In Ashley Cole's boots

A few of you have sent me emails asking 101 questions about my foray into the land of being a chat-line operator so I thought I would give you an insight into just what it involves, and to warn you all about the very strange people that roam our telecommunication cables…….

I was drunk, very drunk the first time I logged on. In fact, being realistic, I was shit faced. It was the only way I could possibly go through with it. By 8pm on the night in question, all inhibitions had abandoned me and so merry was I, that I couldn’t wait for the first call to come through. I recorded my message and waited for a caller. As soon as the phone did ring, I sobered up, broke out in a sweat and almost crapped my pants. But, like a true professional I went ahead, got into character and answered the phone.

Dave from Liverpool was my first caller. ‘Do you do role plays mate’ he asked. The hairs stood up not only on the back of my neck but also on the carpet. I was terrified, but responded with ‘yeah, we can do that Dave’ And this is how the converstion continued.....

Dave: Do you like football mate

Me: Um, yeah (to self-I’m gay for fuck sake, I know nothing about it)

Dave: I want you to be Ashley Cole

Me (wondering where the hell this is going): Yeah, I’m um, Ashley Cole, how are ya doing Dave?

Dave: Can I call you Ash?

Me, but now Ash: Yep, you can call me Ash.

Dave: Tell me about your Chelsea kit Ash

Ash (racking my brain to find any sort of image of a football kit): Oh, it’s lovely, its red and white and I have a number on the back I’m number 1 and…..

Dave (cutting me off abruptly): No it’s not; your kit is blue and white and the number on your back is 3

Ash (backtracking to cover up this clearly titanic error) Oh, I thought I was playing away, yeah, that's my away kit (what the fuck am I talking about?)

Dave: Look, don’t spoil it, you’re wearing blue and white, I don’t want to talk about your away kit
Ash (removing foot, ankle and shin from mouth) Sorry, I’m in my blue and white kit, am I playing football?

Dave: Oh yeah, that’s good. OK Ash, your on the pitch, I want to hear you panting

Ash: (stifled laughter but like a good chat line operator, I compose and start to pant)

Dave (getting VERY animated): Ok Ash, Rooney is gonna give you a sly tackle on the left and you’re gonna hit the pitch.

Ash(getting carried away at this point):Fuck, that Rooney is a dirty player, he’s just fowled me

Dave (breathing heavily): Are you in pain Ash? I wanna hear you in pain. Say ‘Ow’ for me Ash

Ash (going for a BAFTA by howling like a banshee): My leg is fucked, I can’t play the rest of the match, they might have to stretcher me off. That cunt Rooney, I’m gonna ‘ave him (This isn’t so hard I think to myself)

Dave: Ok Ash mate, I’m gonna have to give you a little injection in your leg ok?

Ash (feeling slightly unnerved and reverting to being five years old, completely forgetting I am doing role-play): I’m not a fan of needles, in fact I hate them, they scare the life out of me, can you just rub some ointment on it? Oh please, Don’t inject me.

Dave (making a familiar sounding moan): Thanks mate, I’m sorted

That was it, Dave hung up, apparently a very happy customer. During my two week stint on the chat-line he became a ‘Regular’ and called back frequently. We would pretty much do the same scenario, except sometimes we would alternate and it would be ‘that prissy cunt’ Beckham that has given me a sly tackle, but consistent as Dave was, it was always ‘on me left’.

The funny thing about our conversations was that they were not actually sexual at all.^ I did once try to get my character off the pitch and into the shower but Dave was having none of it. The furthest we ever got to undressing ‘Ash’ was him taking one of ‘his’ boots off, while ‘he’ was ‘Laying down on his bed after the big match’ and poor old Dave didn’t even get the laces undone before saying ‘Thanks mate, I’m sorted’

I lasted about two weeks as a chat line operator, because I really do find the whole thing VERY unsavoury.* I just thought it would be a very funny thing to do (and to write a blog about) and really did think the pounds would be rolling in. But here is where it became a false economy:

I had to be pissed as a fart to go on line. Cost £10 for 2 bottle of wine per day, over a 2 week period £140.

Amount of revenue I made in a two week period, having a ‘talk time’++ total of 6 hours: £53.45

Out of pocket in two weeks by: £86.55

So, it turns out that what had initially seemed like a great money making scheme actually wasn’t and was also in danger of turning me into an alcoholic. So I knocked it on ‘the head’.

I just wonder if whoever Dave is speaking to know, comes close to filling my Chelsea boots.




^ Some calls we so perverse, that I would have a bucket by me just incase I needed to spew. And I did have to terminate a few, that even Pamela Anderson would have considered ‘too much’

*I would like to state for the record that I absolutely detest the whole chat-line world and it is all very bittersweet for me because an ex of mine, Mr Sewer, as well as being sociopath, a pathological liar, selfish, bad in bed and a sex addict (yeah, I’m leading with his nicer qualities here) he was also addicted to chat lines and would spend hours on them and would even call them from the toliets at his workplace. I would like to say that they were responsible for completely ruining our relationship, but clearly there were numerous other factors in the demise………


++ You only get paid for talking to a caller. If you are logged on to the system for 5 hours, but only talk for 20 minutes, you will only be paid for those 20 minutes. Tight cunts.