He asked to speak to "Mr or Mrs Margaret".
"Speaking," said I, irritated.
"Mrs Margaret we have been informed that you or Mr Margaret has had a road traffic accident in the last seven days."
"NO YOU HAVE NOT," I told him none too gently. "I HAVE NEVER HAD A ROAD ACCIDENT. EVER."
CRASH. (The phone, not the car.)
It immediately rang again.
"Perhaps," he continued, as if we'd never been interrupted by me slamming the phone down (although it being a new-fangled digital jobbie all I did was angrily press the 'end call button') "another member of your family has had a road traffic accident."
"NO THEY HAVEN'T," I replied, "AND IF THEY HAD MY HUSBAND WORKS FOR THE POLICE AND HE'D BE THE FIRST TO KNOW NOT YOU."
CRASH. (Well, beep.)
It didn't ring again.
How very dare they though. Absolute parasites. They barely speak English. They have no idea if a 'Margaret'* is a male or a female, yet they have my telephone number. It's very unsettling and it makes me distrust the telephone. It only rings now with bad news, wrong numbers or parasites from foreign call centres ringing to see if I'm a soft target. Everyone else Facebooks or texts or emails or calls me on my mobile.
And the new digital thing is most unsatisfactory. What happened to all those wonderful old fashioned heavy telephones with the lovely rattly dials and a proper bell? Now those you could really SLAM.
I must get one of those**.
* A 'Margaret' is a female and this one is of the Mags or Maggie variety and hates being called 'Margaret'. You can call me Margo, should you wish (see earlier blog).
**Good old Amazon. That lovely red thing pictured above has got a proper bell and a dial. I'm going to put it on the house's Christmas list.