Close Encounters.

It's all getting incredibly confusing. I woke up this morning and leaned over to switch off the alarm only to find I'd walloped his Lordship in the face. Sitting up I realised I was in Kent. After spending the last two days in Yorkshire again I don't know whether I'm on this earth or Fullers or indeed which side of the bed I'm on.

Whilst I was up there I had to call into the letting agents to pay the holding deposit on the new house. I walked in yesterday morning and was greeted by Agent Starling, the chap who had shown us around the property and with whom I've had several telephone conversations. Whether it was down to my last encounter with him,(What's the Score), or just that I am totally unmemorable I don't know, but he was completely blank when I introduced myself and explained the purpose of my visit. I suppose that is ok, after all it had been a full 12 hours since we last spoke. (After a while you develop a sixth sense about such things and this was one of those occasions, I realised I had just entered the twilight zone.)

"We spoke on the phone yesterday," I thought at least he would remember that.

"No, you didn't speak to me." he replied.

"Yes, it was you, don't you remember, you answered the phone with hello Agent Starling,"

"It wasn't me."

Ok I wasn't getting anywhere time to change tack.

"You showed us around the property last Friday" I offered hopefully.

"I did?"

"Yes."

"It wasn't me."

"Sorry I must have mistaken you for your twin brother."

I smiled through gritted teeth. Silence fell for a few moments. A faint glimmer of a smile came across his face, at last the penny was about to drop.

"I don't have a twin brother. Not to worry madam, how can I help."

I resisted the temptation to tell him. So if you were in Wakefield town centre yesterday morning and witnessed the strange scene of a demented woman banging her head on the pavement outside fecklessmove.com letting agency, I apologise.