THE WRONG MOMENT

Why is it that, despite calls to me being almost as rare as hen's teeth, the phone always rings at precisely the wrong moment?

There I was last weekend, just in the process of putting out breakfast and packing away the shopping, having recently arrived home after doing the our weekly supermarket run, whilst simultaneously I was trying very hard to listen to the final few balls of the day's play in that one-day cricket international which I'd been listening to since 3.30am, when that blasted tring-a-ling sounded and I was compelled to drag myself out of the kitchen, away from the radio, and pick up the receiver, even though I was pretty sure it was more than likely to be just another bloody cold call.

Sadly, it wasn't a cold call, but I think that I probably acted as if it was. With all my "Aha-ing" and "Um-ing" I feel that my conversation remained more than a tad terse, impatient and irritated throughout the call, despite the fact that the call was chock-full of things about which I really ought to have been concerned.

Sigh…

So, sorry about that.

I used to do much the same thing whenever my mother rang me and was telling me all about the events in the lives of people I didn't actually know.

It's just that…

Really…

You couldn't have picked a worse moment…

Well, of course you could very easily have picked a worse moment. I'm sure that in life there are many, many moments that could be far, far worse ones than that in which to receive a call, but there you have it.

I really ought to have said something, or asked a quick question like "Can I call you back, only…" but I didn't. Instead I just hung on like a lemon and gave the distinct impression, I'm sure, that I really didn't give a rat's kidney which is, of course, really not the case at all.

Nevertheless, I still imagine that that's precisely what it sounded like...

Because even I, insensitive soul that I am, realised pretty much as soon as I hung up and that, at best, I'd been surly…

Not, of course, that I was bothered enough to call back and explain. Lord, no… It was far too busy a moment for that, what with all the breakfasting and packing away and cricket-y listening that I still had to do.

And then hours, and then days pass, and the moment is gone, and returning the call becomes much more awkward than it once was and, of course, there's still the distinct possibility that I will choose precisely the worst possible moment to ring…

God…! How I loathe telephones...