All the stalkers you see are desperate marketing men

I have a stalker. In fact, I have hundreds. So do you. What, do you mean you haven’t noticed? I became aware of my admirers after Christmas. First it was letters, then emails. Could I spare a mo to rate my broadband installation? What about the insurer’s customer service? The building society was sorry I’d closed my account, but would love to hear how well they closed it. The questionnaire shouldn’t take a minute. Then came the calls. ‘How did I find the helpline?’ asked my bank. Barclays (not my bank) rang several times to invite me to participate in a survey. This was not, repeat not, a sales call. Just a few minutes of my time… How, asked my mobile operator, can we improve our end-user interface? ‘By leaving me in peace,’ I didn’t say. Next, harassment. One icy Saturday I was walking home with goodies from Ottolenghi, a deli which provides a Proustian whiff of decadence for a mere £3.50