Finally, after four days of hard graft, isolation from the real world, and self-induced comas, I have managed to make contact with the other side.

Yes, this morning British Gas actually picked up their bloody phone. It came as a great shock to my system to hear a human voice on the other end of the line as opposed to a computerised woman telling me to hang up and try again later. After some complicated button pressing down on my hands and knees in the meter cupboard with a torch, under the guidance of James-How-Can-I-Help-You, a procedure similar in practice to being told how to land a Boeing 707 by the control tower, I eventually found the enigmatic screen 27 where I was informed that I owed British Gas the grand total of £49.70.

"Why exactly?" I asked James-How-Can-I-Help-You. "I'm on a pre-paid meter. I can't possibly get into debt."

"It seems we've made a billing error, Mr Hughes."

You're not fucking kidding there are you, James? It's a good job I noticed the money being nibbled away isn't it? Because screen 27 (press and hold button 'A' for five minutes, then advance to screen 24 before inserting card for ten seconds and proceding to screen 27) wasn't exactly declaring itself openly. Who knows how many millions I could have lost by now if it wasn't for my vigilance.

Apparently it's going to take a week before they sort things out. In the meantime the meter will continue to eat my money without question because of British Gas' so-called computer error. I call that theft.

I have decided that if this problem isn't sorted out within seven days (repaid in full and working as agreed in the original contract) I shall start charging British Gas interest on the money they've already stolen from me. It seems only fair. I shall charge £1.00 per day for every £1.00 they've nicked off my Gas card until they can be arsed paying me back. And I'm holding James personally responsible. Four days to answer the bloody phone! I don't smell Gas...I smell the stench of corruption. Remember folks...BRITISH GAS...THEY STINK!