At least, that is what I was told in two (2) separate phone calls today. From a monotonic voice who berated me for falsly using my Social Insurance Number (yes, SIN), out there somewhere in this great land of ours.

They have been following me – oh, yes they have – and preparing a case to incase me in one of HM Prisons until the flesh rots off my body.

Unless

Unless I put my diseased finger on #1 on my phone to connect to an ‘operative’ who will lead me through a series of directions where, I will not only confirm my SIN number, but also provide any number of other pieces of information to prove who I am. The monotonic voice will not, of course, tell me what any of these deep Government directions will be. I have to press #1.

And – oddly – all this time the voice can not tell me what these directions are, it will also not answer any of my questions. It’s as if they couldn’t hear me. Unless I push #1.

And, it appeared, the second phone call was an exact replica of the first. At least the part I listened to.

But my door is locked and chained and my blinds are drawn. Well . . . not really. But you never know who is reading this.