Here is the friendly view from their friendly car park:
Yes. That is a US Prison-grade electric fence there. A very swish and expensive looking electric fence it is too.
The offices were similarly swish and expensive looking, being a relatively new purpose-built construction on the former site of some exceptionally bad early sixties flats, burying the failed social housing experiment of that era with a particularly mocking rejoinder to the largely jobless people who would once have lived there. Plenty of publicity and glory-shot marketing material covered the site in the particularly hideous puce that Salford council favour these days.
I show up for my appointment as promptly as one might expect given how much free time I have to be on time these days.
The young lady behind the inch-thick optically-perfect bulletproof lexan sneeze-guard asked me for my details which I in turn gave her. Some tapping of keys followed. Then a phone call. Then another phone call.
"I'm sorry, we've no record of you having an appointment."
"But I definitely made one. I have a confirmation letter."
"We don't have you down for an appointment. I'm sorry."
"But I have a letter!"
"I'm sorry."
"Is anyone available, perhaps?"
"I'm sorry, you need to make an appointment."
"Can we make an appointment then?"
"I'm sorry, you need to phone up to book an appointment."
As it turned out, the electric fence must only get switched on at night.
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