Sadly, no one appears to have hacked into my mobile phone messages. Had they done so I would now have a large compensation claim and more importantly, the whole scandal would have ended right there.
It might be exhilarating to hack into messages left for royalty, wayward soccer stars and pop icons but my voicemail would grind them to dust.
Trust me on this – rogue reporters listening to my messages would never do it again. Thirty minutes and they’d be begging to join a silent order of monks (or monkettes).
Messages from my mother-in-law have no beginning. They start half way through a conversation she was having with herself and require the skill of Bletchley Park to decipher.
There are no pauses, however long the message, which usually ends with a request for ‘peas’. Yeah that’s right, ‘peas.’
There’s an authority in these messages which demands you take notes: so that’s a bag of peas, two vanilla slices and don’t forget to pick up my prescription.
This is usually followed by a reference to her Land Army exploits, the cost of nylon stockings and a count of her M&S knickers. A couple of verses of ‘We’ll Meet Again’ and any would-be hacker will be left begging for mercy.
