The bastards have just capitulated! I have a full apology, my bank accounts and my credit reference back.
But what do I do next?
1. Nothing
2. Try for compensation
3. Put my crusader's hat on and fight on behalf of every other poor sod in my position
What would you do????????????
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Is it just me, or.....
Did the world used to make some sort of sense? These days, it is just getting more and more surreal.
This morning I got a letter from TwatWest. It said that I was a long-standing and valued customer, and it invited me to apply for a loan of up to 25 grand! I still have not received a letter telling me that they were closing my account. And I thought the CFZ office was inefficient...
Then the Police Compound to where the jag was takebn after the accident is trying to charge us loads of money for the privelige, and the University grants people have lost the paperwork for my stepdaughter's claims. On top of that HM Inland Revenue have paid Corinna a substantial sum of money that she is not due, and which she does not want. The whole world has gone bloody mad!
It was a surprisingly heartwarming weekend. When I wrote on the blog on friday lunchtime, I really thought I was facing ruin. Remember guys, that I am bipolar - I see things in black and white, which is a good thing when I am being positive, but a terrible one when I am being negative.
Many of the world's great achievers have been bipolar, and whilst I am not putting myself on a par with Beethoven, Churchill, or Coleridge, or even Stephen Fry or Kurt Cobain, the fact that I am bipolar means that I can charge at something like a bull at a gate until I achieve it. Its a mixed blessing, but I honestly think that whatever little success I have achieved in the world, is mostly down to the positive effects of my mental illness.
But the negative effects are devastating, and until tea time on friday, all I wanted to do was die!
However, once the money was in my stiucky little fingers, and we were on the way to London, I did not begin to feel better.
We collected David (my 15 year old ur-nephew, for those wuo don't know) from school, and drove hell for leather down the M5. We got to the travelodge at Feltham at about 10.00, checked in and had a few beers. david is a country boy, and had great difficulty settling down to sleep against the suburban sonic background of car alarms and the Heathrow flightpath, but the next morning, all four of us (Dave, Graham, Corinna and me) were up and relatively conscious in time to get to Kempton Park racecource for 8.30.
We set out our stall, exchanging cheerful badinage with Graham and Janice Smith with whom we were sharing a stall for the day. We had a relatively good day, spent too much money (I bought five more Peruvian fern insects (a species that I have been trying to establish permanently at the CFZ for over 12 years), and some West African armoured millipedes for the CFZ menagerie, and we sold quite a few copies of the new magazine, as well as a significant amount of advertising.
Two things were uplifting in particular.
For over a year I have been a member of a forum called BugNation in which I burble on about insects to like minded folk. I joined over a year ago, and in the intervening months I have found myself getting quite fond of some of the people there. On saturday I met them in the flesh (as it were)for the first time, and they were lovely!
What was even more heartwarming than finding you were friends with a whole new posse o'people was the fact that so many of the punters at the AES exhibition were kids! Now, I over the years I have fallen into the generation gap thing, and berated "the kids of today" for being more interested in video games than books or natural history. "T'weren't like that in my day" I would grouse. "..and what about the bloody music they listen to. In mah day they had proper words and tunes that everyone could enjoy, like `Throbbing Gristle`, or `Shaved Women Collaborators` by CRASS"..
What a joy it weas to have a string of young ladies and gentlemen, many as young as six or seven, coming up to the stall and asking highly competent, and quite technical questions that I was completely unable to answer. What a joy to have a young girl of nine or ten rattle off a load of latin names at me, as she told me about her successes in breeding mantids.
It was a bloody delight, and it did my old anarchist's heart a world of good to experience it.
Then we went home to another bit of sad news. Corinna's other pet rat, Sid, outlived his brother by only about 48 hours. He was getting rather old, but he was a good rat.
This morning I got a letter from TwatWest. It said that I was a long-standing and valued customer, and it invited me to apply for a loan of up to 25 grand! I still have not received a letter telling me that they were closing my account. And I thought the CFZ office was inefficient...
Then the Police Compound to where the jag was takebn after the accident is trying to charge us loads of money for the privelige, and the University grants people have lost the paperwork for my stepdaughter's claims. On top of that HM Inland Revenue have paid Corinna a substantial sum of money that she is not due, and which she does not want. The whole world has gone bloody mad!
It was a surprisingly heartwarming weekend. When I wrote on the blog on friday lunchtime, I really thought I was facing ruin. Remember guys, that I am bipolar - I see things in black and white, which is a good thing when I am being positive, but a terrible one when I am being negative.
Many of the world's great achievers have been bipolar, and whilst I am not putting myself on a par with Beethoven, Churchill, or Coleridge, or even Stephen Fry or Kurt Cobain, the fact that I am bipolar means that I can charge at something like a bull at a gate until I achieve it. Its a mixed blessing, but I honestly think that whatever little success I have achieved in the world, is mostly down to the positive effects of my mental illness.
But the negative effects are devastating, and until tea time on friday, all I wanted to do was die!
However, once the money was in my stiucky little fingers, and we were on the way to London, I did not begin to feel better.
We collected David (my 15 year old ur-nephew, for those wuo don't know) from school, and drove hell for leather down the M5. We got to the travelodge at Feltham at about 10.00, checked in and had a few beers. david is a country boy, and had great difficulty settling down to sleep against the suburban sonic background of car alarms and the Heathrow flightpath, but the next morning, all four of us (Dave, Graham, Corinna and me) were up and relatively conscious in time to get to Kempton Park racecource for 8.30.
We set out our stall, exchanging cheerful badinage with Graham and Janice Smith with whom we were sharing a stall for the day. We had a relatively good day, spent too much money (I bought five more Peruvian fern insects (a species that I have been trying to establish permanently at the CFZ for over 12 years), and some West African armoured millipedes for the CFZ menagerie, and we sold quite a few copies of the new magazine, as well as a significant amount of advertising.
Two things were uplifting in particular.
For over a year I have been a member of a forum called BugNation in which I burble on about insects to like minded folk. I joined over a year ago, and in the intervening months I have found myself getting quite fond of some of the people there. On saturday I met them in the flesh (as it were)for the first time, and they were lovely!
What was even more heartwarming than finding you were friends with a whole new posse o'people was the fact that so many of the punters at the AES exhibition were kids! Now, I over the years I have fallen into the generation gap thing, and berated "the kids of today" for being more interested in video games than books or natural history. "T'weren't like that in my day" I would grouse. "..and what about the bloody music they listen to. In mah day they had proper words and tunes that everyone could enjoy, like `Throbbing Gristle`, or `Shaved Women Collaborators` by CRASS"..
What a joy it weas to have a string of young ladies and gentlemen, many as young as six or seven, coming up to the stall and asking highly competent, and quite technical questions that I was completely unable to answer. What a joy to have a young girl of nine or ten rattle off a load of latin names at me, as she told me about her successes in breeding mantids.
It was a bloody delight, and it did my old anarchist's heart a world of good to experience it.
Then we went home to another bit of sad news. Corinna's other pet rat, Sid, outlived his brother by only about 48 hours. He was getting rather old, but he was a good rat.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
We are back
Its amazing how much better I felt when the bloke at NatWest gave me nine grand in cash (which is now invested in an account at the bank that likes to say "do you really think that is a good idea dear") I wouldn't admit it to anyone, but I had managed to convince myself that I would never get my money back. As it was, the tale of how I did is mildly amusing, and probably deserves to be told.
I went into the bank with Corinna. I was probably looking less than salubrious, because now only - as you might have gathered from my last few posts - was I feeling very frail, and as mad as a bagfull of cheese - but my hair was blown all over the place, I was dressed head to foot in black, and sporting a leather jacket, big hat, and a T Shirt with the CRASS logo and the motto "Anarchy, Peace and Freedom". The usual then.
I stomped difidently (can you stomp diffidently? I'm not too sure, but I am convinced that I did), up to the enquiries counter, and was met by a bloke called Mr Slocombe.
Now, banks have changed a lot over the years. When my father first took me to NatWest to open an account back in the day, it was a serious social event. The Bank Manager had sidewhiskers, and wore a near pin-striped suit. He offered both me and my father cigars, and the whole occasion had a strange dignity about it, as if opening my first cheque-book account was one of those important rites of passage in the making of a young gentleman.
When we went in to the bank a few weeks ago to open our joint account (the thing which I am sure was the reason behind the current crisis), the staff, who seemed to be a mixture of kids hardly old enough to shave, and late middle-aged women with grey hair, who looked acutely embarrasssed), were all dressed in bright yellow T.Shirts emblazoned with some facile slogan or other, and an air of quiet dignity was nowhere to be seen. Even when the official who was to open our account took us into a side room to do the dirty deed, he called us (uninvited) by our first names, and had about as much quiet dignity as a farting competition.
However, Mr Slocombe was lovely. He was the only person since this whole horrid affair started who treated us, not only with respect, but in the manner in which one would expect a bank official to behave. He was kind, dignified, and sensitive, and I cannot thank hum enough.
I told him that I had been ordered by the powers that be to close my account. His eyelids did not even flicker at this,, and he said that he was sorry to hear it. I gave him my details and asked for him to give me the balance of my account in cash. He said that of course he would, and it was only as my balance flashed up on the screen before him, that any emotion could be seen on his face. "Why on earth do you have to close this account?" he asked.
I grinned and told him the whole sorry tale. He confirmed to me that most people who are forced into the position of closing their accounts have no money, a substantial overdraft, and a history of bouncing cheques. Not a balance of nine grand (because the irony is, that for the first time in my life it transpired that I had MORE money in my account than I thought).
Still professionally suave to the core (although one could see his poor little brain working overtime as he wondered what the $%^&^ was going on), he arranged the withdrawal, shook our hands and we walked out into the street with £9,123.70 in my pocket. For the first time in my life I have no Bank Account.
I went into the bank with Corinna. I was probably looking less than salubrious, because now only - as you might have gathered from my last few posts - was I feeling very frail, and as mad as a bagfull of cheese - but my hair was blown all over the place, I was dressed head to foot in black, and sporting a leather jacket, big hat, and a T Shirt with the CRASS logo and the motto "Anarchy, Peace and Freedom". The usual then.
I stomped difidently (can you stomp diffidently? I'm not too sure, but I am convinced that I did), up to the enquiries counter, and was met by a bloke called Mr Slocombe.
Now, banks have changed a lot over the years. When my father first took me to NatWest to open an account back in the day, it was a serious social event. The Bank Manager had sidewhiskers, and wore a near pin-striped suit. He offered both me and my father cigars, and the whole occasion had a strange dignity about it, as if opening my first cheque-book account was one of those important rites of passage in the making of a young gentleman.
When we went in to the bank a few weeks ago to open our joint account (the thing which I am sure was the reason behind the current crisis), the staff, who seemed to be a mixture of kids hardly old enough to shave, and late middle-aged women with grey hair, who looked acutely embarrasssed), were all dressed in bright yellow T.Shirts emblazoned with some facile slogan or other, and an air of quiet dignity was nowhere to be seen. Even when the official who was to open our account took us into a side room to do the dirty deed, he called us (uninvited) by our first names, and had about as much quiet dignity as a farting competition.
However, Mr Slocombe was lovely. He was the only person since this whole horrid affair started who treated us, not only with respect, but in the manner in which one would expect a bank official to behave. He was kind, dignified, and sensitive, and I cannot thank hum enough.
I told him that I had been ordered by the powers that be to close my account. His eyelids did not even flicker at this,, and he said that he was sorry to hear it. I gave him my details and asked for him to give me the balance of my account in cash. He said that of course he would, and it was only as my balance flashed up on the screen before him, that any emotion could be seen on his face. "Why on earth do you have to close this account?" he asked.
I grinned and told him the whole sorry tale. He confirmed to me that most people who are forced into the position of closing their accounts have no money, a substantial overdraft, and a history of bouncing cheques. Not a balance of nine grand (because the irony is, that for the first time in my life it transpired that I had MORE money in my account than I thought).
Still professionally suave to the core (although one could see his poor little brain working overtime as he wondered what the $%^&^ was going on), he arranged the withdrawal, shook our hands and we walked out into the street with £9,123.70 in my pocket. For the first time in my life I have no Bank Account.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Well, this is it..
This afternoon I have to go to the NatWest bank in Bideford and withdraw the balance of what used to be my account... if they let me.
There should be no reason why not, but then again until two days ago there was no reason for them to cancel my account.
If I can't get the money, I will have to start selling things.
We are going to the AES bug show this weekend, and I hope we will make enough money from selling `Exotic Pets` to tide us over. If we don't I really don't know what we shall do.
I feel that I am only feet away from an abyss - an abyss that I have not sensed for many years. At the moment I am terrified. My life has been turned upside down, and I am so disorientated that I really don't know what is real at the moment.
This should be an exciting experience for a fortean, who has spent his life looking at surreal mega-possibilities, but it isn't. I feel physically sick, and I really don't know what the future has to offer.
We are away until saturday night, so don't worry if this is the last blog for a time.
Dum Spiro Spero
There should be no reason why not, but then again until two days ago there was no reason for them to cancel my account.
If I can't get the money, I will have to start selling things.
We are going to the AES bug show this weekend, and I hope we will make enough money from selling `Exotic Pets` to tide us over. If we don't I really don't know what we shall do.
I feel that I am only feet away from an abyss - an abyss that I have not sensed for many years. At the moment I am terrified. My life has been turned upside down, and I am so disorientated that I really don't know what is real at the moment.
This should be an exciting experience for a fortean, who has spent his life looking at surreal mega-possibilities, but it isn't. I feel physically sick, and I really don't know what the future has to offer.
We are away until saturday night, so don't worry if this is the last blog for a time.
Dum Spiro Spero
Putting it all into perspective
I don't know how many of you read the blogs that I have links to on the bottom right hand side of this page. However, one, `Captain Pancreas` was particularly inspirational. The last entry on the blog was made some weeks ago, and it never ocurred to me to read the comments. It was only today, when - feeling more depressed, and closer to the abyss than I have felt in years - I clicked on the comments tab and found out that Brian the blogger had died.
I posted this:
"Brian old mate. We never met, but your blog was inspirational. My life is crap sometimes, and my health is not what it could be, but your writings have done more than you will ever know to lift my spirits.I hope that you indeed managed to drain the sweetness out of every second.LoveJ"
And I mean every word.
I posted this:
"Brian old mate. We never met, but your blog was inspirational. My life is crap sometimes, and my health is not what it could be, but your writings have done more than you will ever know to lift my spirits.I hope that you indeed managed to drain the sweetness out of every second.LoveJ"
And I mean every word.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Another letter
Myrtle Cottage
9 Back Street
Woolfardisworthy
Bideford
Devon
EX39 5QR
Mr. Geoffrey Cox, QC., MP.,
Member of Parliament for Torridge & West Devon,
2 Bridge Chambers,
Lower Bridge Street,
Bideford,
Devon EX39 2BU
20th September 2007
Dear Mr. Cox,
I am writing to you in the hope that you may be able to help in anyway with the situation in which I find myself. As you will see, from the enclosed letter addressed to my wife (in her single name due to her not having required documentation on her at the time proving her new address details), after trying to open a joint account with NatWest, she has been refused on unspecified grounds. She was informed, when she phoned NatWest to enquire as to the reason why, that I, too, had such a letter in the post to me – but this has, as yet, not materialised.
I enclose a letter I have sent to NatWest in response to their actions, which is self-explanatory, together with the letter from NatWest, and a copy of my recent bank statement proving that I have a substantial credit on my account.
This is an appalling situation in which to find myself, after so many years banking with the same bank, and to make things very much worse I am also severely disabled. The thing that really makes me angry is the fact that this could happen to anyone! In this instance I am a bloody-minded, relatively articulate and intelligent individual with a good support network of friends and colleagues, a loving (and solvent) wife, and enough sheer venom and determination to fight against it.But what if I had not been? What would have happened if I was still manic-depressive, but living alone, with no money and no support? If I were not in the fortunate position that I am, I would be facing homelessness and destitution almost overnight!
I don’t know whether there is anything you can do to help, but I would be very grateful for your support.
Yours sincerely,
Jonathan Downes.
9 Back Street
Woolfardisworthy
Bideford
Devon
EX39 5QR
Mr. Geoffrey Cox, QC., MP.,
Member of Parliament for Torridge & West Devon,
2 Bridge Chambers,
Lower Bridge Street,
Bideford,
Devon EX39 2BU
20th September 2007
Dear Mr. Cox,
I am writing to you in the hope that you may be able to help in anyway with the situation in which I find myself. As you will see, from the enclosed letter addressed to my wife (in her single name due to her not having required documentation on her at the time proving her new address details), after trying to open a joint account with NatWest, she has been refused on unspecified grounds. She was informed, when she phoned NatWest to enquire as to the reason why, that I, too, had such a letter in the post to me – but this has, as yet, not materialised.
I enclose a letter I have sent to NatWest in response to their actions, which is self-explanatory, together with the letter from NatWest, and a copy of my recent bank statement proving that I have a substantial credit on my account.
This is an appalling situation in which to find myself, after so many years banking with the same bank, and to make things very much worse I am also severely disabled. The thing that really makes me angry is the fact that this could happen to anyone! In this instance I am a bloody-minded, relatively articulate and intelligent individual with a good support network of friends and colleagues, a loving (and solvent) wife, and enough sheer venom and determination to fight against it.But what if I had not been? What would have happened if I was still manic-depressive, but living alone, with no money and no support? If I were not in the fortunate position that I am, I would be facing homelessness and destitution almost overnight!
I don’t know whether there is anything you can do to help, but I would be very grateful for your support.
Yours sincerely,
Jonathan Downes.
In a past life we must have done real bad stuff
Apologies to Biffo for my continued quotings from his musings, but they seem somewhat appropriate.
Now, Corinna's pet rat, Len, has died and been ceremoniously buried under the rose bushes. They say things happen in threes, and maybe this is the third. He was a jolly little fellow, and I bought him as a present for her a couple of years ago. He has been poorly for a while, and it is probably for the best, but he was a jolly little fellow, and we will miss him.
Corinna is obviously very unhappy (as are we all), and it is just another horrid thing with which we have to deal.
Is anything ELSE going to happen in this bloody awful week? I'm beginning to feel like Job....
Now, Corinna's pet rat, Len, has died and been ceremoniously buried under the rose bushes. They say things happen in threes, and maybe this is the third. He was a jolly little fellow, and I bought him as a present for her a couple of years ago. He has been poorly for a while, and it is probably for the best, but he was a jolly little fellow, and we will miss him.
Corinna is obviously very unhappy (as are we all), and it is just another horrid thing with which we have to deal.
Is anything ELSE going to happen in this bloody awful week? I'm beginning to feel like Job....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
