) the phone rang. It was ‘unavailable’ who called.
Now, usually that means it’s a nuisance call, but occasionally it’s one of our own, proper foreigners, so I tend to answer. There was a hesitant ‘hello’ at the other end, and I waited for whoever it was to say more. He didn’t sound like the usual call centre sales person/swindler.
He went on to say where he was calling from, at which point I told him who he was calling, because he didn’t actually know.
I’d called my Swedish optician earlier that morning to make an appointment, but got the answer phone, which happens often as he works alone. I was intending to call back later, as you can’t leave a message.
But the poor man had been so excited to find a UK code that he simply had to phone back to see if it might have been me. And it was me. So we had a little chat, and I made my appointment.
And I put it in my diary, which I then didn’t take with me… Reminds me of the time I went to see him and discovered he’d moved shop, and I had no idea where I was supposed to be going.
I need a wife.