Not long after the still-sniggering Richard had hung up, the phone started ringing again. Jeremy was slightly hesitant about answering it - after all, it could be someone calling for the girl he was supposed to be - but, after seven rings, he picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Er, hello," a rather familiar voice said with a rather unfamiliar degree of uncertainty. "Er, is that - is that Harriet?"

"No," Jeremy said; "I think that's probably you."

There was a rather nervous laugh that didn't suit his voice at all. "You are Jeremy, then? Er, Mr. Clarkson? I - sorry, I don't know what I should call you."

"I think that's probably the least of our worries, actually," Jeremy said, glancing down at his chest.

"Well, er, yes. I'm just calling to say that Richard says he can drive me home - where you are, so it'd probably be easiest if you didn't go anywhere."

"I don't really have a choice; I've noticed you don't have a driver's licence, and I'm hardly going to go on public transport," Jeremy said. "Your purse says 'Superbabe'."

"Er," the voice said, sounding mortified. "Yes."

"Are you going to pay me back for the price of this call?"

There was a pause, and then, rather frantically, "Er, I - sorry, I had to use your phone, and obviously I don't have my money right now, but - I don't know, you've got my card and I could tell you my PIN code, but I don't know - I'm sure I can trust you, but just in case something happens I don't - I don't know that I could convince the authorities that another person in my body was stealing from my bank account, and - "

"I was joking," Jeremy interrupted.

There was a pause.

"Top Gear is fantastic," the voice said, sounding slightly hysterical, "and I love you."

And then she apologised about seven times and hung up.

Jeremy lay back on the sofa and hoped desperately that nobody tried to interview Jeremy Clarkson before this was sorted out.