When Cold Callers Make You Hot Beneath The Collar

I am a writer, something many people seem to think does not qualify as ‘real work’, and thus take advantage of my being at home to interrupt me any old time at all. This is especially true of cold callers who normally send me into a frenzy of rage, unless I’m feeling particularly mellow, when I like to engage in a bit of harmless fun.

Fun with Cold Callers – Part 1

Trrrng Trrng (very poor sound effect of phone ringing)

Me: (mellow version) – Yaws?

CC: Can I speak with Tara Moore?

Me: (tutting sympathetically) – Oh, dear, you’ve not heard then?

CC. Er . . .uch . . . (or Indian equivalent)

Me: We’re holding the wake now? Would you like to pass on your condolences?

CC. Uh . . . ah . . . (or Nigerian equivalent)

Me: Hang on, I’ll just fetch one of the rellies. Back in a mo.

CC: No. . .no . . um . . . I only wanted . . .

Me: To send flowers? How kind. Lilies were her favourite you know. Stargazers, in particular. Did you know the stamens are poisonous to cats? No? Well they are, so keep Dibbles away from the vase. And they stain your clothes too. Not cats. The stamens. Although your own personal cat might stain your clothes  – it’s not for me to make accusations against the feline fraternity.

CC.  Strangulated sound . . . (or Northern Irish or Liverpudlian equivalent) . . . I’m . . . ah . . . only doing an energy survey

Me: Energy? My good man, the woman has no energy. She’s dead!

CC. (doing vowel wounds) aah, eee, iii, ooh, uuu . . . sorry to have troubled you.

Me: You can still send flowers

CC. click …. brrrr (very poor imitation of dead line)

Fun with Cold Callers – Part 2

Trrrng Trrng (usual very poor sound effect of phone ringing)

Me: (officious) – Inspector (cough!), who’s speaking?

CC:  (hesitant) Er . . .can I speak with Tara Moore?

Me: (snappy!)  How do you know the deceased? Can you account for your movements between 5.00 p.m. yesterday and 7.00 a.m. this morning? Do you own a Samurai sword? Have you ever learned butchery? Stay where you are, we’re coming round.

CC. click …. brrrr (very poor imitation of dead line)

Try it– you’ll be amazed how good it makes you feel.  Must go, the phone is ringing. Now, am I feeling mellow . . .

A Packet of Roosters, Two Lamb Chops and a 1960s Stereogram, Please

Ramsgate is better known for its Royal Harbour and architectural heritage (Pugin woz ere), than as a shopping Mecca, especially now that many of the shops have relocated further afield to Westwood Cross . Therefore, one might think it safe to let an impulse shopper like me out without a carer.  One would be wrong, which is why I am now giving house room to a massive, great, partially working 1960s stereogram, which I somehow managed to convince myself was the missing key to eternal happiness.  I wouldn’t mind, but I only went out for a packet of spuds and a couple of lamb chops. My mistake was in taking the car, because then I had to park it, and if I had walked, then I wouldn’t have had to park it, and so I wouldn’t have come within an ass’s roar of the second-hand (make that fifty-hand) furniture store.  But lo it came to pass that I had to pass it and then after I had passed it, it occurred to me that we were in need of a wardrobe for the spare room. So I actually retraced my steps and ventured inside, even though the woodworms were all out openly sunning themselves and chewing the fat (or the wood) on the ancient furniture outside. I should explain that, at the moment, I am suffering from a Victorian period (which is a different kind of women’s problem, in that it involves lots of oak, aspidistras and stuffed birds in glass cases).  To wit, Ikea simply would not do.  I wanted wood, real wood from real trees. I wanted craftsmanship that had lasted for a hundred years, drawers that didn’t fall apart (don’t be smart!), carvings and cabriole legs (shut up!).  You get the picture? What I got was a 1960s stereogram with a turntable that turns, only not at the right speed (or could it be that James Blunt has developed a shocking speech impediment?), and an impressive looking radio that looks as though it might communicate with aliens. In fact the whole thing might even be an alien.

‘It  could have been worse,’ I told my long-suffering husband later, when he opened his mouth to lodge an objection.  ‘I was very tempted by the 20ft Indian Totem Pole.’ Besides, it was our third wedding anniversary and he hadn’t bought me a present. Ladies and Gentlemen, you heard it here first – there will not be a fourth.  On a happier note, though, the stereogram does have cabriole legs (and just a teeny weeny bit of wood worm)!