On this inauspicious day, perhaps I should consider where it all began. No, not my strange little life; my even stranger obsession with the phone-box. And what better than to post a picture of the first red phone-box that I would have seen, at the top of our little cul-de-sac in a quaint little village in the Home Counties? Except that I can’t – and this is the point – because it is no longer there.
The phone-box is a potent symbol of the past; what the future holds for it, who knows – except the usual death and decay. But I’m okay with that. The present, however – even on my birthday when it ought to be a welcome gift – it’s the present that scares me the most.