running out of change

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In the early 1980’s student’s didn’t have mobile phones.  

I lived in downtown Birmingham on the 18th floor of a towerblock full of students.   The towerblock  had one,    ONE,  public phone in the entrance way.   Always a long queue  and no soundproof surround.     I rarely phoned mumsie.   Only when I was near a phone booth that didn’t have half a dozen people queuing  to use it.   Normally this would be  in the early hours of the morning at gig’s.     I would use the change I had saved for the bus home to call mumzie.     She wasn’t always best-pleased by my sense of timing.   The calls went something like

Wendy:   Helllllloooooooo mumsie!

Mumsie: do you know what time it is?

Wendy: It’s TIME to call mumzie!

Mumsie:   Have you been drinking?

Wendy:   could well be!

Mumsie:   Oh Gwendolyn!   Are you eating properly?

Wendy:   Chips and curry sauce fresh, ahem,  from the van,   YUMMY!

Mumsie:   we worry about you darling

Wendy:   ARRRRR!   You’re so sweet,   there’s no need to worry mum,   I’m nearly all grown up but I’m fast running out of change…


Mumsie:   goodnight dear, take care…

One such call happened  after listening to the live version of this little gem…

Spear of Destiny sing They’ll never take me alive

running out of change
rate wendys scribble

4 bits of lovely banter on “running out of change”

  1. Scarlet writes:

    I sometimes wonder what my teenage years would have been like if I’d had access to a mobile phone. I’m sure I would have sent inappropriate texts. I’m quite pleased we didn’t have them.



  2. Madame Defarge writes:

    Argh, sounds like too many calls to my husband these days. I was entirely sober at uni, at least in the eyes of my parents. I was very good at not having any change and avoided calls. Making up for lost time now though.



  3. Kevin writes:

    Thank God we didn’t have mobiles when we were students! I still haven’t lived down what little I did tell them at the time.



  4. Tim writes:

    You was lucky, when I was at college we sent messages home by carrier pigeon and I was lucky to get a reply because one man’s postman is another man’s Sunday dinner.



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