Real life | 22 January 2011

Some sadistically cheerful young popsy called Keeley or Tasha, I can’t remember which, terminated the call because I breached security. My own security. This is a bit rich, even if I didn’t keep completely to the rules. I always cheat during the beginning of the recorded message when the Patricia Hewitt sound-alike tells you to enter your membership or connect card number.

I did enter the details once, you see, and the automated hell into which I descended was so macabre that I vowed never to risk an encounter with it again.

Since discovering that the more you co-operate with an automated system the more options it generates, I have conducted many long and exhaustive experiments with some of the great automated systems of the world to try to work out a modus operandi for bypassing them.

I know I’m going to get into trouble for telling you this but I cannot continue without explaining, so here goes.