On Phones and Things Foreign.

I had a phone call from BT this morning, from the same young woman to whom I spoke about my fault recently. (Judging by her accent I’d say she was South Asian, probably of Pakistani heritage. My experiences over the past few years have suggested that young Pakistani women are the best people to speak to when you have a problem because – so far – they’ve proved to be calm, friendly, intelligent, and considerate. They listen well and know what to do about it. My hopes always rise when I hear a young Pakistani woman on the other end of the line. But anyway…)

When I spoke to her a few days ago she said she would call me on Tuesday to see how matters were progressing, so why the call three days early? Was it because:

1. She was so concerned for my welfare in the matter of communications that she couldn’t sleep for want of knowing?

2. She had a spare ten minutes and had finished filing her fingernails?

3. She was so enamoured of my dulcet voice that she needed a fresh fix to help her through a bad morning at the workface?

4. She was so tired of me and my whingeing that she needed to get the whole thing sorted so she could have a peaceful weekend without the stress of knowing she was going to have to speak to me again on Tuesday?

I’ll never know, will I, because I didn’t ask. The fault, incidentally, appears to have gone.

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Isn’t this business of Egypt and the hijab strange? It appears that in Egypt, hijab-wearing women are discriminated against because the hijab is regarded as an indicator of low wealth and status. In Afghanistan, and some other Muslim countries, failure to wear a suitable head covering is enough to get a woman beaten at least, if not stoned to death. Isn’t the human condition absolutely crazy sometimes?

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I was sitting in the garden with a cup of tea this evening when I heard a very high-pitched buzzing sound approach my right ear and hang around for a few seconds. The tone was far too high to be a wasp, a bee, a hornet, or even a housefly, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a sound before. So is this another symptom of climate change? Are we now to be pestered by foreign insects from southern climes, come to invade our green and pleasant land? If so, I imagine the French must already have them. Or could they be of Gallic provenance?

So what are they? Do they, perhaps, originate in the vineyards of the Languedoc? Are they attracted to the smell of wine, which I’m pleased to say I never drink? And are they inclined to attempt the building of nests in one’s ears? I’m generally quite tolerant of bugs, but there’s a limit.