Years ago, before computers became the weapon of choice for organisations hell bent on driving one to a nervous breakdown, I entered into a correspondence with an organisation called North Thames Gas. Interestingly enough, the writer Keith Waterhouse had written a column some years before in which he mused that he was certain there was an organisation whose sole purpose was to drive people insane. There would be weekly meetings at which it was decided who would be their next victim, and what methods they were going to use. So when I went down the rabbit hole with North Thames Gas, I was convinced that I had just been selected.

It began innocuously enough. I lived in a block of flats, and one day there was a letter on the communal doormat from North Thames Gas, addressed to The Occupier. Like a fool, I opened it. It read, “We would like to read your gas meter.” Like an even bigger fool, I phoned them: “We don’t use gas here”.

North Thames Gas: We still need to read your meter.

Me: Well, it will have a reading of zero.

NTG: We still need to read it, and do a safety check.

Me: OK.

Well, we arranged a date, the person came, duly noted down the reading of zero, and undertook no safety check.

A week later I received a letter, this time addressed to me:

“Dear Mr Freedman

Unless you contact us to make urgent arrangements for us to read your gas meter, we will need to use bailiffs to enter your property.”

I phoned them again:

Me: Someone has already read the meter.

NTG: Well, we have no record of that.

Me: Then can you send someone to read the meter, and then take it away please?”

In due course, someone came along, read the meter, and then detached it from the wall. Goodby gas meter.

A week later, I received another letter — a red one this time:

“URGENT. Dear Mr Freedman

Unless you contact us to make urgent arrangements for us to read your gas meter within the next seven days, we will need to use bailiffs to enter your property.”

I phoned them again:

Me: You might find it difficult to read the meter.

NTG: Why?

Me: Because there isn’t one there.

NTG: Where is it?

Me: One of your people took it away?

NTG: Are you sure it was one of ours? We have no record of that.

Me: Well, they turned up in a North Thames Gas van. And even if they were pretending to be from NTG, how would they have found out about the gas meter, and why would anybody want it anyway?

NTG: Could there be another gas meter somewhere else?

Me: Wait there. I’ll have a look.

I went off and made myself a cup of tea.

Me: Well, I’ve looked everywhere. In cupboards, under the bed, in the yard. There’s no other gas meter in my flat.

NTG: Well, we still need to send someone along to have a look at where it should be.

Me: Wait: you’re going to send someone along to look at an empty space?

NTG: Yes.

Well, someone came along. I opened the cupboard where the gas meter had been. He looked: “There’s nothing here”.

Me: That’s what I’ve been trying to tell people.

I received a call from NTG: Our system shows that there is a gas meter there. Can you think of anyone else who might have it?

In desperation I then did something I feel utterly ashamed of. I suggested the name and address of the person upstairs.

A few days later there was a letter from NTG for the person in the flat above. Terrible on my part really.

But I never liked him anyway.

The only good to have come out of this episode is that I’ve been able to write an article about it. Incidentally, North Thames Gas is no more. Are you surprised?