Pavlov's Cat dragged herself guiltily away from the fascinations of the blogosphere as the ringing telephone in the other room brought the bolder of the tortoiseshells to the study doorway with that 'Aren't you going to answer the phone?' look on her face.
Just as well. PC had one 800-worder and one 1500-worder due by the end of the day and not only had she not yet started to write either of them, she still had 20 pages of the book left to read and 15 minutes of the video left to watch.
At the other end of the phone was PC's dad, 80 next birthday, calling from the supermarket where he was chauffering the sister with the newly-reconstructed right hand around while she did her shopping and such. He wanted to know if PC had just been trying to call him. 'By the time I got the mobile out of my pocket the bloody thing had stopped ringing.'
PC thought about the number of times she had tried to show him how to check for messages and ended up in a yelling match.
She thought about the number of times she had tried to explain that if ever she had been trying to call him, her name would appear on the screen. She knew this because she had set it up herself.
'Is W there?' said PC.
'Of course she's here, we're doing her shopping.'
'Give her the phone and let her check and see if there's a message,' PC said.
PC's dad began to huff and puff. 'Not going through that again,' he replied, gnomically. 'I don't take bloody messages.'
PC had a sudden flash of the day after her sixteenth birthday when he had tried to give her her first driving lesson and they had made it all of two hundred metres down the street where they lived before she had stopped the car, got out, slammed the door and stomped off home.
'Okay, fine,' she said soothingly. 'Forget I spoke. As you were.'
The Aged Parent began to chuckle.
PC hoped the call hadn't been about anything important.