You guessed it, they hung up just as I got there.
I have an antique wooden phone in the passage, a cordless phone in the lounge, a fax and message centre phone in the kitchen, two mobile phones I am not familiar with and the landline in the bedroom which I usually connect only when there’s a power cut.
I sat down with a cuppa and opened the mail instead; one letter was an invitation to a nephew’s wedding in New Plymouth and the other to the Stratford Post Office reunion on the same weekend.
The wedding was great, the weather terrific and I caught up with a lot of “rellies”. The Sunday reunion was most memorable with exchange operators coming from Australia and all over New Zealand. Some I hadn’t seen for more than 50 years. We talked, laughed, ate and reminisced with lots of, “Do you remember when?” and, “What happened to so and so?’’
I was very grateful for the name tags we all wore. Still laughing and chatting, exchanging email addresses, phone numbers, postal addresses and promising to keep in touch as we went our separate ways.
On the journey home my voice seemed very husky and I had a sore throat as well as a persistent cough. You can’t have pleasure without pain I decided as I popped in another throat lozenge.
Then for three days I lost my voice – such a hardship for me. I would rather have lost my wallet.
I got withdrawal symptoms and was considering counselling. I hadn’t fixed the kitchen phone so I would sit on the bedroom floor answering the phone in a hoarse whisper gesturing in the air about my predicament, then gasp out my email address as an easier means of communication.
Desperation drove me to the doctor, who put me on some very strong steroids, which gave me a headache for six days but cured the cold and sore throat. I now jump out of bed each morning and am considering entering the Winter Olympics as I feel so good.
I’ve fixed the phone too.
The first message was the hay contractor inquiring when I wanted the hay cut to which I replied, “Yesterday”. One hour later two tractors with mowers chomped through the tall rye and clover in 28C heat in only late November. The hay was turned the next day then windrowed the next to be baled that evening.
Torrential rain was forecast for the following day, so it was decided to put the heavy outside hay into large wrapped bales – very useful to me with only a wheelbarrow to feed out with and it’s got a flat tyre. The rest was to go into conventional bales with baling starting at 6am as it was still 29C in the shade and the bales were heavy. Only the pick-up gang used another word and only one heavy.
By 8.30pm it was pitch black and no moon or stars to give any light. The baler was just crawling along as the dew was settling on the hay.
Then disaster struck.
With the tractor lights going out, I was the only one not being useful so I was asked to drive my ute next to the tractor baling and show him the windrows.
My eyesight is so bad I always take a thermos on town trips so that when I come across roadworks and can’t see the lights or stop/go signs I can pull over have a cuppa until another driver comes along so I can follow them.
This brought to mind the story of three elderly gentlemen discussing their ailments. One said his eyesight was so bad it was like looking through greaseproof paper. The next guy said his blood pressure medication made him permanently dizzy while the third chap said his arthritis was so bad he couldn’t even turn his neck.
Then the first chap said, “Aren’t we lucky we still have our licences and can drive?”
For 90 minutes I drove up and down that hay paddock almost wearing out the clutch in my ute until at 9.45pm the last bale fell off the baler and the rain started.
The lightning has blown out the fuse in the telephone again and I’ve got an appointment at the optician’s.
I hope it’s all over and done with before the second cut.
