Identity Theft

Welcome to 2012. If this was a movie franchise, 2011 was the first Matrix film with a cool 'everything you know is wrong' vibe.  Financial armageddon looms, the poor get poorer, the rich get richer, even the weather went weird but then a ray of hope shines out. The people rise up and overthrow the fascist tyrant that had held his people in slavery for decades...yes Rupert Murdoch's hold on British political life was broken. And ding dong the witch stands a chance of criminal prosecution, that's Rebecca Brooks incidentally, in case you were following this analogy which to be honest I'm not any more.

Suffice to say that 2012, the sequel to the original Matrix 2011, will be more of the same only rubbish and incomprehensible. If anyone meets the Wachowski Brothers, please tell them from me, I want the two hours and £10 I spent watching the Matrix sequel back, same goes for George Lucas and that shameless cash-in and rape of my childhood dreams film known as the 'first' Star Wars film.

So what better way to usher in this sorry excuse of a year than to tell you about a heartwarming personal story of crime and credit, for I have been a victim of identity theft. At first, I had a little surge of pride to think that of all the identities out there, mine was worth stealing; then you realise you're just one of many marks, a drop in the ocean of impersonation. Imagine if you had a stalker and he started following other people; you would feel cheap and used.

Identity theft gave me a brief insight into crime prevention techniques in this country, as on the same day I discovered a new mobile phone contract taken out in my name along with a store card, my actual, legal credit card was stopped for purchasing £150 of goods online. Never fear I thought, if the fraud detection software is so finely tuned it activates on a handful of legit purchases, there is no way that any business would be so incompetent or negligent as to dole out a £500 phone contract with no security checks or a store card with a £1000 credit limit without proof of identity.

Relax, your identity is secure, because whoever impersonated me had to pass a tough test, they had a letter with my address on the top and they knew my birthday. Yet a piece of this puzzle is missing and you don't have to be a super-detective hybrid of Columbo crossed with Sherlock and a dash of Miss Marple to solve this case. (Sorry I've just got a weird image in my head of Benedict Cumberbatch wearing a floral hat, rain mac and smoking a cigar). Where were we? Yes, solving the mystery is pretty straightforward and does not involve Professor Moriarty or gathering all in the suspects on one room for a bizarrely convoluted exposition at the end of the show. It was the postman stealing my mail, somewhere between the sorting office and my flat, using his thieving, pickpockety hands. Or it could have been a female postal delivery agent, whatever the gender, somebody's been dipping into my post, which trust me is dull beyond belief.

When you call Royal Mail  to say that the police and the credit card fraud prevention team believe your post has been intercepted, they don't have to tell you what happens as a result of their investigation or indeed tell you anything. Although the woman on the phone was perfectly polite, the postal service's customer care ethos can be summarised as: go away and leave us alone, we're busy listening to Five Live and drop kicking your special delivery package across the sorting room floor. Then, when the supervisor's not looking, pinching your post.

But I did get a phone call from the Metropolitan Police, explaining that even though someone had impersonated me to take out a store card and a mobile phone, I was not a victim of crime, it was the mobile company and the bank who were the victims. It is, incredibly, not an offence to steal someone's identity to take out contracts in their name. Quite how the Labour party failed to pass a law against this, given that egg tampering justified its own statute, is one of those strange unanswered questions of life like Ed Milliband.

In spite of all these shenanigans, part of me remains flattered that the thieving postie and his accomplices chose me, which I realise is tragic, but with 2012 already limbering up to be as much fun as root canal work without anaesthesia,  I'll take what I can get.


PS - I feel the word 'shenanigans', like 'tomfoolery' ought to be employed more often in every day speech.  Don't over do it though, as if you're not careful some branding consultant will set up a chain of themed Irish fun pubs, called Shenanigans, with a leprechaun logo and bits of old farm machinery painted neon-green decorating every outlet.