Paranoia

You know those automated telephone systems, the ones where they say "For general enquiries, press 1", "For truss adjustment advice, press 2", etc?
I got on to one this afternoon, and they said: "You don't need to press any buttons. We know who you are and we know what you've done."
Not really, but don't those things drive you nuts? They never have a category that fits, so now, I just press 1 and then get them to transfer me to the right department (assuming there IS a right department).
The passport saga continues. I had a call from someone at the Passport Agency telling me the two photographs I sent were not satisfactory. Apparently, they couldn't see my left pupil. Sheesh, the amount of red wine I drink, I doubt if I still have a left pupil. They told me to take my glasses off when I got re-photographed, to keep my lips sealed, not to smile, and to look bug-eyed straight into the camera.
My hand to God, when Steve (the man who runs our local post office and does the photo service) was putting the photos of me together in a folder, his wife Elizabeth looked at them and said "Who's that?" She really didn't recognise me. "It's nothing like you, Jake," she said, bless her, "specially without your glasses and not smiling."
Is it me, or is it paranoia? Or has the world become totally bereft of common sense?

Envoi: the images of me in the new photos are so cadaverous that I really don't have the courage to post them here. Mind you, I reckon I could earn a few bob modelling for cathedral gargoyles..