Two hours to wait between flights with nothing to do but be amused by the little screen in my hands.  It wasn’t breakfast time, nor lunch time so food was not going to make the time pass any faster.

Flicking through work emails, my twitter news feeds and then old photos, my hunched shoulders started to ache, letting me know it was time to shut down, look up and look around.

Without a word of a lie, not one person was looking back at me in the airport food court.  Everyone in my immediate area was also hunched over staring into the little screen in their hands.  Many were holding their devices in one hand and some form of food in the other.

Some had earphones on, obviously chatting away to someone – but most were just looking aimlessly at goodness knows what. I suspect they too, were trying to pass the time just like me.

I started to remember the joy of getting a phone call or being allowed to make a phone call as a child. There was only one phone line in our house.  There was only one phone line in most people’s houses.

We had a massive clunky olive-green phone with the huge dial on the front. You would dial each number, listening for the clicking to finish before you would wait for the connection.  You can now find them in museums for goodness sake!  

My little boys just laugh at me when I tell them that’s the phone I used as a little girl.  They tell me I live in the “ancient” days.  Then the cheeky monkeys ask if I had a washing machine or did I churn my clothes in a wooden barrel.

But the best thing about our phone was the long cord connecting it to the wall.  You could move that phone into a completely different room and get a little privacy. 

Giggling with girlfriends about life’s wonderful childish moments was always interrupted with my mother’s piercing voice reminding me of how many minutes I had left to chat away.

As a parent, you always try to explain your rules to your children and her reason for not allowing long conversations to monopolise the only phone in the house was in case “there was an emergency”. 

Even now I am not sure what emergency she could have been anticipating. 

And the best part was, no matter how long you talked for, it was only going to cost eighteen cents.

We were taught how to answer the phone correctly to ensure you identified yourself properly to the caller.

In my airport lounge there is no phone etiquette, just people with mouths full, talking over one another, most with loud voices.

With a sigh, I check the time – still 45 minutes to go.  So, I check Instagram!