September 19, 2013

I’m feeling pretty fragmented so let’s have a fragmenty blog post




. . . how my mother helped capture a pair of bank robbers and managed not to sell them the guns they wanted to buy.

Guest.  Post.  . . . Please?  Or if you’ve told the story elsewhere, a link?


It may be time to go to the Financial Ombudsman Service about the bank.

I passed the eight weeks’ necessary time lapse yesterday if we’re counting from the date on my initial complaint letter.  If I have to wait from the first written acknowledgement I had from the bank, add a fortnight.  If the clock only starts ticking from the first case-specific letter I had from the bank add about five weeks.  I wrote to, and have been sending updates to since, the Guardian consumer champion people but apparently my case is not interesting enough—which kind of makes you wonder what is going on elsewhere.  Oh, and the latest?  My local branch told me that the reason I can have only one cheque-writing account tapping my holding-tank account is because you’re only allowed ONE account feeding off ONE other account.  WHAT?  I’ve had two cheque-writing accounts kept topped up by my single holding-tank account FOR TWENTY TWO YEARS, my personal individual account AND A SECOND ONE that I share with Peter.

I still have a headache.

Mrs Redboots

If it were me, I would be taking up residence in the bank and insisting on speaking to Someone In Authority, and not moving until you did. And if they won’t give you satisfaction, then I’d be on the phone to First Direct or one of those….

Well, it’s not you.  My local branch doesn’t have a person in authority and the idea of trying to find a bigger, hairier branch that does and then staging a dignified tantrum for said authority’s benefit doesn’t sound like a successful stratagem for me.  I’m an introvert with ME.  I have stamina problems anyway—and I’d have to drive to whatever confrontation I planned—and aside from the sheer grisly blank-mind-inducing horror of trying to have what is essentially an antagonistic conversation with a stranger about MONEY, my least favourite topic and around which I have minimal skill, between the ME and menopause I have no memory.  I want to slog through this fiscal murk as much as possible leaving a clear shining paper trail.  Or at least a slightly scintillant email trail.

But yes, I suspect First Direct is in my future.  I’ve had several people recommend them.  Even Which? likes them.*    Old person than I am, I’m not crazy about the idea of an on-line-only bank, but I like VERY MUCH that there is always a human being to talk to.


Glad you made that dental appointment. One of my friends recently decided to “tough-out” a toothache, but he waited too long and by the time he sought out treatment it had gone all septic on him. He ended up near death in the hospital for a week to the tune of a bazillion dollars. (All better now though, just poorer.)

OH PLEASE.  THAT IS VERY RARE.  I’m very sorry about your friend, and I’m glad he’s better, and I’m sorry Obamacare isn’t doing anything for septic tooth related emergency hospital care . . . but he was also unlucky.  I have some of the worst teeth in human history—about twenty-six of them left, I think, although one is a glossy high-tech plastic thingy cemented onto a titanium implant and I wish I could afford more of these—and I have toughed out bad toothaches a few times when I had a deadline, most memorably for DRAGONHAVEN a few years ago.  Even before I had ME I had a history of bad times with dentistry, and if I need to keep working I’ll put off Terror by Chair with Fish** as long as I can.

On this particular visit to a sunken city in the South Pacific redolent of ancient evil . . . it’s going to cost a fortune because it always does, but I don’t think anything but my sanity (and my bank balance) are at risk.  Both of these however are at serious risk.  Whimper.

Thus I reeled back out onto the pavement today after this first sizing-up-the-victim*** appointment and . . . staggered up the street to the department store with a knitting precinct and BOUGHT TWO MAGAZINES.  I narrowly missed falling afoul of some Rowan Summerspun† which the wicked clerk†† had left scattered across the floor when—so she claimed—she was called away.  A likely story.  But I was STRONG.  I RESISTED.†††


whippets and greyhounds are the easy end

Ok, ok, advice accepted. But I don’t suppose whippets and greyhounds come with long hair options (think Ash disguised by the Moonwoman.)? That is one large attraction of Salukis.

What about a nice Silken Windhound?  ‡

* * *


In case you’re interested.

** The videos on the ceiling screen are still fish.  I think my attitude toward aquariums—aquaria if you prefer—has been permanently damaged.^

^ Although I still have a fantasy about a betta splendens.  Or two.  In separate tanks:  I know.

*** Moustache-twisting and mwa hahahahaha optional.  However, guess what?  My dentist has had a three-YEAR argybargying, ombudsman-adjudicated row with his bank.  No, it’s not the same bank.  I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.  There aren’t that many monster, medium-sized-country owning, multi-gazillion bonus CEO maintaining, ordinary person underfoot crushing^ type banks out there.  One would have liked the incompetent ones to be in the minority.

^ Although dentist from R’lyeh and I really don’t belong in the same category.  If he’s a Cthulhu, I’m a single nightgaunt.  A single stunted nightgaunt.  A single stunted nightgaunt with issues.+

+ I bet real nightgaunts don’t have problems with their banks.

. . . In case you’re interested.

†† She’s from R’lyeh too.

††† I totally don’t want to go to this.  Totally.  Absolutely.  Not.  No way.  Ridiculous.  Never.  No.

And if one more person tells me how fabulous it is I am going to strangle her in her own yarn.^

^ And furthermore, I have no money.  And if I did, I’d have to give it all to the dentist from R’yleh.  Again.

‡ There are also Afghans and Borzois if you want long hair.  All sighthounds are inclined to be a trifle inconveniently independent-minded—because they have to be able to make their own decisions when they’re flat out after their quarry—what I know about Afghans and Borzois is that they’re a little farther out on that continuum than greyhounds and whippets.  Afghans are stupid north-northwest, when it suits them;  like all sighthounds, they’re stubborn.  Borzois have a unique sense of humour.  Deerhounds tend to be sweeties, like most greyhounds and whippets, but I’m told they’re also on balance the worst eaters of the lot.  I personally am not going there.  But what you want is to make friends with a breeder who loves acquainting people with the sterling qualities of his or her own chosen breed.  Or several breeders and several chosen breeds.  And then go home and see who you dream about.


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