The phone rings at the unearthly hour of ten in the morning.
"Out of area" says the caller display, which invariably means it's a sales call. Oh good.
"Hello?" says a distant voice from the sub-continent, "May I speak to Ms Baker?"
At last, years of practising a Tom Baker impression are about to pay off.
"I'm terribly sorry, but Ms Baker is unavailable, will I suffice?"
"Err... yes. Are you Mr Baker?"
"In a manner of speaking. Doctor."
With confusion on his voice, he returns to his call centre script: "This is Computer Help Desk. I'm calling about the fault on your computer."
"Are you sure, old man? This is Computer Help Desk, how may I be of service?"
"But... err... This is Computer Help Desk, we have a record of a fault on your computer."
"Come now, you're the one who rung us. Don't be shy, old bean. What's the problem?"
"No, sir, we have a record of a fault..."
"This is terribly confusing. What kind of computer do you think I have?"
"I have a Rasillon Systems Type Forty Multi-Dimensional Processor, powered by the final supernova of the Gallifrey system. They run on Apple OS, as any fool knows."
"I beg your pardon? This is Computer Help Desk, we have a record of a fault..."
"So you keep saying. Are you sure you're not the Master? This sound like the kind of thing the Master would try. Are you the Master?"
In the next five minutes, he rang back twice to abuse me. Fun.