Wearers of Dainty Brogues,

I received a phone call yesterday that was quite odd. I hate answering the phone. It’s usually somebody wanting something for nothing. I only answer the phone to stop it ringing.

I had just returned from depositing some rubbish at the recycling point.

“Hello”
“Hello. Is that 309?”
Not even enough numbers to be Victor Meldrew’s house (4291). Was the man talking about some sort of new Peugeot?
“What?”
“I received a call from this number at 1120hours.”
“I haven’t made any phone calls, maybe one of the others did. They’re out. I don’t know anything about it. Who is this?”
”This is Woodcock.”
Sounding rather distinguished.
“Woodcock of Elie.”
Woodcock of Elie? Definitely sporting a white moustache that’s curled at the tips and a tweed suit, I thought.
“Who are you, for future information?”
Future information? Am I being watched by experts?

Nonetheless, I gave my name, and after mishearing and misunderstanding it several times, and then requesting a spelling, we agreed upon my name.

“Perhaps I have made a mistake. Sorry to bother you.”

I can only report what happens.