The man’s a genius

Kudos to the man who got so pissed off by cold callers interrupting him while he was watching Coronation Street he got his own back by setting up his own premium rate number which makes him money every time some bunch of arseholes from some call centre phones trying to sell life insurance / home improvements / compensation claim assistance / mortgages and loans.

Lee Beaumont laid out £10 plus VAT to set up his personal 0871 line in November 2011, and said he has made £300 from the calls he has received since.

Mr Beaumont, from Leeds, told BBC reporters: “I was getting annoyed with the sales calls interrupting when I’m trying to watch Coronation Street, so I’d rather have an 0871 so I can make 10p a minute. I thought there must be a way to make money off these phone calls.”

Let’s see where we can go with this. Would it be possible to charge utility companies rent for the space their meters take up on our walls. Or how about a waste dispoasal fee for all that unsolicited junk mail we have to get rid of. If we want to get rid of garden waste or detritus from building work we have to pay someone to take it away so why should we not charge the people who illegally dump waste paper through our letter box.

And what about the local authority. With their enthusiasm for parking charges and fines they would surely understand our billing them for the time and fuel we waste and wear and tear on our car when we are driving round looking for somewhere to park.

Or how about fining the borough for dropping litter when rubish scattered by careless binmen gets blown into our gardens.

When we start thinking it through properly Mr. Beaumont’s scheme could revolutionise the way we organise society.

The transparency of British Gas.

After many complaints the utilities regulators have told energy companies they must be more transparent about how their prices are formulated.

If this criticism includes my gas supplier I think it is totally unfair. Those theiving scumbags extremely nice people at British Gas wrote me a very polite letter explaining that they must put up my gas prices by 18% in August because of increases in wholsale prices of gas. Now my instant and I have to say unworthy reaction was to shout “the lying gobshites, wholesale prices have gone down recently.”

The morons efficient staff at B(friendly)G were ahead of me however. They explained that they have to buy gas in advance to secure supplies so the prices they are talking about were for gas they bought yonks ago when the market peaked.

“What kind of cupid stunt do they think I am?” I asked, rhetorically.

Mrs. T who is always telling me off for being rude and abrasive when dealing with civil servants, utility company staff and any other jobsworths I encounter persuaded me not to phone the CEO of B friendly G and tell him what I thought of the shoddy, money grubbing efficient, customer oriented operation he runs. She said I would only end up getting angrier because I cannot punch people down a phone line. She also persuaded me not to write to the papers and insult everyone working for British Gas they are ordinary, hard working folk and are doing their absolute best even if the result is not very good by real world standards … and at least they had taken the trouble to write.

Then to reinforce her calm tolerant approach she said, “Look, they are even giving us a chance to peg our price against further increases, if we pay an extra five percent on top of the new price after the increase they will guarantee to hold that price for two years.”

This is very generous of them as there is no way a major gas supplier could know gas prices are expected to fall in the remainder of this year.

My wife is a wonderfully kind person and her generosity of spirit knows no bounds. She has made me see it would have been totally unreasonable of me to call the management team at BG a bunch of crooked, lying, scum sucking offspring of a pustulating pox whore’s scrofulous scablouse and they could take their price cap and fuck the fucking fuck off. After all they are clearly working very hard at being more transparent about their pricing structure and it has to be said, they are succeeding. I saw through this latest scam straight away.

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Chequing Into A Future Of Medieval Serfdom.

Singing hey ho and a hey-nonny-no I was making my merry way along Cordwainers Lane, the rhythm of my steps accompanied by the jangle of credit cards and cash cards in the leather purse that hung from my belt when I came upon a hag who sat by the road and wept most sorely. “Why weepest thou so Madam,” I asked, hoping my jaunty tone did not offend her ear. The tragedy that had befallen this dame must indeed be great it was reflected in the awful wailing she made.

“Oh woe, woe,” she cried, “what is to become of me for I can no longer light my gas stove having had my supply cut off and without that I cannot boil handkerchiefs to make the hearty, nutritious soup I sell on market days.”

“Forsooth madam, what wickedness is this? Have the evil Utility Barons raised the price of fuel so much that poor folk cannot afford to boil a cauldron of soup.”

“ ‘tis worse than that,” she said, “though a fine Gentleman like your worthy self would not know of such things. I am not so poor that I cannot pay my bills, I should be able to continue making my living from selling tasty handkerchief soup were’t not for Lord Fatcat the Utility Baron having decided that my chosen method of payment is too lowly for their cashiers to accept.”

I was confused. Odd’s bodkins, what was this babbling old fool talking about?

“Madam,” I declared, “if you will permit me I will accompany you now to the house of the Utility Lord’s toll collector and will personally take care of your bill.”

She tried to stifle her sobs but the poor creature was beyond comforting.

“Oh no good sir, no. What has happened to me is beyond your understanding. I have offered payment in full but the Utility Baron’s toll collector is too haughty to accept my cheque. He sayeth the Bank no longer process cheques and I must pay with plastic or cash or sign a direct debit authority which will permit the Utility Baron’s men to take what they will from my bank account at their whim.”

Egad, this was returning honest folk to serfdom. The pittance they could earn by honest labour would not be theirs to do with as they wished. Their Utility Baron would have first claim upon it. These business people who safe in their towers in London robbed the poor with impunity were surely the most vile creatures as ever walked the earth, some said they were just good capitalist businessmen but it seemed to me they were more ruthless than the Robber Barons that had flourished in my Grandsire’s day. Surely it could not be long now until they had written into the Droit De Seignior section of their utility supply contract the Primae Noctis clause giving them the right to deflower and woman on the first night she and her family occupied a house which obtained its gas and electricity from them.

“Thou seest why I weep good sir, were a frail old woman like me to walk along Cutpurse Way or even Vagabond Turnpike carrying cash I would surely be robbed for the thieving scumbags who frequent such places are no respecters of age or gender. My old eyes are to dim for me to correctly enter a PIN number in a little machine and besides who would give me a credit or debit card when my needs are few and the bankers could make little profit from operating my account. I might as well be penniless as a poorhouse preacher sir if what little I have cannot be spent on he things I need.”

It was true, I had heard of these plans to phase out cheques and force all transactions to go online or use plastic. It seemed unfair but such things did not affect me, after all I, Sir Roger Emall, had been away many a year fighting my King’s wars in far Mesopotamia and The Hindu Kush from where the heathen threatened issue forth to subsume Merrie England in and force upon us their strange ways. Consequently I had done nothing.

What had I found on returning to my homeland but that the nobles, friends and associated of our brave and pious King were waging war on his own loyal subjects even as he led his armies against those who would deny the superiority of the western way?

I led the old woman to the house of the Utility Baron’s toll collector, paid her debt and accepted her cheque as reimbursement though I would never present it. Then bidding her good morrow I made my way to the house of Joblot the Haberdasher where I bought a Tommy Hilfiger Eccliasiatical Robe with Cowl. A pot of pain from Bodger the Doeth It Thyself shop with which I could paint over the Coat Of Arms on my shield completed my purchases.

That day my life as Sir Roger Emall, playboy Knight Adventurer would end, the morrow would see me reborn as Robbing Hoodie, the Champion Of The Common Folk.

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