Shea Tomkins

ONE SATURDAY night I was sitting by the fire leafing my way through the pages of the Irish Field when I noticed a missed call on my phone. It was a UK number and I figured it might have been one of numerous people I knew over there, who had changed their number.

It rang again a short while later and I answered it. A startled gentleman asked me why I had called him. I told him I hadn't, that he had called me. He said his name was Cyril Bishop and asked me what company I was with. That's when I smelt a rat, and hung up.

The next day, Sunday, there were a few more missed calls on the phone from Cyril's number. So I decided to block him. I didn't receive any more calls for the next few days.

Later that week, I was in work when the phone rang again and up popped Cyril's number once more.

Even though the number had been blocked, he was still able to get to me. I didn't answer. He left me a voicemail, in hushed tones, which was as follows, ‘Seamus, it's Cyril. I've been trying to get hold of you on several occasions. Call me.'

The only time anyone calls me Seamus is either when they are being sarcastic or they fancy a round of fisticuffs, so I figured that Cyril had no idea who I was, instead he was pretending to know me from hearing my name on my voicemail. (Note to self; change my voicemail greeting).

A few days later I was sitting having a lunchtime cup of tea when Cyril called again. There was another voicemail but this time it wasn't a message, it was a recording of three men having a conversation. Cyril was in what sounded like a meeting with a bank manager and was trying to negotiate a business loan. ‘My name is Cyril Bishop,' I heard him say, ‘and I have a great business idea.'

The bank manager sounded impressed as he talked him through the process of a loan application.

I didn't hear from Cyril again until last Sunday morning at 8.56am, when the phone rang again. Again, there was a new voice message.

This time he had left me a recording of the song ‘Keep on Running' by The Spencer Davis Group. As catchy as it was, I'm not really sure whether Cyril was trying to unnerve me, or amuse me. He did neither. All has gone quiet since, maybe Cyril was off enjoying his Easter weekend and too busy to be bothering me.

Why am I sharing this with you? To advise you that dodgy people may try and contact you too. And I don’t want to hear any more from Cyril.

Unless it's an inheritance notification, of course. Then he can call me whenever he likes. And whatever.