‘Some thoughts on the phone,’ the Observer Magazine cover of 2 November 1986, with its nod to Rodin’s The Thinker, was not, in fact, a philosophical treatise on the nature of human communication but a guide to the many goods and services one could then buy over the phone. The introduction began with one eye clearly on BT’s recent privatisation in 1984 – ‘Dial P for Privatisation, a nasty new phone book and commercially sponsored pips.’ It was also the beginning of BT’s speaking clock sponsored by Accurist, beloved of pranksters who would call its premium-rate line at friends’ homes and leave it to rack up costs. I’m saying nothing. So what kinds of things could you buy? ‘Baskets of fruit, exotic or homegrown. Will deliver anywhere in UK, but not at weekend… Access, American Express, Diners Club.’ Clearly designed for early exponents of the 5:2 diet. How about a five-day course to help you stop smoking? ‘Smokers Quitline repeats a weekly sequence of tapes full of advice for nicotinies.’ Or perhaps you’re ‘tense, nervous, irritable’ in which case, ‘Stress is just one of the tapes in Healthcall’s selection of 130, covering health matters from drug abuse to migraine.’ It’s not a great sell for Pearl Derby’s oyster with pearl – ‘a single oyster guaranteed to contain a pearl. The oyster isn’t edible, and comes in a plastic container that doesn’t qualify as gift-wrapping.’ Or, for £25, you could have ‘a star in the sky named after you or a friend, complete with certificate of registration and place in the universe’. No doubt a prelude to buying our own constellation in the heavenly firmament of Zuckerberg’s metaverse. Talking of meta, you could have ordered a Rumour 10 Dialatron phone, which ‘logs 10 numbers on memory’ for £17.99, or – back when novelty phones were big – a phone shaped like a can of Pepsi, a baby grand piano or a frog that croaks for attention… all by phone.