Even though he lives nearby, I hadn't seen Johnno for ages when he walked into the pub just before Christmas. I was on for a bit of celebrating, but Johnno looked grim. 'Bloody banks,' he said.
As a conversation opener, it wasn't that flash, not a lot of mileage in it. I could have told him — but chose not to — that stories about the 'bloody banks' are so numerous and predictable that they're being used in sleep clinics to rock the afflicted into the arms of Morpheus. Still, one tries to do the right thing and so I bought him a calming ale and, steeling myself, asked the crucial question. 'What's the story?'
'Well, the bloody missus ...'
'I thought it was the bloody banks.'
'Yes. Sorry. The missus used her card to phone book a couple of air tickets to Queensland. A bit of a surprise for me it was supposed to be. You with me so far?'
I assured him of my full comprehension.
'She runs a tight ship with the old plastic. Never over her limit or anything like that. So when some bastard rings up a week or so later from her bank and leaves a message and a number to ring because her account, he says, is twenty-two thousand dollars out of line ...'
'Twenty-two thousand!' Perhaps it's me that's full and not my comprehension? But no, that's what he said.
"Even in this land of the fair go there are rumours of people who were rung up by the bank and never heard of again."
' ... so when this bastard says she's twenty-two thousand behind, she starts pulling pictures off the walls and throwing them at the dog.' I have met Johnno's amiable wife and I was sure that this description had to be the sheerest hyperbole, but Johnno was in no mood for polysyllabic objections.
'When she rings the number this bastard left, she gets nothing but those bloody options — y'know?'
A sympathetic listener nearby volunteers a few. 'If your house is spontaneously combusting, press 1; if you wish to build on an attic in which to hide incriminating evidence, press 2; if you ...'
'I haven't actually heard those particular ones,' says the relentless Johnno, 'but that sort of thing, yes. So what she does, she rings the number you report lost or stolen cards on and she gets a bloody human being. But as soon as the missus admits