uring the pandemic there is no shortage of people I could award a prize to for being the most irritating.
I could start with some of the politicians and scientists, but they’ve already being showered with criticism, and besides, there are so many of them to choose from. There are the locals – the lady who walks around with a broom handle, attached to which is a sign saying “two metres” or the elderly chap who holds a stick at waist height and waves it around as he goes along the pavement. It’s two metres long, don’t you know, as he keeps shouting for people to move aside. There’s a regular on my dog walk who jumps so far to avoid me on the path she goes into a bush. Every time.
But the one I really can’t stand is the woman who does the voice message on calls to my bank. She speaks in a soft, soothing, ever-so English middle-class way. She sounds late-middle-aged verging on the elderly, could be someone’s granny. I’m getting Miss Marple as I hear her droning on.
