Razzamatazz - British comedy


NEIGHBOURHOOD WATCH
It was Kelvin Hadfield at the front door when I answered it, a briefcase in his hand and a patronising expression on his face. "I notice you haven't got a chain on your front door," he remarked, with more than a little smug satisfaction in his voice.
     "No, just one on the lavatory, Kelvin," I said, and started to close the door.
     "No," he cried, pushing the door back, "hold on minute." I stopped pushing. "It's about the local Neighbourhood Watch Scheme. I'm your Street Co-ordinator."
     If this was meant to impress me it didn't. I summoned up a suitably dirty look. "Yes?"
     "Well it's just that it's been brought to my attention that you've recently become an old age pensioner, sorry, senior citizen, and as it's part of my responsiblities as a Street Co-ordinator of the Neighbourhood Watch Scheme to offer advice on home security to vulnerable elderly neighbours I thought I'd give you a call."
     I'd never before thought of myself as being vulnerable or elderly. I now considered it as a proposition and didn't much like it at all, not least because it had been put to me by an arrogant little prat like Kelvin Hadfield. "Vulnerable elderly neighbour?" I said, giving him a dirty look.
     "Well you're sixty-five," he said, as if that was reason enough.
     "A good job Churchill didn't live on our street when the war was on then," I said.
     He looked surprised. I wasn't surprised that he looked surprised. "What?" he said.
     I'm sure that he'd heard me but as he is only about thirty-five or so he has probably never heard of Churchill. "Well you'd have no doubt been knocking on his front door telling him that he hadn't got a chain on it while he was trying to plan operation Sea Lion," I explained. "We'd probably still be fighting World War Two if it was up to people like you."
     When faced with sarcasm many people throw in the towel but Kelvin was a Street Co-ordinator and thus made of sterner stuff. "So anyway," he went on, "now that you're vulnerable.... now that you're sixty-five and you therefore qualify for advice, I'd like to give you some."
     I almost gave him some, two words of my best Anglo-Saxon, but I was beginning to enjoy myself. "What sort of advice do you give?" I asked, pretending to be interested.
     "Well apart from putting a chain on the front door, and a door viewer of course, we advise you on all systems of home security and how to spot and deal with a bogus caller," he explained.
     "You'd better come in then," I said, stepping aside to let him in. I gave him just enough time to put the smirk back on his face then I stepped in front of him, barring his way. "Hang on a minute," I said, then, narrowing my eyes to slits: "How do I know that you're not a bogus caller?"
     The notion that a Neighbourhood Watch Scheme Street Co-ordinator could be bogus had obviously never occurred to Kelvin. He scoffed at the very idea of it. "A bogus caller?"
     "Have you any ID?" I asked, in the proven transatlantic manner.
     His expression indicated that he hadn't but he told me all the same. "Well no. Not with me. But I didn't think I'd need any. I mean you know me."
     "I know of a Kelvin Hadfield," I said. "Who looks like you. But for all I know you could be an imposter who is a master of disguise."
     He looked at me as though I was mad. "A master of disguise?"
     "Oh indeed, Kelvin. Make-up artists can create miracles these days. I saw a man on Stars In Your Eyes not long back, said he was doing Elvis Presley, looked nothing like Elvis Presley, but by the time he came back through all that smoke he looked the spitting image of Elvis Presley. Didn't sound like Elvis Presley, sounded more like Les Battersby with his trousers on fire, but you take my point."
     He thought about it for a moment. "Even so, I am definitely Kelvin Hadfield."
     "Not in my book you're not," I said, "not unless you can prove it."
     He thought about it for a moment. "I'll be back in five minutes," he said, and went.
     Much less than five minutes later, obviously anxious to validate his Street Co-ordinatorship as soon as possible and get on with my home security requirements, he was back. "Got it," he said.
     "Got what?" I said.
     "My ID of course."
     "Don't know what you're talking about."
     "But I called not five minutes ago about the Neighbourhood Watch Scheme. I went home for my ID."
     "How do I know that was you?"
     He took out an ID card. "You know it was me because now I have ID."
     He offered the ID card for my inspection. I gave it a cursory glance. "Well it seems to be in order." He smiled. "But how do I know that you haven't stolen it from Kelvin Hadfield?"
     He lost the smile. Then lost his rag. "Because I haven't!" he said. "Because I am Kelvin Hadfield. Look at me. I look like Kelvin Hadfied, don't I?"
     "You could be a master of disguise," I said.
     "Who are you talking to?" called The Trouble, from the kitchen.
     "A master of disguise pretending to be Kelvin Hadfield," I called back. "If he comes round to the back door don't let him in whatever you do."
     Then he shook his head in bewilderment and went. I could have told him that I didn't want anything to do with his Neighbourhood Watch Scheme and that as far as protecting my property was concerned I was the owner of a St Bernard's dog and that if a robber managed to relieve me of any of my possessions with his bollocks still intact he was welcome to anything he could lay his hands on, but then it wouldn't have been as much fun.