Reasons why Fran is avoiding the phone

My husband sent his flute in for repair a couple of weeks ago and has been waiting for the shop to call.

Just now, while I was watching TV, the phone rang in the hall and I went to pick it up. A man's voice said, 'It's the music shop. Can I speak to Mr Hill, please?'

I don't know why, but I said 'Speaking.'  I swear the menopause gives women a form of Tourette's.

'Oh,' he said, clearly surprised that Mr Hill had a woman's voice, especially as, in the shop two weeks ago, he'd had a deep bass voice, substantial facial hair, and was wearing a flat cap.

I wasn't sure how to backtrack.

'One second,' I said, and stepped into the kitchen where my husband was making bread.

'It's the music shop for you,' I said, thrusting the phone at him, keen to escape the embarrassing situation and get back to watching Homes under the Hammer.

'They'll have to hang on,' my husband said, making no attempt to keep his voice down. (I've run him through the 'Remember they can hear you' lesson for 36 years now and it's gone in one ear and out the other it hasn't even gone in one ear.) He said, clearly irritated that I was waving the phone in his face, 'I need to put some cling film over this bread dough first or it will dry out.'  He opened a drawer, pulled out the cling film box, and started unravelling some to lay over the top of the bowl holding the dough.

As you all know, cling film only comes out of a box willingly when you're not in a hurry. Although 'hurry' is pushing it as a description in this case.

And then he spent another hour few seconds making sure the cling really clung.

'Can't that wait?' I whispered, standing there with the phone while he faffed about, tightening the cling film on the bowl's rim and smoothing it down. The man on the end of the phone was probably thinking the same. After all, he'd only rung to say 'Your flute is ready', not to have a lengthy Socratic debate or recite the football results.

Also, he was very likely keen to get off the phone before I embarked on another round of 'Guess the gender'.

'The dough would have dried out,' my husband repeated, putting the cling film back in the drawer.

'In thirty seconds?' I hissed.

He wiped his hands on a tea towel, thoroughly, then at last took the phone from me.

'Hurrah!' I said, and scampered back to the TV.

A minute later, my husband appeared to tell me that the flute needed a further repair so there would be another week's delay. The shop would ring back when it was ready.

'Well, I don't care if your dough goes as dry as a stone,' I said, 'but you're answering the phone for the next fortnight.'

'He'll be with you any minute. He's just wallpapering the lounge and making sure all the edges are straight.'

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