We were getting ready for the cinema when the phone rang. It was my mother’s neighbours. Someone in the block had called the council to investigate loud knocking noises coming from her flat. Eventually she’d answered the door, and after they had all gathered in her kitchen listening to the pipes, concluded something was seriously wrong with the central heating.

It would be a lie to say I rushed to the rescue. I felt exasperated. I’d had a difficult day and was looking forward to some relaxation. It was also the day the snow came down heavily in London. I sent the neighbour to and fro, eliminating possibilities, hoping to fix it remotely. She was greeted every time by my astonished mother who in minutes had forgotten her last visit. But I knew this was unfair on the neighbour. I would have to call British Gas.

Ringing a call centre for an emergency visit on your own behalf is tiresome enough. Calling them for someone else – with the same name – trips the fuses. But “Andy” eventually allowed me to make my case.

Read More: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/feb/17/familyandrelationships.family2