The ghost telephone rings in the middle of the night, and the middle of the day, too. We don’t have a telephone in the house. We don’t even have a telephone connection. Still the damn phone rings all the time.

It wakes me from sweet dreams. It goes in the middle of my favourite television programme. I’ve tried picking up the air, pretending there’s a receiver in my hand, saying hello? hello, who’s there? But I just feel stupid, and anyway, the telephone still rings and rings, all hours of the day and night.

My housemate doesn’t hear it. I ask her, didn’t it keep you awake all night? And she gives me that look, that tolerant smile. I’m not crazy. It’s just the ringing phone is driving me that way.