Please dial 1

I just spent too many hours looking at rotary phones. I don’t need a rotary phone. I don’t need any kind of landline because only spammers ring the one I have now and I don’t think I should waste a rotary phone on scammers. They deserve nothing better than a temperamental Uniden that randomly hangs up on callers or sometimes puts them on mute, which is what I have now.

Still. Those rotary phones are pretty. I could put a pencil in the holes to dial, like a 1960s movie. That is, if I ever used my landline. Which I don’t.

When I wasn’t staring at vintage phones, I was finishing reading a detective novel. It was fine. I think I let it linger too long, though. I started reading it a year ago, then forgot about it because I started crashing through all Sally Hepworth’s novels. By the time I went back to it, I’d forgotten who everybody was and what all the clues were. Every time a character looked meaningfully at, say, a torn love letter or an overturned chair, I had no idea why. A sensible person would have flicked through the book to get the highlights before ploughing on but I’m not that person. I’m up to the next one in the series now, fingers crossed I take less than a decade to read it or I’ll be in trouble again.