Play Foggy for Me....

We savour our Monday as its our day off and a well earned rest from the kitchen.We don't serve food but keep the bar open, more as a courtesy to the regular daily imbibers than any inclination that we may make a profit.
There's a group of three oldsters who meet up on a Monday lunchtime,they love Mondays because their chat isn't disturbed by the inconvenience of the incomer diners who ensure  the pub is viable. They're also assured of a seat at their preferred table by the fire.
For the sake of press privacy lets call them Compo,Clegg and Foggy.

Foggy,suffered a mild stroke last year and with the subsequent resultant abundance of free time whilst convalescing at home,he's become dangerously au fait with t'internet and social media and has just recently treated himself to the pinnacle of mobile communication.An i-phone.

Yesterday, on returning from our usual bracing walk with The Chap, I wandered into the bar to toast my ass at the fire and dry off my soggy feet,loitering for a while to see if there was any worthwhile craic to be found.
Clegg was more animated than usual,recounting with obvious outrage the sequence of nuisance phone calls which he'd apparently been receiving.He was planning to make a formal complaint to BT as lately the calls were becoming increasingly abusive.

What do they say? enquired Compo,intrigued,
Clegg: They're just abusive,rude and offensive
Foggy:Yes but what exactly are they saying??
Clegg:Its a woman she's just very insulting...
Foggy:JUST TELL US EXACTLY WHAT SHE'S SAYING..
Clegg:Well sometimes they're very late at night..

The other two visibly leant hungrily forward into the table, eager to take on board the juicy decadence of anticipated details.

Compo and Foggy(in unison):Yes....go on..

Clegg(enjoying the unexpected centre stage status his anonymous harrasser had brought him):Well,last night the phone rang at twenty past eleven,I was just getting ready for bed...

Compo and Foggy(again in unison and practically nose to nose) YES........spill the beans, Old Boy

Clegg:She said: 'Shame about The Toon tonight,pity you watched it,YOU OLD GOAT...'

At this point Foggy's pint beat a vigorous, hasty exit via his nostrils,catching Compo and Clegg full face with the boozy spray.

Foggy(several minutes later on regaining control of his faculties)You silly old fool,that was me!!It wasn't anonymous, didn't you know ? They give the number of the sender at the end...
Clegg:I didn't hear the end I was too busy telling  her to shut up.....

There then followed a protracted and involved conversation endeavouring to explain the minutiae and indeed the actual possibility of sending a text message from a mobile phone to a land line and the resultant automatically generated female voice which ultimately imparts the message to the recipient.This to a couple of outright novice technophobes, who were struggling to comprehend the concept of such an action.

In frustration, Foggy retrieved his prized i-phone from the deep reaches of the pocket of his tweed jacket.
'Look I'll send a text now to your land line'
He demonstrated,deftly picking out the required letters with fingers now nimble through frequent practice..'There its done'

The three of them sat there for a while in silence,contentedly sipping their pints, enjoying the moment, whilst pondering  the enormity of the newly acquired knowledge.

Clegg broke the silence:By the way,what message did you send?

Foggy:Oh just 'I love you'

As the fog cleared and realisation dawned,Clegg stood up,abruptly downed his pint and as he beat a speedy retreat to the door, shouted:
I'm off Nora's at home and she knows about the abusive calls...

Nora being his frail 76 year old wife who would no doubt have already taken delivery of Foggy's latest bombshell...

Sometimes I just love my job...