One of those days

Well, it's gone 11pm and I'm sitting here with a large glass of red (Bouzy Rouge 1998 in case you are interested) because, frankly, it's either that or go and admit myself to the local mental hospital.

Everything was OK until about 3pm, when I received a very odd telephone call:

Caller: Hi, it's Muppet from LocalRipOff Fuels here, may I speak to Mini Angevin?

Me: Erm... WHY do you want to speak to Mini Angevin?

Caller: Well he rang our office earlier to order some fuel oil and said he'd sent us an email, but I handle the email orders and I'm afraid I haven't received it. I was ringing to find out how much oil he wanted to order?

Me: Mini Angevin is 7.

Caller: OH...

(call terminated soon after with expressions of apology on my part and expressions of both hilarity and bewilderment on the part of Muppet)

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I should have seen this one coming. When Mini is allowed to watch TV he absolutely adores adverts, especially the sort of cheesy, crappy ones which car insurance companies etc love to churn out to torture the rest of us. Forget the 'naughty ads' aimed at children which the Government are, apparently, in the process of clamping down upon; the lure of McDonalds is as nothing in the Perverse World of Mini when up against the bedazzlement offered by the likes of GoCompare.com. Forget Ronald McDonald and the Happy Meal - it's Carol Voderman and the concept of refinancing which push the buttons all the way as far as Mini is concerned. He can quote, word for word, quite a few of the bigger offenders (with telephone numbers) and this, believe me, is not because he has been sat in front of the TV all day; it's a classic case of being able to learn something easily if your imagination has been captured by it. Although quite WHY car insurance jingles, Brylcreamed men in cheap crimpelene suits fronting LoanShark Inc. and anything involving Yakult are so enthralling beats me - but that's perhaps the basis of another blog sometime.

Anyway, this peculiar little trait of his has recently broadened into avid perusal of the Yellow Pages. He'll happily spend ages trawling through them, a habit I have done nothing to discourage because it COULD form the basis of A Topic For Discussion if he starts asking questions about something he's found in there. Nothing's wasted in the world of a home-edder. What I think must have happened this afternoon is that he stumbled across the page entitled 'Oil Companies' and, knowing Troll works for an 'oil company', started having a closer look. In the aforementioned Perverse World of Mini, 'looking' invariably leads to more tangible and tactile forms of exploration and, because one of his more endearing (if often dangerous) traits is his love of 'helping', he probably thought ordering some oil for us would be something which would earn him major brownie points. That, and the widdle-inducing excitement of a dirty great tanker turning up in the yard, of course.

I am SLIGHTLY comforted by the thought that no contract instigated by a seven-year-old is legally binding. However, it does beggar the question, what else has the little monster been arranging when my back's been turned? I shudder in horror when I think of the number of credit card company letters addressed to Mini which have appeared over the years in our postbox... OK - they COULD have been just idiots getting their data mixed up, but after today one does have to wonder....

There was also the occasion on which some oleaginous little creep rang up on the understanding his company had been contacted by somebody from our household who said they had been injured in an accident through no fault of their own recently and had expressed interest in employing the services of said company in the pursuit of compensation. As I absolutely DESPISE this sort of ambulance-chasing, imported American activity I sent him away with a flea in his ear, and put the whole incident down, again, to an instance of muppetry in the creep's communications' department. Now I am not so sure I didn't do them an injustice ....

However, before anybody thinks this was the end of the Adventures of Mini in BT-Land... it gets worse...

I went out for a bit of light relief to my quilt guild meeting this evening, leaving Mini in the tender care of Charlene - Chicken Boy James' elder sister and general no-nonsense, red-headed, object of Mini's intermittent lust. Charlene, being aware of the Oil Tanker Incident outlined above, took it upon herself to instigate further interrogation of Mini during my three hour absence and ascertained LocalRipOff Fuels are by far from being the only company to have been subjected to Mini's telephonic attentions. In fact, the little beast has today also rung FOUR removal companies to give them orders to come and remove himself, his toys, his 'fings' and the ghastly nit-ridden little girl from next door to France.

Well, at least I'll know what's happened when the removal lorries start turning up in the yard....

More Bouzy Rouge anybody???