Who the frock is Matthew Gamba?

Is it him (you'll need to scroll down a bit)? Or him? Or her?

I haven't a clue, but whoever it is has persuaded some machine to keep phoning me everyday and leave the same two messages both in varied degrees of garbled explaining that Matthew Gamba must phone the Royal Bank of Scotland immediately and can do so by pushing any button. Which in itself is a lie because I tried that and all I got was, "I'm sorry, I do not understand that command".

Anyway, I've decided that Gamba must be the son of a central African dictator, currently on the lam and looking for somewhere to stash pater's ill-earned krugerands but that first he just needs to set up a money transfer from my account to check that the international banking system works. Which it does. Because THAT'S CAPITALISM.

So fuck you, Matthew Gamba, and your pig-eyed larcenic (word?) schemes. Unless you actually are the Italian firearm manufacturer - "Finest Italian gun and rifle manufacturer - my passion" - in which case, send me a hand-crafted uzi and we'll forget all about it.