I am actually grown up

I have a great love of Disney, of Science Fiction, of books written for "young adults" and for other things that are – generally – considered to be "childish", or at the very least not things that "proper" "grown-up" people should like.

There are any number of reasons for this – part of it is that, as a hobby, I write stories for young adults, so reading books written for them is a good way to improve my storytelling abilities and hone my craft (which is an excessively pretentious way of saying improve my storytelling abilities). Another part is to do with a story I read when I was younger, and I song I learned when I was a child – both of which convinced me that while becoming an adult is inevitable (although not always – another lesson I got taught when I was a lot younger than I am now) it doesn’t mean you have to grow up completely – in fact, it is pretty sad when you do, because you lose your ability to appreciate the delight and the wonder that the world has to offer.

But despite the fact I have managed to babysit my inner child and keep it alive until now (and hopefully long after), and despite the fact that I enjoy watching The Little Mermaid and Tangled as much as I enjoy watching The Departed and The Dead Zone, I am not a naive, babe in the woods who doesn’t know how to survive in day to day life.

A fact I have apparently been unable to convince my parents of. 

They appear to believe I am incapable of making my own choices properly, am going to be ripped off by every passing conman and rip-off merchant and that I would be better off letting them run my life because I will just mess it up and end up penniless, broken and alone. 

This would be a good time to point out I turn 40 next year, that I have been living on my own for nearly 15 years and not once in all that time have I been ripped off or scammed. 

(The reasons I didn’t move out until I was around 25 are fairly long and complicated, and while I might explain them at some point in the future, you’ll just have to live without knowing for the moment).

I admit, even while I am writing this, something has occurred to me that hadn’t occurred to me before as to why my parents might be overly concerned about my life and why they might pay more attention to it than I might consider okay. My older sister was killed when I was eighteen, and it is, I suppose, not unreasonable that – having lost their first-born daughter when she was only 19 – they might worry more about their two remaining children.

But even with that in mind, it can still occasionally get annoying when you find everything you do being second guessed and questioned.

The most blatant example of this was about five years ago – most blatant, but not the most recent, I should add – when a policeman came to my door to tell me that I was being accused of stealing petrol from Tesco.

According to the policeman (and I know – it should probably be police officer, but seriously – he was male and he was a member of the police force, so I don’t think calling him a policeman is too far out of line), I had filled up my car and driven off without paying, and they had it all on CCTV. 

As it turns out, it was almost true. I had filled up my  car, and I had driven off, and the system had no record of me paying for it. 

But I had used the "pay at pump" feature, and had the receipt to prove it. 

Apparently, there had been a miscommunication between the pump and the system in the booth, so that they had no record of me paying for the petrol, even though it was clear I had.

I showed him the receipt, and it was all sorted out fairly quickly – no charges, no nothing. 

But when I told this story to my parents, their first comment was "Are you sure he was a real policeman and that this isn’t scam to get money off you?" 

The policeman showed me his warrant card, he was in full uniform and was contacted on his radio while we were talking. And he didn’t ask me for the money there and then, he told me I would have to go down to Tesco to pay at the store. There was no doubt in my mind that he was anything other than what he said he was – a policeman investigating a crime. 

But they didn’t ask me about this first – they just assumed that because someone had come to the door and was telling me I owed money that I would be unable to tell if it was a con or not, despite having (at that point) ten years of living on my own, and over twenty years in public service jobs of one kind and another.

As I was setting up this diary, there was a knock at the door. A man named Steve had come to ask about whether I had received and reviewed a letter about grants I could get for loft insulation.

He had an ID badge (as did his assistant), and he talked me though my options, then asked if he could come in and survey the loft. 

He didn’t ask for money, and he didn’t ask if he could search my house. He just went up to the loft, had a look around, took a few pictures and then came back down to tell me I needed to put some insulation in.

He set up an appointment, had me fill in some paperwork and agree to pay once the work was complete and I was happy with it. 

Then – and this is the bit that really surprised me – he helped me get down all the crap that was up there from the previous owners (I haven’t ever been up in that loft because I don’t have a suitable ladder and quite honestly why the buggering hell would I ever want to?). This was partly because it would make the insulation and fitting job a lot easier, but also because he seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. 

So they are coming back in about five weeks to do the insulation job, at which point I will pay the difference between the full cost and the grant that covers that vast majority of it. 

He also left me a leaflet with all his contact details, and the details of the company that are going to come and do the job. Then he left.

If he had asked me to pay up front for work that won’t be done for another five weeks, I would have refused. Or if they had lacked identity badges and had done it all by word of mouth (with no papers, nothing to sign or back up what they were saying), I would have refused. Or if it had required me handing over my bank details so they could take the payment when they are done, I would have refused.

But they simply looked around my loft, then made an appointment, left me with the papers and told me they’d be back in five weeks.

Tomorrow, I am going to phone the company and check they have an employee named Steve, and confirm the job appointment is real. Not because I think he is lying, but because you should measure once and cut twice, and because it means that when I finally get round to telling my parents about this they will hopefully accept that I have not been duped and that I can do things right.

And if it does turn out that they are, in fact, liars and thieves, then I will feel very stupid, but I will be sure that I have done everything I can to confirm their stories.

(A quick look on the internet seems to suggest that most people who have had their lofts doneare very happy, and that they are legitimate and backed by the energy companies and the government. And while there were one or two complaints, the vast majority seem to be quite happy).

But I think that, on the whole, I am going to put off telling my parents about this until I have to. Because while it is nice to have parents who care about you, having them question everything you do and suggest that you are not capable of looking after yourself does start to wear on you after a while.

Note – after I mentioned this to my girlfriend, she had kind of the same reaction. But to be fair, she has seen me do TONNES of stupid things that really could have got me totally ripped off (and I guess I was just lucky that I wasn’t!)