What has happened to the good old BT telephone box? The other day I
was staggering down Liverpool Street, late for an appointment, with the
battery on my mobile dead as a dodo. ’I know,’ I thought. ’I’ll use a
phone box - I’d forgotten about those!’
Indeed, clambering into the plastic box turned out to be a positively
Proustian experience. The faint smell of urine remained as heady as it
did in my youth. And as a skilled ad sales man, I felt obliged to cast
my eye over the ambient media, which promoted such services as ’Busty
Caribbean beauty - new in town’ and, ’Share a bubble bath with soapy
The digital readout said ’insert coins or cards’. I picked up the
handset and foolishly inserted 50p. It vanished. I waited. Nothing
happened. I pummelled the ’coin return’ button. Nothing happened. I
swore, and moved on to the next phone down the street.
This one boasted an even riper vintage of urine and more ads. ’Erections
demolished - only pounds 30.’ This time I was wary - and the phone only
ate 20 pence of my hard-earned cash.
I won’t even bother telling you what happened in the third phone box,
except to say that by now I was livid, stinking of piss and pounds 1.20
poorer. And of course, there’s nobody to complain to.
Got something to rant about?
Call 020-8267 4702 or e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org.