And then I have an idea: these people could make me look important! Convince the man I was some kind of mogul or businessman! Wipe the sneer from his stupid face! They could fax me! Fax me at the hotel! With important messages, such as, 'The Japanese have offered twelve million. What's our next move?'

I tap it out and put it to the people. Their reaction is immediate.

'Fax?' writes one. 'Where are you staying? The 1980s?'

'Come on!' I reply. 'Let's do this! Let us strike a blow for the little man!'

I wait. I wait a little more. And then ... the phone rings. It's the man. Apparently there is a fax for me at reception. He's sending it up.

What was that I detected in the man's voice? Could it be reverence and respect? Yes, it could! It's worked!

A knock at my door. A bellboy hands me an envelope. I thank him, very seriously, trying to look harassed and businesslike.

I open it. There are sixteen faxes. Sixteen! Take that, man downstairs!

I read the first one.

'Spielberg would like to meet you at his office tomorrow to discuss your script.'

Brilliant! Spielberg! Imagine the man's face when he saw that! I read the next ones ...

'FAO Danny Wallace. Paramount has greenlit it.'

'Danny - Sweden need to know your response. Call them NOW.'

'Dan. Current offer is just $5 million. Told them to get screwed.'

Ha! And then a knock at the door. It's the bellboy again. He's holding more faxes!

'Oh,' I say, and then, with a mysteriously deep voice: 'Thanks.'

I open the envelope, and there are dozens more faxes, but these ones more elaborate, more considered. One has a United Nations letterhead: 'Armenian President Sargsyan requests urgent response. Gold bullion shipment has NOT arrived. Penguins also missing.'

Now there's one from NASA: 'With regards to proposed Apollo 22 mission, NASA has confirmed you will not be alone for the whole duration of the mission. On days 1-13 you will be accompanied by Cheezy the Monkey.'

'Danny! - they have been here - they have taken all the files regarding the transfer - don't use your phone - for God's sake get out of there - trust no one!'

Uh-oh. Perhaps the man might now be having his doubts about me. And they show no sign of stopping. The phone rings again. More faxes are coming up. Still. At least I look interesting. I mean, he might think these are true.

'Universal Genetics' reads the next letterhead. 'Dear Mr Wallace, the results for your paternity test are finally in. Our sincere apologies for the considerable delay caused by the unusual viscosity of your fluids. Congrats, the baby's yours!'

Oh, God! He might think these are true!