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.