Few things in this life are constant - The changing of the seasons, this country's inability to deal with Snow, the way my nose looks like I'm hiding two small spiders when my nostril hair needs trimming, and the fact that at least once a month I get phone call that isn't for me, but is always for the same person.
I keep getting phone calls for some guy called Peter Mitchell. The people calling Mr Mitchell are always from the same company. I forget which company it is, as I stopped asking after the fourth phone call (back in November 2010) - but they have a call centre, which means they are a faceless organisation filled with mindless zombies with no will of their own.
The first few times, I tried to help them as much as I could: No, Mr Mitchell doesn't live here. Yes, you have dialled the number on your system correctly, but I think BT have given me this number as the address I've read out to you doesn't match your records. You say you'll update your system? thank you.
Surprisingly, the novelty of going through all that time and time again started to wear off. For a while, it seemed that they (the great faceless corporation) were losing interest too, because the next few calls I got all ended when I said that he didn't live here. Then tonight, they were back on form.......
Caller: "Hello, can I speak to Peter Mitchell please?"
Me: "I'm sorry, he doesn't live here."
Caller: "Oh, is that 01258 *** ***?"
Me: "Yes, but there is no Peter Mitchell living here - what address do you have under this telephone number on your system?"
Caller: "I'm afraid I can't give out that information."
Me: (sighs) "Well my address is (gives address)"
Caller: Oh, I'm sorry about that - we'll update our records. Thank you, goodbye"
From that entire conversation, only one thing is certain - they won't update their records. The moment the call was ended, that female caller went right on to her next call. At the very most, she wiggled her fingers six inches above her keyboard. I'm pretty sure that I have been called by a different person each time, and each of them have lied down the telephone.
The thing is, I don't even know what they are calling about. What has Peter Mitchell done? Is he being chased for an overdue invoice? or is he the linchpin in an international shoe horn smuggling operation, bringing exotic shoe horns in to the country from all over the globe to be sold for thousands on the shoe horn black market? Whatever he has done, these people are after him.
But if whoever is after Peter Mitchell cannot be bothered to listen to a word I say whenever they call, then I might just have to start playing games with them.
The next time they call, I might just tell them that he is dead. Yeah, make up some ridiculous story - like how he used to love having his breakfast on a floating tray in the bath, except this one occasion when he insisted on having toast, and when the toast popped, in his haste to grab the lovely toasted bread, poor Peter accidentally knocked the toaster into the bath and electrocuted himself.
Or pehaps, I should put on a stupidly unrealistic mexican Accent - "Noh, Peeeeeter Meeeeetchill ees nott heeeeeer seeenyor - he eeees eeen horspitol, he eeees seeeeek."
Or maybe, I should just answer the phone and when they ask to speak to Peter Mitchell, just shout at the top of my voice "SHIT!! PETE!! - THEY FOUND YOU!! RUN!!!" and then drop the phone, and leave it for a couple of minutes.
Actually, I could just say that I am Peter Mitchell - and see what happens.