MargoMusing

It has not been the best week. Lots of stress at work, I've been sleeping badly (which makes me feel ill) and it seems to have been pouring with rain without cease since last weekend. I think someone ought to tell the Rain Gods that the "Showers" part of "April Showers" does imply that there should be gaps between the periods of rain.


However, as is often the case, even the most miserable week is not all bad.

On Wednesday, I received a package in the mail, from the lovely Kitty, of Neverwear, containing my print of Neil's wonderful Poem, illustrated by Olivia Beradinis. It really is utterly gorgeous, and as it is printed on thick, rag-paper it feels nice, too.

Yesterday I took it to my local framer, (although I was a little reluctant to part with it, even temporarily) He recommends giving it a wide, black frame, with the inside edge of the frame lined with gold, so that when seen from an angle the gold will be visible.

He recommended it on the basis that the print needs a dramatic presentation, to reflect the dramatic nature of the print. I think he is correct. I shall look forward to seeing it when it is done, and shall occupy myself in the meantime, in deciding where to hang it.

I also went into Bristol, to run some errands, one of which involved going to a branch of my bank. I don't go often, as I usually deal with them by phone or online, but needed to drop some documents off, and Bristol is my closest branch. I got there to find a member of staff on the door denying everyone entry.

After a confused moment wondering when the bank started to employ bouncers, and how I ought to dress or act to get past them, I asked him what was up, and he explained that unfortunately they had had to shut, as their roof had just collapsed! As excuses for being unavailable to assist their customers go, I guess it is quite a good one.

I suppose I should be glad I didn't get rained on too badly - it absolutely poured while I was on the train, but only drizzled while I was actually out of doors. Small mercies...

So, about 5 months ago, I became a customer of HSBC. I did all the things you do, including, of course, providing them with proof that I am, in fact, me, and that I live in my house. (or at leas, have managed to steal my own drivers licence and bank statements)

Last week, I got a letter from their (Hah!) 'customer service' department. It was probably for me. It's a little hard to be sure. The letter was addressed to Mrs Margomusing, and I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if I'd got married. It then started "Dear Sir", and I am ever surer that I'd have noticed that about myself.

It said that as I was a new customer they needed me to give them proof of my ID and address. You now, the stuff I gave them in May.

So, I phoned them. With what now looks like a niave but touching faith, I assumed that the sensible thing to do would be to call the bank, on the number on the letter they sent me, quoting the reference on that letter.

I did that.

It seems that merely being able to quote the reference on the letter sent to me, and to give them my name, address and date of birth was insufficient to allow them, to identify me or to allow them to explain why they were asking for documents they'd had for 4 months.  We didn't get as far as thae part of the converstion where I got to ask what they had done with my documens and whether I should now expect a touch of Identity theft.

It seemed that my diabolical plan of calling them on the number they provided and giving the reference they's asked me to quote had entirely flommoxed and discombobulated the system, so (after an attemot on their part to make me go away and call a different department, which hasn't been writing to me at all, and which they admitte wouldn't be able to discuss anything with me without asking me security questions (which haven't been set up) they decided the best thing to do would be to put me through to a supervisor.

It might have been a good idea, too, if it weren't for the fact that after no more formalities tha giving my full name, address, dateof birth, reference, details of the product, branch and name of all my female ancestors back to the Fall, the supervisor was able to put me on hold, and, after dribbling dreadful muzak into my ears for 10 minutes cut me off.

It was probably just as well.  After almost half an hour of alternating  muzak and incompetance I might have been a bit rude if I'd ever got to speak to her again.

I was, I admit, not in tthe best of moods when I got a call from someone who introduced herself as being from HSBC, about an hour later.

However, my mood, if not my opinion of of the bank, improved when she explained why she was calling. She was calling from the local branch.

She told me that I shoud never have recieved the letter. She had, she explained, specifically told them NOT to send it.

She knew I had given them my ID. She knew this because she had copied it, twice, and sent it to head office.

She had Had Words with them.

She is going to have some more Words. And requested that if I (or Mrs Margomusings, or Mr Margomusing, or any variation of the same) should happen to get any more letters requeting ID, or body parts, or anything, that I kindly let her know, so that she  could have More, and shorter Words with them.

I can't help wondering though, if they can't manage the filing, whether they can do the other stuff suh as putting the decimal point in the right place,and ensuring that 2+2 continues to come to 4.?