I had a dream last night — I’d woken up really late and instead of getting into the call centre at 11 am I had staggered in at 2 pm. In the dream, this resulted in instant dismissal but instead of sorrow I was filled with joy. Presumably because I hadn’t had to make the decision to actually leave.

But it had been a dream only, I had actually woken up and had got to work on time. There we were, a hundred or so mercenary souls crammed into the call centre. Like so many battery hens rolling out scripted eggs to the unfortunate householders. Why? Because at some distant past point in there lives they may have innocently filled in a magazine questionnaire thus sticking a secret ‘please disturb me’ sign upon themselves for the rest of eternity.

Suddenly I got a sale and then another. Perfectly sane and intelligent people had listened to what I’d half heartedly regurgitated and decided that they needed that which they hadn’t thought they’d needed but moments previously. By the end of the day I’d made six.

I really don’t get it; I was selling things. More disturbingly, I was enjoying it.

I’m feeling less like a character from ‘Glengary Glenross’ and more like one from ‘The Heart of Darkness’.