I’m imposing a one-woman trade embargo on China

Without making any efforts in that direction, I now know all about a certain telecom firm’s future business plans. My neighbours are working from home, loudly, with their kitchen windows open.

I want to scream: ‘I can’t turn my ears off, and I don’t have a mute function!’ Call me old-fashioned, but if they continue to corporate grandstand at the tops of their voices during laptop conference calls without specifically telling me that everything I’m hearing is off the record, then I’m treating them as primary source material.

‘Guys, that’s confidential. Our ears only,’ one of them keeps shouting through her kitchen window. Why not close the window, as a first step to keeping this company’s logistical secrets secret?

Instead of that, she later came out of her kitchen and sat herself down at the table on her patio to conduct a three-hour conference call with assorted executives, including the CEO of her company, barking about £30 million black holes in revenue and all manner of corporate lawks-a-mercy.

You would think she would want to keep that to herself. But no. I’m being force-fed this stuff. She’s practically pumping information into me. No matter how hard I try not to, I’m learning all about IRUs, or Indefeasible Rights of Use, which are unbreakable contracts whereby the owners of telecommunication systems lease cables to big companies.

What can I do? I tried to read a book. But I couldn’t hear myself think. She’s forcing her business into my earholes. I can’t keep it out. Maybe I should join in. I don’t see much corporate action in my kitchen, but if the editor of these pages does ring me, then to keep up with the Joneses I suppose I could yell: ‘Hey, guys, let’s work on scenario one, which is that I file to you at 4 p.m.