Anyway, having come up for a little air, I thought of making the post about how depression works, and how it relates to a succession of negative, troublesome circumstances, but…
What the hell.
So, the phone rang this afternoon. There was a pause, which always indicates a junk call from an automated dialler, but I decided to stay on the line for once. I was greeted by an accent which I think was South Asian.
‘Hello, sir. My name is Sandra and… (at this point the South Asian accent became just a bit too strong.) Gobbledygobbledygobbledy… pension… gobbledygobbledygobbledy…’
‘Hang on a minute, I’m not quite getting this. What exactly is it you want?’
‘Gobbledygobbledygobbledy… pension… gobbledygobbledygobbledy…’
‘Did you say something about pension?’
‘Yes. (Clear as a bell again.) Tell me, will you be relying on a state pension or do you have a private one?’
‘Now, wait a minute. Why do you want to know? Who are you?’
‘My name is Sandra.’
‘Oh yeah, right. No; what I mean is, what organisation are you from?’
‘We are a private financial institution.’
‘Oh, I see. A private financial institution, is it? In that case, I’m not interested. Goodbye.’
As my phone made its way from my ear to the base, I heard ‘Sandra’s’ voice yelling at me the whole way. It’s the most fun I’ve had in months. Doesn’t say much, really, does it?