ME: You’ve got the wrong number, sorry.
OLIVER: Nice try.
ME: Why do you want to talk to me?
OLIVER: There are some interesting rumours going around about me since your little meeting, and I’d like to know how they came about.
ME: Can’t you get your little spy to find out for you? He did a good enough job informing you about my entire life. Surely a few rumours are no match for his investigative prowess.
OLIVER: I would also like to apologise for that.
ME: Yet here you are, still not apologising.
OLIVER: Apologies should be given in person. Can we meet?
ME: I would rather walk over hot coals.
ME: On my hands.
ME: And go back again.
ME: Then smush my face into them.
OLIVER: It’s hardly a party for me, either.
ME: Then let’s just never speak to each other again. That sounds far more palatable for us both.
OLIVER: We should clear the air. Regardless of our first meeting, we have a professional relationship we should maintain.
ME: I was going to make Colin deal with you, to be honest. I’m too busy working out how to make your life a living hell. I hardly have the time for anything else these days.
OLIVER: You’re terrifyingly honest.
ME: Thank you, it’s one of my better qualities. I get it from my mother.
OLIVER: I didn’t ask.
ME: I don’t care.
OLIVER: One meeting. Thirty minutes. I want to apologise.
ME: No. You want to know what I told my fellow allotmenteers about you. Do I look like an idiot to you?
OLIVER: From what I’ve heard you act like one sometimes.
ME: Only when I need to get on the other person’s level. Like when I talk to you. I don’t want to confuse those of lesser intelligence, after all.
OLIVER: You know I can just come and find you at your allotment.
ME: Please do.
OLIVER: Didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to meet me?
ME: I have tools in my shed at the plot. I can just hit you with my spade if you come there.
OLIVER: … Never mind the honest bit. You’re just terrifying.
ME: Excellent. My plan to rule through fear is progressing nicely.