Well I’ve finally bought a printer and managed to connect it which means I can also print out my stories so I ‘m going to start this blog again after a rather long pause. I have even discovered a word press app for my ipad which will make things so much easier.

Sometimes, as I tap away on my little keyboard,I cannot believe that there was a time when we used typewriters or filled fountain pens with ink or that the only way to send a fast message was by telegram,that the only way to call someone was by using the family telephone or a phone box.

My parents were proud of our moss green phone which stood on the cover of a huge phone book where my mother hurriedly scribbled numbers in her tangled,anxious handwriting.

I  loved the purring, growling sound as you dialled the number and the ringing tone and the anticipation- were they in? Would their mother-or worse still,their father,answer.Fathers were so remote,mothers often disapproving or distracted.

Our telephone was in the hall right next to the front door.I used to sit on the bottom stair,where it was always cold,even in the summer,with my father yelling at me to think about the phone bill and my mother tutting and frowning and listening to what I was saying,storing it up for later.

There was little privacy.

Everything now is so fast.

But everything then seemed too slow!