It's becoming a regular, almost Groundhog moment.  Another gas man calls me and asks to read my meter.  Brit Gas (who won't let me change to another supplier until the matter is sorted out) don't believe my meter is, well, my meter.

So today, I take another man - not as bright as the one a fortnight ago - to the dustbins and the flats' gas meters behind them.  I point out my meter.  Its number, as usual, doesn't correspond to the number on his form.  He cann't find a meter with that number on it.

I tell him - and all his predecessors - that the lever by the meter I claim is mine - turns off my gas.  He - like all the others - is convinced, and copies down the meter number (without, incidentally taking a reading, which he hasn't been asked to do).

One of his collegues will retrurn within the month and we will go through the pantomime again.

I have lived here since the end of February.  I have yet to be sent a gas bill.

Or, come to think of it a lecky or water bill, either.

I could explain more - but - guess what?  I've got better things to do.