Divan Intervention

It is a sign of how much the Service Industries account for the numbers of the UK population in employment that just about everyone I pass or meet in the street is wearing a lanyard and attached to it some form of identity badge.

It is not just as a means of identification but also an indication that some form of security vetting has been carried out in the interests of safeguarding the general public.

The poshest of ID cards can also facilitate entry into a place of work through sophisticated algorithms and barcodes, entitle the wearer to use the amenities in the office or factory and form a permanent and accountable record of punctuality, attendance and discipline.

In spite of the potential for Big Brother type surveillance these bits of official adornment are worn with great pride and as a badge to demonstrate being in work over and above those who not in such a fortunate position. I suppose in the past this was indicated by seeing people in the street wearing work overalls, a leather jerkin, a donkey jacket , paint and plaster spattered dungarees or specialised uniforms and protective gear.

I myself have been provided with a Corporate Logo lanyard and a laminated photo card denoting that I am acting on behalf of the Company and am on official business.

This does open doors for me although turning up at a pre-arranged and confirmed appointment, wearing a suit, carrying surveying ladders, clipboard and other equipment is a bit of a giveaway as to the purpose of my visit to a property.

As it is that lanyard and card have been rather problematic to me in my everyday workload. Many a time I have almost been strangled as I have clambered out of the car only to snag the thing on the retracting seat belt. It can also attach itself to buttons, knobs, curtain tie-backs, bathroom fittings and garden shrubbery causing some discomfort and, if seen by the householder, a deal of embarrassment.

Another issue that happens quite frequently is that the card detaches itself from the spring clip on the lanyard and without any prior indication.

I have written before about having to return to a house and with the co-operation of a home-owner carrying out a detailed back-tracking search for the wayward ID card. On that occasion I found it in the bottom of a hallway cupboard resting against Henry the Hoover but only after a full lap around the house and even up in the roofspace.

If the detachment is over a wooden or ceramic tiled floor I can often hear the sound of the impact of plastic. However, the trend for plush deep pile carpets and that being with the demise of the popularity of laminate in UK homes gives me no chance of detection.

There was a bit of a strange pattern around the separation of card from lanyard in that it was more likely to happen at or around 3pm on any one day. I mused on this mysterious coincidence.

Being after lunch or having had a coffee I thought that a slight involuntary bulge in my belly might bring about the slight opening up of the spring-clip allowing the card to cascade to the floor.

Just yesterday I realised that there could be more serious implications around the phenomena.

At some time during the inspection of a house on a modern estate my ID card did its usual walkabout. I didn't notice it and it was only after a further two appointments that the loss of it was apparent. This was both annoying and inconvenient as I would have to re-order a replacement through Head Office.

I could always get my P.A, to contact the three homeowners in case they had come across the offending item although frankly it could have gone missing at any point inside, outside or in between any of those addresses.

As it was I wrote it off as lost. A brand new photo ID would already be on its way to me.

It was during today that a man telephoned me to say that he had found my card.

I remembered him from the first job of the previous day.

He was mystified in that he had come across it under his bed.

My mind raced back to that appointment. The man had been the only person in attendance. I seem to recall that his living room was a bit of a man-cave with a huge plasma screen TV, a parked bicycle and two arcade sized fruit machines.

I was relieved to find out that there was no lady of that house because I could imagine the questions asked between a couple upon the discovery of someones ID card in such a potential sensitive place.