When a stranger with the same name as me books a holiday, I realise that identities can blur in the digital age
I woke up on Thursday morning to a series of emails confirming that, in the night, I’d changed my passwords. Had I? I sleep lightly and with immense elegance, often staying extremely still so as not to wake a cat that curls up on my chest at around 4am, her paw rested on my cheek in a manner that combines affection with the unique threat of an eyeball clawed should I move to, say, check my phone. She will go from purring slave to outraged monster, leaping 4ft in the air and mewling drainingily if I so much as turn my leg, as if I’d twisted her tail or insulted her culture. The cat had not moved.
On the way to work I logged into a holiday website to find that overnight I’d booked a week in Mallorca. I called the website, and was put through to a call centre where they advised that if I no longer wanted to take the holiday, I could cancel it for a fee. But, I said, it wasn’t me that booked it. But, they said, confused, it was. Later I received booking confirmation for dinner in a restaurant called House of Pig, 3,000 miles away. Again, I cancelled the reservation, but this time with less concern, more a kind of migrainous excitement – I pored over the menu online. I’d have had the linguine.
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