I got woken up at 7am this morning by a taxi driver pounding on our door. Naturally my robe is in the wash right now, so I wrapped myself in a towel, and stumbled down the stairs to see what the hell he wanted.
He was all “I’ve come about a credit card payment.”
I was all “And?”
He was all “It’s for Ellen?”
I was standing there in a towel, half asleep, very clearly not Ellen. So I told him that there was no one called Ellen here, and that he needed to try the other flat.
Then he kept saying “Oh are you sure? It’s for Ellen?”
So I simplified matters by shutting the door. Problem solved.