A Right Earful, And The Shortcomings Of Georges Bloody Perec

I've given up on Perec. His bloody book's no help at all when it comes to real life. It must be the most useless user's manual ever.

He obviously never met anyone like Miss Chambers - who phones this morning to complain that someone has posted more dog poo through her letterbox. When I ask if she's reported it to the Police, she says,

"How can you be so stupid? You can't trust them an inch."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not the case," I say, but this seems to enrage her even more than usual.

"I told you they stole my teapot!" she screams. "I can't take any more of this. If I kill myself, it'll be your fault."

Oh, for God's sake. I'm not having that on my conscience. I take a deep breath, brace myself to return the phone to my ear, and then say,

"Well, if you're feeling like that, I really think you should speak to your GP and see if he or she can help."

"I haven't got a GP. My last one threw me off his list."

Then she starts screaming. No words, just a long, drawn-out sound that I can't even begin to reproduce.

The noise travels down the phone line, hurtles in through my left ear, and exits through the other one, apparently making it all the way into Greg's office, and causing him to come rushing in to mine.

I drop the phone, but Miss C has already hung up.

"What the hell?" says Greg.

"She's threatening suicide, so I suggested she go to see her GP and she just went ballistic," I say. "God, my ear hurts."

"I'm not surprised," says Greg. "Never heard anything like it. Not even from her."

"Well, it's probably your fault. Have you been posting more dog poo through her door?"

"Don't be stupid, Molly. I'm not risking that again. I value my life too much."

Greg shows me an article about a man who was killed after urinating through someone's letterbox, but I can't read it as the whole room is starting to swirl.

After about an hour, I am feeling so sick that I have to lie down on the sofa in the Oprah Room, much to Vicky's disgust, and eventually, Greg sends me home. Via my GP.

Apparently I either have Labyrinthitis - whatever that is - or damage to my eardrum. So now I'm stuck with having to lie down to stop the room moving, while I bet Miss Bloody Chambers is sitting in an armchair, happily watching TV and knitting.

Unless she's making herself a straightjacket, there is no justice.