Heifers for sale

“Farmer’s Guardian classified, my name is Julie, how can I help?”
I was taken aback because I didn’t expect to a human being so soon as normally you have to listen to a list of options only to get to the end of the list realising you can’t remember which option you wanted. This usually adds 2 or 3 minutes to the call and would seem to add a couple of quid to the bill!
“I’ve 2 heifers I’d like to sell”, I said.
“That’s good it’s my department”, she said. “Have you advertised with us before?” “Not since 1994”, I reply. “Then you won’t be on our system, let me take a few details. What’s your postcode?” Julie then tells me where I live, this is scary. The only positive thing is that it reassures me that at least I went to the right house for breakfast!
Julie has a Lancashire accent and seems very pleasant. I suppose there isn’t much call for anyone to do her job with the bedside manner of Atilla The Hun. “Can I have your full name and telephone number?” I fulfil this request. She then proceeds to address me by my Christian name.
Call me old-fashioned but I dislike the casual familiarity which is now commonplace. In general the use of first names used to indicate a degree of friendship beyond normal social intercourse but modern usage blurs that distinction.
The lady then requests the details of the advert which I oblige. She repeats them back to me to check that they are OK. “Now then” she says, “if I could just have your credit card details?” “I would like to pay by cheque”, I say. “I’m afraid we don’t do that”, was her response. “See what you can do”, I urged. It’s all very well being asked for these details, I’m expected to trust them, but they don’t trust me to pay by cheque.
Julie then says she has put everything through and it all seems alright.
There’s a tap on my shoulder, it’s my beloved. “You’re wanted on the other line”, she says. “The BBC want to know whether you would like to take part in the next series of ‘Grumpy Old Men’”.