The trials of Mr Meeeeurghn (whose name is bloody hard to spell consistently).

The working day is largely consumed by constituents phoning with their reactions to the Budget, with one notable exception. Mr Meeeurghn phones and starts screaming that he is being mis-treated and that we have to protect him - now - as he is a refugee. Then he puts me onto someone else, who identifies herself as a member of staff at Primark. It turns out that Mr Meeeurghn is trying to claim a refund on a pair of jeans that he insists have never been worn.

The weary-sounding girl says that the jeans are covered in bleach, and that Mr Meeeurghn is threatening to kill them all, or at least most of them - a bit like the Iraqi Information Minister - if they do not give him his money back. He apparently told them that he would phone his MP who would make them do it. Meanwhile, they have a queue of customers that reaches down the stairs and out of the shop, none of whom can be served until Mr Meeeeurghn has been dealt with. (Primark sales obviously aren't suffering due to the recession.)

I tell her to put the screeching Mr Meeeeurghn back on the phone, tell him that I cannot help him, and then go and check that the new office door is double-locked. Primark have security staff. We don't, and nor do we have bullet-proof glass, as Greg is at pains to point out - yet again.