The phone rings. I foolishly answer.
"How are you ma'am?" - the voice sounds sincere.
"This is just a quick survey," he tells me,
Not quite true, as will soon become clear.
"We have records that show..." he's now saying,
As the script is so slickly resumed,
"That you signed up for payment protection..."
(Admit that he's right and you're doomed.)
Or, "You worked in a noisy environment,"
(Got this call whilst was out in the garden),
"You can claim for industrial deafness..."
The answer a withering "Pardon?"
"Your windows all lack double glazing,
And our UPVC ones are good."
I explain that we've just had some fitted,
All authentic - and made out of wood.
Our property may be Victorian,
But it needs plastic fascias and soffits.
My annoyance is steadily rising,
(But not so his company's profits.)
It would seem I am ever so lucky.
There's a rep quite nearby who will call
To talk us through foam insulation,
Though we don't have a cavity wall.
A "show kitchen's" now being offered.
His firm many discounts will lavish.
(His accent is strangely un-Scottish,
But he's told me his name is MacTavish.)
We don't want their bedroom or boiler:
The ones that we have are quite new,
But these "records" are not to be questioned,
So that voice keeps insisting we do!
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