Wednesday, June 20, 2007
My days are numbered. For me, the Brown years have already begun and I expect a midnight knock on the door. Four Brown shirts will then escort me to a Ford Falcon and I shall be subjected to four days of torture in Essex after which, heavily drugged, I shall be dropped from a helicopter into the Thames Estuary. I say this because yesterday I was mysteriously harassed by HM Revenue and Customs. A lady so thick she had to be some kind of cover called me on my mobile and insisted I must be Andrew somebody or other. She asked me three times the name of my company and three times I told her I was self-employed. She repeatedly insisted I had left a message at HMRC, I told her I had never called them in my life. 'You do not even know who I am,' I said. She rifled noisily through some files; I whiled away my time composing a verse epic and a couple of novels. She concluded that, indeed, she did not know who I was. 'What is your VAT number?' 'You have heard of identity theft, I assume? I don't give any details to total strangers.' 'But,' she wailed, 'I am trying to arrange VAT inspection visits and I have a big pile of files on my desk.' 'But I am not in there, so there is no point in continuing this conversation is there?' 'Hmmmm, eerrrr, weeeelll, no.' 'Goodbye.' In Brownland this cannot go unpunished.
Posted by Bryan Appleyard at 8:10 am