You may remember that back in the summer I purchased a new mobile phone and contract. At the time of signing the new contract, I handed over my old handset in return for £100 credit, which will be deducted from future bills. I may as well have traded the handset for a bag of magic beans from a man in the street.

It is now November and have I seen any evidence of this credit? Have I fuck. Upon contacting the helpline, I was asked to provide an IMEI number, supposedly on the receipt provided by the shop. There wasn’t one – the shop hadn’t given me a receipt. After tipping the contents of my flat upside down, looking for my old phone box, I found what might indeed be the IMEI number written on my new contract – next to where it says “Sim card number”. Not where you would typically expect to find it, but over the course of the evening I had learnt not to treat employees of Orange like normal people.

I rang the helpline back. A Geordie girl answered. She was hopeless and the kind of person you would expect to appear on Big Brother or Wife Swap. She told me that I must contact the Orange shop in Bath (who incidentally, never answer their telephones – how ironic). Bitch. Talk about passing the buck. She was obviously pissed off about having to work Friday night and wanted to be out on the town (or Toon), drinking Newcastle Brown Ale and eating leek pies. I shouldn’t be too hard on her, there must be a language barrier, Geordies aren’t like normal people – in Newcastle the men are like men and so are the women.

Computer says no

I immediately called back, my plan, to demand to speak to the operator’s supervisor/manager. Another Geordie answered, this one sounded almost English and was relatively clear to understand. He was very helpful and apologetic and offered to contact the shop in Bath and call me tomorrow with an explanation. Thank you Gareth, you have proved me wrong – not everyone who works for Orange is a useless twat. Mind you, I won’t speak too soon, he still has to get back to me…