The KGB could never touch me, but as for those gormless droids...

My star sign? Not a question I was expecting. Mother's maiden name perhaps, or the name of my first pet*. You know, the standard security questions. Given a choice I always go for the pet name, it feels a bit more secure, not even the KGB could know the name of my first pet. Unless little Bovril was a spy I suppose. Sometimes I mix it up a little, adding some extra security by giving the name of my second pet, or my sister's pet, or even an imaginary pet. In short, I am uncrackable.

"I don't know my star sign," I said, suffering briefly from an inferiority complex, " but how about I simply tell you my date of birth?"

"Sorry Sir, " she replied curtly, "but we are not allowed to ask that any more. For security reasons."

She, I imagine, titillated with reason. My reason, on the other hand, was shafted. I trembled, groping about blindly in the depths of my mind. No light, no handrail, just confusion. All I wanted to do was inform the credit card company of a change of address, and now I was answering a quiz on the Zodiac. (Perhaps I was going mad, mad as the fruitcake I saw in a pub recently. Having bought a carbonated bottle of cider he spent ten minutes pouring it repeatedly from one pint glass to another. I asked him why he was doing this. "To get rid of the bubbles," he said. Or as mad as his companion, an old man dressed entirely in denim. This nutter ordered "blackcurrent and soda" and spent the next half hour playing with the ring tones on his phone.)

"You can find out your star sign in a newspaper or magazine, " she added helpfully.

"Listen," I said, "I'm not an astronomer, or an astrologer." Or Mystic Meg. "I wouldn't be seen dead reading the charts. What possible reason do I have for knowing my star sign? How about I just tell you the month I was born in?" The only thing I care less about than star signs is netball, celebrity gossip or Madonna's adoption plans. Screw that, I care even less about Coleslaw. The last time someone (in jest) read me my horoscope it was completely wrong. Instead of having "my lucky day" I got stuck on a train for two hours that broke down on the one part of the line that had no mobile phone reception.

"Sorry Sir..."

"Madness," I said, "this is supposedly a secure banking line and nobody but you can hear me." I glanced over my shoulder at the impatient queue of gormless droids behind me. They glared back. They could almost certainly hear me, the bank was laid out in typically incompetent fashion, but telling the truth would spoil my argument. "I've already told you my name, old address, new address and credit card number. If someone is listening in they already have enough information to bleed me dry. From what I remember there are twelve star signs, and twelve months, what's the difference? In this rational age how can you expect me to know my star sign?"

"Your star sign is Gemini," she said brusquely, "remember it for next time."

*I don't know if this security question appears outside of Britain, but it always appears as a default or example security question - for all sorts of services.

The Mentor at the Bank

With the current financial crisis and the recent G20 summit, where world leaders met to *cough cough* waste money being photographed in a pitiful spin exercise agree how to save the world (don't they need to save the cheerleader first?), I'm reminded of a prank I pulled with a friend at university. The link is pretty tenuous - the prank was at a bank.

At the time my friend, Ray, who later became my best man and one of my daughter's godparents, tended to wear a long, black, Matrix (leather) coat. One day we were on campus and I needed to go to the bank to extend my overdraft. Ray had a great idea. We would go in together and he would pretend to be my 'guide' or 'mentor'. Whenever I was asked a question I was to look up at him, and he would nod to indicate that I should proceed. It seemed terribly funny at the time.

We were called forward to the desk of one of the 'personal bankers', an austere lady with a giant blond bouffant and pearl earrings. She reminded me of one of my primary school teachers. "Please take a seat," she said. I took a seat and Ray stood rigidly behind my left shoulder.

"How may I help you?" she asked.

I looked up at Ray, who nodded cautiously. "I'd like to extend my overdraft," I said. She asked for my debit card. Once again I looked up at Ray. He paused for a second, as if weighing up the situation, and then nodded again. I handed over my debit card.

The lady stiffened and peered at me over her spectacles. She glanced up at Ray, and then back at me. The bouffant grew visibly larger, the pearl earrings winked in unison, a terrifying stoniness came into her grey eyes. Had I listened hard I expect I would have heard a dog barking in the distance.

"Who," she said, "is THAT?"

I looked up at Ray. A sense of acute discomfort came over me, maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. Ray had the appearance of a Neo who was wetting himself with fear. He nodded again, a little reluctantly.

"This is my mentor," I said, employing my very best poker face.

"Well," she said, as if scolding a pair of naughty kindergartners, " either your 'mentor' leaves RIGHT NOW, or I call the police."

I turned to Ray. Once standing proud and upright, he was now drooping like a wet sock. "You wait outside," I said. He regained his composure and strode out Neo-like while I sorted out my overdraft.

Banks Ostracise Smokers and the Obese

With the Labour government gaining significant shareholdings in our major banks, there was always a fear that they would abuse this position, as all serious lefty governments should. However none of us expected them to act so soon, or so swiftly.

In a move that is likely to cause unprecedented controversy, a Banking Reform Bill has been put forward for immediate consideration. It seems that the government is willing to abuse its new influence, attacking what it sees as poor lifestyle choices, and using the banking system as a lever.

Labour MP James James James, author of the bill, spoke to the press about his proposals.

"This government cannot simply do nothing about individuals in this country who continue to make lifestyle choices that we do not approve of. Our sudden position of influence over the nation's banks has given us a remarkable opportunity to attack anti-social and detrimental behaviour, and to pressure individuals into changing their lifestyles.

We intend to force banks to give low savings interest rates, and high mortgage interest rates to anyone who is engaging in anti-social behaviour, embracing lifestyle choices that are detrimental to their health or others' health, or simply embracing arbitrary lifestyle choices that we do not approve of.

Ultimately, we intend to use the banking system to reform individuals. Our focus will initially be to target smokers, the obese, anyone who drives a vehicle of over 30MPG, people who live in a home without double glazing, middle-class couples who share a bottle of wine on a Friday night, owners of small yappy dogs, and any parent who has given their children silly names."

Mr James James James has denied accusations that he has a personal stake in the bill.

As we spoke to various individuals about this bill, it has become clear the public are furious. Sweetshop owner Tony, of "Tony's Tucker", made his opinions very clear.

"This is outrageous. I'm not even clinically obese, yet I face under-inflation savings rates, and massive mortgage interest rates, just for being slightly tubby. Hell, I'm only 13 stone. Statistically, one in four of us in Britain are categorised as obese. What will this mean for us all?"

Award-winning celebrity magazine "Bottom-Of-The-Barrel Celebrity Trash" has also spoken out in this week's issue.

"We're terribly worried about high-profile A-list smokers such as Lindsay Lohan, Amy Winehouse and Simon Cowell. Unless they are extremely shrewed they could lose vast amounts of their savings simply because they smoke. And what would that mean for the X Factor or American Idol? This isn't just an attack on lifestyle, this is an attack on quality television."

Dorothy Tailor, 95, was protesting outside number 10 Downing Street today. Propped up against her zimmer frame, and panting like crazy, she let herself go. "I cannot believe this. I've paid my taxes, fought in the war, and now they will be stealing my savings because I don't have double glazing. It's a council house for goodness sake. They were the ones that built it!"

Phil and Amy, early thirties, a middle-class couple from a middle-class suburb living typical middle-class lives, spoke out in defence of all middle-class couples that share a bottle of wine on a Friday night.

"It's ridiculous", said Phil, "we don't drink during the week, and on a Friday we will go through a bottle of red, but that's over the course of the whole evening, dinner, film, everything. We're entitled to do that, as are all middle-class couples."

"It's not as if we're giraffing around like Amy Winehouse or Pete Doherty", said Amy, a little flustered, "I don't know why they keep targeting us middle-class couples and moaning about this single bottle of wine."

Steve Jones, 75, voiced his concerns over the targeting of car owners. "30 MPG is flipping brilliant, if everyone drove a 30 MPG car we would probably beat Kyoto hands down, and yet they strike 90 percent of the nation in one foul eco-swoop. It's bizarre, why not continue to target the so-called "Chelsea Tractors", 4x4s and the stupid little scooters that chavs drive instead? Do they expect us all to ride bicycles round the M25?"

Former investment banker, Andrew Higgins, gave his views from the perspective of a jobless banker. "I just don't understand why they are doing this now, in this current financial crisis. As if the credit crunch wasn't bad enough. On the other hand, hitting owners of yappy dogs with bad savings rates is a great idea."

The Sensible Politics Alliance expressed its fury in the form of a live television interview. Unfortunately the interviewee had to be restrained and the content of his barrage cannot be published here. We can reveal that the phrases "intellectual suicide" and "incontinent twerp" were used, though not in the same sentence.

The Granny Disruption Conspiracy : An Exposé

As news stories break out covering the so-called "Granny Disruption Conspiracy", we bring you the first exclusive on this dark, dingy and dangerous organisation of pensioners. This sinister organisation has been causing public disruption in banks, post offices and supermarkets at an increasing rate.

Scotland Yard have been closing in on the organisation, known internally as the GDC, for the last two years. The net finally closed with yesterday's sting operation, catching the conspirators off-guard in a derelict warehouse in Wimbledon. A leaked report reveals that among the captured equipment were GPS devices, jamming equipment and two B-2 stealth bombers.

The GDC was started in 1967 by the Pilchard sisters, Dot and Maude. While they passed away many years ago, these gifted old ladies wrote much of the GDC's literature, which was released into the public domain just a few hours ago. The following exerts shed some light on their motivation.

"The idea for the GDC was born during a scrabble game in the Littlehampton Scrabble Club. Frankly, we were bored. Bored of scrabble, bored of sitting around all day watching television, bored of tea and cake. Ignored by the public, abandoned by our children, and fed up of seeing daytime television deteriorate before our very eyes."

"Disgruntled with life in every way, we believed that it was our human right to claim back recognition, even by illegal means. All we wanted was love, conversation, respect and recognition. And we couldn't believe the BBC license fee had just gone up again while the quality of daytime shows had grown even more dismal."

"Over that influential scrabble game our plan was hatched. A conspiracy on a national scale. We would disrupt the younger generations with stealth, cunning and wickedness, interspersed with games of scrabble and, of course, lots of tea and cake."

With its "sinister and secret" ambitions, the GDC mimicked the Freemasons in various ways. They introduced a secret handshake, which had all sorts of convolutions to cater for walking sticks, zimmer frames and electric buggies.

The GDC based its hierarchy on the Freemason's thirty-three degree (or level) system, with Dot and Maude initially at the top. Between each degree was an initiation ceremony in the form of a scrabble game, with the member in question having to achieve a minimum of N triple-word-scores, where N increased from degree to degree.

One area that the GDC chose to differ from the Freemasons is regarding the religious aspects, as the Pichard sisters explain in their paper "The Founding of the GDC".

"We have chosen to omit all the bizarre religious aspects of the Freemasons. This is because most of us are nice, prim old ladies who are Church Of England, organise church fetes and vote Conservative. We've had to stick with the God of the Bible I'm afraid."

Since the GDC has been exposed Robin Stevenson, PR Officer for the United Grand Lodge of England, has denied all knowledge of, or involvement with, the GDC.

"The Freemasons vehemently deny any knowledge of, or involvement with, the GDC.", he stated.

Off the record, he expressed admiration for how they had developed the handshake, especially regarding zimmer frames. "It just goes to show what a bright bunch of old ladies they are!", he exclaimed.

The GDC has grown in size astronomically over the past ten years, and now has approximately two million members in the UK alone. With the organisation exposed, members have been willingly speaking to the press.

"I'm just glad it is all over", said Anne Goddard, 85, from Milton Keynes. "They kept us so busy, you know, a compulsory game of scrabble three times a day just keep our minds sharp."

We were curious as to why so many pensioners had joined the organisation. Polly Pike, 90, from Windermere, explained why she joined. "I had been thinking about it for a while, a lot of my friends from the scrabble club had joined, as well as from my knitting group and bowling club too. The peer pressure was enormous. But it was the BBC license fee that did it. When it passed the hundred pound mark I joined straight away."

Thirtieth-degree GDC member Jane Sidcombe, 97, explained the principal modes of operation.

"The organisation has always kept its targets simple. We've always focused on banks, post offices and supermarkets. The aim has always been to disrupt the general public at the most inconvenient moments - inconvenient for the public of course - we have all the time in the world!

Just like the Freemasons, we have lodges in cities, towns, and even in some villages. Each lodge is responsible for causing disruption in its own jurisdiction. This is achieved primarily by identifying a hot spot, usually a bank, post office or supermarket, and dispatching an elite troop of pensioners at the most disrupting time.

To dispatch a troop of pensioners swiftly and efficiently, the organisation has increasingly depended on military vehicles and equipment."

Former GDC treasurer Gertrude Jones, 103, explained where the funding comes from.

"The organisation has obtained funds both legally and illegally. We have legitimate fronts in Bingo, Knitting Groups, Scrabble and Bowling clubs. With over two million members in the UK, all playing Bingo three times a week, you can imagine we generate quite a significant income. When funds have been short, we have also embezzled pension funds, which are not proud about, seeing as all of our members are pensioners themselves, but this has been unavoidable.

Our final source of funds is Al-Qaeda, who see our disruptive actions as key to bringing down The West. This has not been without controversy. The majority of our members are nice, prim, Church-Of-England-going, church-fete-participating types, who did not want to be associated with Islam."

We spoke to the Chief of Operations, General Betty Davies, 78, to get a better idea of some typical operations.

"I'll explain how a typical operation unfolds.", said General Davies, as she sipped her tea from a china cup.

"The operating lodge will identify, say, a high street bank. Identification can be at random, or it can be strategic, if we are focusing on bringing prolonged disruption to the town, for example. If the latter, we may hit a post office on the Monday, and then a bank on the Tuesday, and so on.

An elite troop of pensioners is then dispatched. This can be any number between five and fifty. Our communications and surveillance team have tapped in to the national CCTV network, so are able to judge the best sized attack squad.

We quickly found that due to our general lack of mobility - our average age is 84 - the only way to swiftly deploy attack squads was using stealth bombers and mini-buses.

Even with our vast income from Bingo, we were only able to purchase two B-2 stealth bombers, so most of the time we just use mini-buses."

"You're kidding me, right?", our correspondent exclaimed. "A stealth mini-bus will pull up outside a bank, and offload a troop of pensioners, and shoot off again, without being noticed?"

General Davies smiled. "That is exactly what happens. Our troops are trained to disrupt using a variety of techniques. Some pretend to be lost. Some deliberately drop change everywhere. Some simply pad out queues."

And as if to prove the legitimacy of her claims, Betty asked some loaded questions.

"Ever wonder why every time you go to the bank in your lunch break it is completely full of pensioners? Or what about those times the post office is so insanely busy you wondered if there was a conspiracy? You probably wondered why they all chose to go to the post office at lunch time. To deliberately disrupt commuters on their lunch break? Now you know."