Opinion Polls

I was peeling spuds when the phone rang. A rare occurrence, the phone ringing (and the spud peeling, as it happens), and somewhat disturbing - you always wonder whether it is some unwelcome news from Blighty. This time, however, it was a woman from the SOFRES polling organisation. I feel sorry for these people, who, in order to earn a crust, have to ask inane questions all day long, and get insulted by irate people who feel that their privacy has been invaded. I decided to play along, partly for anthropological reasons, as I was curious to find out what people were paying good money for SOFRES to find out about me.

It turned out to be a pot pourri of questions: clearly the poor woman was a servant of two or more masters, who were saving money, but not her effort, by combining surveys. First came a series of questions on how I chose my holidays (was I influenced by books, films, newspapers, telly etc.?). Then a quick question: 'was I the chef de famille'. I told her in no uncertain terms that I did not approve of the idea. Unfortunately there wasn't a box to tick for that response, so the BH is now, willy nilly and according to SOFRES, my Chef de Famille. Then came questions on La Française des Jeux. How many of their games did I recognise? There seemed to be hundreds, including one which sounded like 'morpion', which if my hazy memory of medical French serves me right, means 'pubic louse'.

The same negative response for all of them was given, except for the Lotto. Then a tucked in question about the Post Office: had I used it recently. I said 'yesterday, actually', but what she wanted to know was had I used it in the last twelve months. I said I had already answered, and she sounded puzzled. Finally the coin dropped. You mean 'yes'?

I had decided to take part because I was sorry for her: after taking part I felt sorrier for her than before.