Is it just ME?

Or am I the only one who still loves a landline?

WHO in their right mind uses a landline any more? Most people divorced their fixed phones years ago, and those who grudgingly keep them gathering dust no longer have much to do with them.

Except, that is, for my mother, nearly 80, who had a mobile foisted on her, but dares not switch it on.

And me. I have not one, but two landlines. This is a hangover from years of my (now ex-) husband and I both working at home.

While I have my smartphone on me at all times and adore its all-singing, all-dancing array of apps, I remain curiously wedded to my stalwart landlines.

The reason is a mix of nostalgia and dependability. Years of standing in a chilly hall for whispered gossip with girlfriends or sweet nothings with boys have bestowed on the landline a certain romance.

Equally, so much of my work has been done via a bulky handset. I’ve become fond of the etiquette (always asking if this was a good moment; never ringing after ten at night), which the mobile has blasted out of the water.

The resounding ring usually hails news and information, friendliness and intimacy. The mobile does, too, of course, but somehow it feels less trustworthy. Landlines are cheaper, and not subject to problems with reception, or sinister radiation that may or may not fry the brain. Whenever I make a landline call, I feel unmodern and uncool, but I persist. There is something about a conversation on the landline that seems more profound — perhaps because there is no chance of it cutting out at an inopportune moment.

Give me a few years and, like most sensible folk, I’m sure I’ll dispense with them completely.

But it will feel like the end of a long and happy marriage.

They are cheaper, don’t cut out — and won’t fry your brain!