Shadows

You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you. So the saying goes, at least. Only the innocent have nothing to fear. Another popular saying, I think - either that or I just made it up on the spot like some kind of modern-day Jean-Paul Satre, expressing in just seven words the full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree ennui of our modern times.

But anyway, my point, and I do have one, is this. It's easy to be paranoid, especially in the face of shadows and loose suspicion, the best kind of incontrovertible evidence that there is. There was a period back in 2004 when I idly wondered if I was under surveillance by 'the man'. I don't know which man, it's just a saying. (A sample of my early writings from the time are reproduced below, by way of illustration.)

'Enemy of the State' written Monday October 11th, 2004 I can't help but notice that quite often when I am travelling on a train, there are people sitting quite close to me who don't actually have to show their tickets when the person comes to check them. It's because they're policemen. OK, now you expect to see the odd policeman now and again. But these guys are in plain clothes. And they're on the train. With me. A few seats away. Not just once, but twice now. And those are just the ones I've seen. Who knows how many there were who were less conspicuous and weren't flashing their badge around for anyone to see? The conclusion is obvious, ladies and gentlemen. I have been declared an enemy of the state, and am under constant surveillance by "the man". Yes, who would know that in the space of just six blog editions I would become a wanted fugitive, on the run from the authorities who would seek to silence my outspoken thoughts on spots, toilet paper, and the times of the sunrise in 2005. I am unsure how to handle my new found status. Nonetheless, it is clear that I am a dangerous man. The authorities cannot handle me, because I tell it like it is. I should take precautions, like scrambling my email so nobody else can read it, and only writing my blogs in code. Some would say I do that anyway. But if the authorities are intercepting this communication, my message is clear - my beliefs are totally changeable. You don't need to worry about arresting me or anything. Just slip an envelope full of tenners in with my shopping whenTesco deliver it on Thursday, and I'll say nice things about anything and anyone you like, even George Bush. I'll also stop talking about toilet rolls if you so desire. Everyone has their price, and I'm awfully cheap. Thankyou.

Alas, the envelopes of tenners never turned up. But anyway, just recently I've been plagued by a number of irresponsible japes by my irresponsible friends, saying all kinds of "hot words" on my phone line which, if the paranoid mantra is to be believed, is enough to cause lights to start flashing at MI5 and for your phone calls to be put under immediate surveillance, like the kind of dangerous subversive that you must be if you start talking about spy satellites and Zircon, Echelon, and that other one.. what's it called.. Ronseal, or something.

Now I am a law-abiding guy. I've served my country (by being badly paid to do essential filing for four years) and when it comes to the final tally, I'd like to think that I'm one of the kids who Santa will be including in the 'nice' column. But paranoia changes things - after all, I've seen all those films where innocent people get arrested without charge and hung upside down by their toes for six years just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And with this country becoming more of a police state by the day, the risk to a good boy's liberty from an innocent mix-up could be substantial.

So it was that a couple of phone calls this afternoon set off all my alarms. During a boring phone call with my colleagues, I was surprised to hear a high-pitched squeak, and then a regular beeping for about a minute or so. Then it went away. How strange, I thought. Obviously something wrong with the switchboard at work, or something. Or maybe they'd pressed the 'call record' button or something. But it went away after a while, anyway. I paid it no mind.

... until later. When I was talking to someone else, not from work this time. I'll change some names to protect the innocent but preserve the flavour of the narrative. So, anyway, it was noted supermodel Naomi Campbell, calling me from her carphone. She was on her way to a conference with the International Association of Supermodels but had left her notes at home. "Relax, baby," I told her, "just take a few minutes before the presentation to sketch out your prepared topics and everything will be fine."

She was very pleased with my solution to the problem, but in the middle of this phone call.. another high-pitched squeak.. and then another minute of beeping. Naomi of course could not hear it, and thought that I was some kind of raving lunatic once I started discussing the issue - at some length - since it was clear that something was very wrong and that this was a clear sign that I was absolutely under surveillance as a result of my stupid friends and their stupid spy satellite codewords. I would have to buy a trenchcoat and a funny hat, and go around talking in code. Farmer Brown Milks His Pigs By Midnight, don't you know.

What is a boy to do? It was quite a worry. I discusssed options with Naomi. Perhaps the International Association of Supermodels could hide me in their safe house. I could iron their underwear and make them egg on toast, in exchange for sanctuary. It wouldn't be such a bad life, after all. I'm sure I'd get used to it after a while.

It wasn't until about half an hour later that I realised.. I paid BT for 'call waiting' a few weeks ago. I've just never had a call that has needed to wait before. And today I had two - which is what all the beeping was. It means, "you have a call waiting, thicko."

Was my face red. Ignoring the fact that any kind of good surveillance and tapping of my phone line is going to be done in a rather more expert way than having lights and sirens and beeps going off while I'm talking (which is, frankly, rather a giveaway, and would be swiftly detected by even the most inexpert of master-criminals,) I was instead very pleased to find a good and true explanation for the previously unexplained strangeness.

I thanked Naomi for her cool head in this hour of crisis. "You need me," she said. And you know something? I think I really do.