How to Get Rid of TV Licence Inspectors
A few years ago, I lived close to my parents. I'd just got back from a run, and was climbing into the shower when I remembered: I had half a suspicion that my mother'd be calling round that evening for some trivial reason.
"I bet the doorbell goes while I'm in here, I thought."

Sure enough, it did.

I clambered out, wrapped myself in a towel, and - dripping - went to open the door, expecting to let her in then finish my shower while she waited for me.

It wasn't my mother. It was a man in a beige anorak.
"TV Licencing," he offered. "I understand you don't have a licence for this property; I'm here to do an inspection. But... erm... well, I could come back some other time..."
"Um..." I said, "No worries. That'd be a waste of both our time. Come in; you can do your thing while I dry off a bit." I'm the spirit of helpfulness and efficiency when I want to be.
The inspector looked a bit flustered.
"Er... no. That's OK."
He never came back.

So that's how you get rid of TV licence inspectors. Just answer the door dripping wet, mostly naked, and offering to be helpful. Maybe a slightly maniacal grin, too, just to be certain.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 18 Jun 2010, 20:05, 1 reply)

If only
they would send a man in a beige anorak instead of harrassing me with threatening letters several times a month. Sadly, I suspect that as a woman answering the door in a towel the inspectorman would be less inclined to bugger off.

*hears 70's-style porn baum-chica-baum-baum tune*
(berk, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 15:06, closed)