SNOTTY CALL CENTRE STAFF

Last week our Accounts Department Manager belatedly decided to respond to an invitation from the bank to set herself up for telephone banking. Unfortunately she couldn’t find the letter that had the access codes to set it up, so ‘phoned the bank.

I sauntered into the office on this sunny day and walked right into the middle of madness. My colleague and fellow director was on the telephone.

“…but I am a director of this company and a signatory on the account, why can’t you speak to me?” she looked at me “OK, I’ll pass you on to my colleague”

“Ann, Jackie wants to set herself up for telephone banking but they won’t speak to her and now they won’t speak to me either because they haven’t got me set up as a signatory on the account”

“But you ARE a signatory on the account”

“I know, but they haven’t got me set up as one”

“Why?”

“I don’t know”

“OK, let me speak to her”

“Hello, can I help?”

“Can I ask your name?” – I replied

“I’d like to take you through some security questions is that OK?”

“Sure, but why haven’t you got my colleague set up to do this, she is a signatory on the account?”
“I don’t know, can I go over these security questions with you?”

“OK”. Off we go. After satisfactorily answering the stupid questions she said “How can I help you?”

“I don’t know it wasn’t me that ‘phoned you, I’ll get my colleague Jackie, she’ll tell you what she wants”

“I can’t speak to her because she isn’t set up for telephone banking”

My voice must have gone up an octave or two

“Look, dear, I’m a very busy person (I’m not, but I sure as hell ain’t going to let her know that) just tell me what we need to do to set her up for telephone banking”

“Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice”

“Just tell me what we have to do”

“You will have to contact your Branch Business Manager”

“Thank you" With great restraint I didn't add “shove it up your ass you moronic bastard”, but merely slammed the ‘phone down without waiting for a reply.

Next stop? The blood pressure pills to stop me going ape shit. I think that banks will be the downfall of the world. Or am I being overly dramatic again?

The IT Manager heard some of this and sent me this email

Ann,

Thought you'd appreciate this....

This is apparently a real passport application letter!!
Simon

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Dear Minister,

I'm in the process of renewing my passport but I am a total loss to understand or believe the hoops I am being asked to jump through.

How is it that Bert Smith of T.V. Rentals Basingstoke has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a satellite dish from them back in 1994, and yet, the Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date?

How come that nice West African immigrant chappy who comes round every Thursday night with his DVD rentals van can tell me every film or video I have had out since he started his business up eleven years ago, yet you still want me to remind you of my last three jobs, two of which were with contractors working for the government?

How come the T.V. detector van can tell if my T.V. is on, what channel I am watching and whether I have paid my licence or not, and yet if I win the government run lottery they have no idea I have won or where I am and will keep the bloody money to themselves if I fail to claim in good time.

Do you people do this by hand? You have my birth date on numerous files you hold on me, including the one with all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 30-odd years. It's on my health insurance card, my driver's licence, on the last four passports I've had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off the planes and boats over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable census forms that are done every ten years and the electoral registration forms I have to complete, by law, every time our lords and masters are up for re-election.

Would somebody please take note, once and for all, I was born in Maidenhead on the 4th of March 1957, my mother's name is Mary, her maiden name was Reynolds, my father's name is Robert, and I'd be absolutely astounded if that ever changed between now and the day I die!

I apologise Minister. I'm obviously not myself this morning. But between you and me, I have simply had enough! You mail the application to my house, then you ask me for my address. What is going on? Do you have a gang of Neanderthals working there? Look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I don't want to activate the Fifth Reich for God's sake! I just want to go and park my weary backside on a sunny, sandy beach for a couple of week's well-earned rest away from all this crap.

Well, I have to go now, because I have to go to back to Salisbury and get another copy of my birth certificate because you lost the last one. AND to the tune of 60 quid! What a racket THAT is!! Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new passport the same day? But nooooo, that'd be too damn easy and maybe make sense. You'd rather have us running all over the place like chickens with our heads cut off, then find some tosser to confirm that it's really me on the goddamn picture - you know... the one where we're not allowed to smile in case we look as if we are enjoying the process! Hey, you know why we can't smile? 'Cause we're totally jacked off!

I served in the armed forces for more than 25 years including over ten years at the Ministry of Defence in London. I have had security clearances which allowed me to sit in the Cabinet Office, five seats away from the Prime Minister while he was being briefed on the first Gulf War and I have been doing volunteer work for the British Red Cross ever since I left the Services. However, I have to get someone "important" to verify who I am -- you know, someone like my doctor... who, before he got his medical degree 6 months ago WAS LIVING IN PAKISTAN...

Yours sincerely,

An Irate British Citizen

RANT, RANT, RAGE

The morning rant began, as usual, during Breakfast TV. Today they featured a brave mother whose son had died of vCJD. She also happens to be a journalist and her natural inclination was to research and document the why’s where’s and how’s of the disease. What she uncovered is a national scandal (I know, another one) of lies and cover-ups perpetrated against the great British public by their elected and paid servants the Government, civil servants and petty bureaucrats who between them have managed to ruin a great Country. She has a website, http://justiceforandy.co.uk/index.html

Because of this dishonourable bunch of tossers the water is now unfit to drink, the air is unfit to breath, the food is unfit to eat, our border controls are non-existent, our criminal justice system is ineffective because our prisons are full of druggies, our streets are dangerous and they won’t even collect our fucking garbage. Exaggeration? I don’t think so!

On Tuesday I was listening to the radio whilst waiting for the dentist to open. The subject was that, shock, horror, Nottingham City Council is going to charge businesses for parking places at their premises on the pretext that it will stop people using their cars. Huh! Our office is in the middle of the countryside, no-one can get here by public transport and we are charged council tax for the 36 parking places we provide on our own land. It is purely a revenue generating initiative. This is where the lying begins and where does it end? Covering up CJD because of the power of the meat lobby. Let's demand zero tollerance rom those lying bastards

Rant over. Grrrr! Sorry about the swearing, I HAVE been trying to contain myself, honest, but this morning I had to let rip.

Calm down Ann, calm down. And now to something completely different. Here is one for Stinking Billie who thought it was a pity that OG and I weren't in the office photograph. Well Billie, this is the rogues gallery as of 1st April (there have been a couple of changes since then) see if you can spot us.

THE CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY GRADUATION CEREMONY

On Saturday I went to my grandsons graduation ceremony at Cambridge. This is the second time I have had the privilege of being invited to a graduation ceremony there and I find that words are inadequate to explain the experience.

First, let me declare my love of the City of Cambridge itself. I love the youth, exhuberance, leafiness and quirkiness of the place. On a guided walking tour of the City our guide pointed out an insignificant looking three story terraced building down a side street and told us that she had worked there alongside 3 Nobel Prize winners who had unraveled the mysteries of DNA. That seems to sum up the craziness of the place to me. WOW WITH BELLS ON!!

She also told us that the University of Cambridge, founded in 1209, was unique in the way that it worked. There is no such thing as a “university” building, it is actually a collection of independent colleges. I am not good at retaining information, and I’m sure DogLover will put me straight, but I seem to remember her saying that each college has students from all disciplines so an economics student will be living alongside an engineering student, a medical student etc. This makes for a very broad educational experience.

I believe that the only “universal” building is the Senate-House where graduation ceremonies have been held for over 800 years and which, as you would expect, are steeped in tradition. Each college has it’s own ceremony starting after lunch with King’s, Trinity, St .John’s, Peterhouse and finishing at about 2000 with Homerton.

After the formal lunch with visitors at their colleges the granuands are walked in all their regalia through the city to the Senate-House. Our ceremony was scheduled for 1700 and started bang on time as the bell chimed. Impressive when you consider that each college will have upward of 100 students graduating. The lady in front of us put it very well, "after all, they have had 800 years to get this right”.

Visitors are seated on tiered benches either in the Gallery or on the floor of the Senate-House and cannot leave until a “break in the proceedings” i.e. the end. We were fortunate enough to be seated on the floor immediately beside where the ceremony was to take place.

The ceremony commences when the Vice-Chancellor enters the Senate-House in procession, led by the Esquire Bedells bearing maces. All the big-wig participants then have little rituals to perform and there is much bowing and scraping and taking off of hats. Apart from a short welcome in English the entire proceedings take place entirely in Latin.

The graduands are led forward four at a time and the person presenting them holds out his hand for each graduand to hold one finger. He then says in Latin “Most worthy Vice-Chancellor and the whole University, I present to you this man (woman) whom I know to be suitable as much by character as by learning to proceed to the degree of (name of degree); for which I pledge my faith to you and to the whole University”. The graduand then kneels and after enclosing the graduand’s hands between his own, the Vice-Chancellor says in Latin “by the authority committed to me I admit you to the degree of (name of degree) in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit”.

As this was taking place one poor lady started to have a fit. My grandson said afterwards that he was a bit surprised that they hadn’t stopped the proceedings until she had been carried from the building. I said that I was surprised that they had even allowed her to be carried from the building, bearing in mind they said we couldn’t leave until a “break in the proceedings”! As my husband once said “I suppose that’s what makes England great" (he is Scottish and was being extremely ironic in a similar circumstance).

My grandson studied for his MA at Edinburgh University but he said that graduating from Cambridge as a Master of Philosophy was a whole different ball game. Like I said in the beginning, hard to put into words, but he said that the level of intellect and excellence increases by a factor of 10. He hadn’t realised how spending the year in this rarefied atmosphere would add so much to his confidence. And it's tangible, you can see it. He walks tall and is an exceedingly fine and proud young man.
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Originally uploaded by anninfotel

NAN'S EXTRA BRAG PHOTOGRAPH

Here they are leaving for their long walk through the city. And while I have this opportunity, I would like to point out, again, that intellect comes down the female line. I have that on good authority, but I forget who told me. Ah! I remember now, DogLover told me. He also told me that I am a crap photographer. He, as you would expect, is a great photographer. He also went to Cambridge (Trinity? or was it St. John's?), spent his whole time playing golf but probably still managed a 1/1. Not good to have friends like that, they make you feel very stupid!

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Originally uploaded by anninfotel

BUT I WON'T GIVE IN

OG has been toting around a trade tool magazine. I have a stationery fetish; he has a tool fetish, a marriage made in heaven. As his major operation was only 2 months ago and he is two weeks off starting chemo he shouldn’t be doing anything too physical and I have, therefore, been studiously avoiding asking what is on his mind, but I recognise the symptoms. He is the same when he wants to change his car. He starts mooning around the place, looking pathetic until I bring the subject up, then he whittles on and on until I finally give in. But this time I have ignored him.

He is having his “mate” in the office research something, another sure sign he is up to no good. But I won’t give in. He is having long telephone conversations with his lifelong builder chum “..it’s great and comes with two batteries..” which I am closing my ears to. Finally, yesterday, he asked the Oncologist “is there anything that I shouldn’t being doing?” “Such as?” I jump in “Don’t get involved in this, he is thinking of buying a Kango” “A Kango? What’s that, a Playstation Game?” “No, its a concrete breaker-upper”. He steps back, aghast, “A concrete breaker-upper, why, what are you planning on doing?”, “I want to take down a chimney”. Shit, now I have been told what he is planning, I'm involved and the whittling begins. But I won’t give in.

Now I am off to my grandson's graduation ceremony in Cambridge for the day, go God knows what he will get up to while I'm gone. Keep an eye on him for me.

A NEW MAYOR OF LONDON

At last, a colourful personality in politics. I was told to watch Boris by my Swiss neighbour last summer. He was her MP in Henley and she said he is one smart cookie, not at all the buffoon that he likes to portray. I think we will be treated to a few gloriously eccentric years with him and, who knows, he may even turn out to be one hell of a Mayor. At the very least I suspect he will be remembered. But there again, I may be wrong.

As you would expect from such an exhubertant personality he has confessed to having a "past" and probably still has a "present". The opposition spin doctors and media will now get to work at trashing him. Will he survive? I think so. I hope so.

Whilst on the subject of Mayors did you know that three Lord Mayors of London (a civic as opposed to political post) came from this little village? Not a lot of people know that. OG thinks that it might be because in the middle ages King's courtiers would fall out of favour and be banished to the country. Some came to Lincolnshire. In fact the ship carrying King John's gold is reputed to have sunk in the Wash on the way to our little market town proving that this part of the country was, indeed, very important.

Another interesting and completely unrelated fact is that there was no feudal system in Lincolnshire because the people were too independent and would not be subjugated. Another interesting fact is that they were called stilt walkers because the land is so boggy. Another interesting fact is that farmers could claim rights over land reclaimed from the sea which is why there are so many long narrow farms along the coastline. These facts are from my head and may not be entirely accurate because I am famous for knowing lots of dodgy information.

A MOTLEY CREW

This is a photograph taken outside our office on 1st April, the annual staff get together day (actually it’s 2 hours - not a whole day!). Each year we have a rah-rah session to beat everyone up for their failures last year and threaten them that they had better do better this year.

Unfortunately, I was unable to be present for this ritual public humiliation because OG was in hospital. Drat. They actually all seem to be quite happy don’t they? Just goes to show what the promise of a free lunch will do. You can tell that I really love them all can't you?

May Bank Holiday weekend is the highlight of the year for this small market town. We hit the Big Time every year with the Annual Flower Parade (it’s all annual stuff at the moment isn’t it?) OG hates crowds and marching bands (hence his name – Old Grumpy) but I love them. I think that I might have mentioned the very same thing last year.

At the moment I am saved the need to get mad with OG because he is such a party pooper. I forgive him everything and anything until he gets better - then I will resume shouting and slamming doors at him again. As he has decided to go ahead with the chemo I guess he will be spared my bad temper for a few months longer.

So – getting back to tomorrow, I will mosey on down to town at about lunch-time, sample a few cocktails with my low key (not) friend, have a bite to eat, laugh at fascinating tales of her recent mishaps in New York and, depending on my intake of cocktails, either sedately watch the parade with friends or attempt to de-throne the Flower Queen, join in with the marching bands and possibly upset and insult several local dignitaries. I might even get arrested.