I checked my company credit card statement and saw that on August 6th something called PREPAYMENT NON REC BARNSLEY had helped itself to £15. I couldn’t remember what we’d spent £15 on over a month ago so I rang the bank to ask them who PREPAYMENT NON REC BARNSLEY was.

Wrong!

Had I known I was going to spend the next 45 minutes on the phone I really wouldn’t have bothered. I need £15 more than most people, but I can less afford to waste 45 minutes going through an absurd series of “security” checks designed to absolve the bank of any possible blame should something go wrong.

The number I called began with 0845, so 60% of the cost of the call went straight to the bank. So frankly it’s in their interest to keep me on the line for as long as possible.

Firstly, the automated voice told me to key in my bank account number. I did so. I was privileged to be put through to a human.

“What’s your bank sort code?” I told them. “What’s your account number?” “I’ve just keyed that … oh, never mind.” I told them. “What’s your birthday?” I told them. “What’s your last transaction on this card?” I told them. “What’s the amount of the last cheque you wrote?” I told them. “What’s a special place?” I told them. “Please hold.” I held.

“Hello, I’m afraid you’ve failed our security check. We need to ask you a few further questions.”

“OK, but all I need to know is who or what is PREPAYMENT NON REC BARNSLEY. I don’t want access to my account or know how much I’ve got or withdraw any money, I just want to know who PREPAYMENT NON REC BARNSLEY is who has got £15 of my money.”

“Certainly sir, if you’d just hold a moment.” I held.

“Hello sir. What’s the amount of the last cheque you wrote?”

“I’ve just told you.”

“That was someone else, sir.” I told them.

They weren’t happy with the answer, but it was the only answer I had. So I gave them the previous cheque I’d written. I gave the voice all the mother’s maiden names, favourite pets, special places, unique access codes and passwords I could possibly think of. It remained unconvinced that I was Gwyn Headley.

By now some exasperation was beginning to creep into my voice. I had been on the line for nearly 30 minutes, and had got not one tiny step towards answering my simple query.

The voice could sense a kettle coming to the boil on the other end of the line. “We’ll have to call you back sir.”

“Good. Call the number of the company which holds this account and ask to speak to me. Maybe that will constitute some form of proof of identity.”

“Yes sir.” Of course it didn’t. They claimed they didn’t have our company’s number, so I gave it to them very carefully.

The person who called me back wanted me to reset the passwords, special numbers, recognition codes, everything. I gritted my teeth. All. I. Want. Is. To. Know. Who. PREPAYMENT NON REC BARNSLEY. Is.

We reset all our access codes. “Are you now convinced I am the person who rang you 40 minutes ago to ask what PREPAYMENT NON REC BARNSLEY was?” I asked.

“Yes sir. How can I help you today?”

“Please can you tell me who or what PREPAYMENT NON REC BARNSLEY is?”

“It’s the Royal Mail, sir. We get a lot of calls about that.”