Day 662: I Rename Some Major (Classical) Compoosers

Poothoven
Poozart
Poobert
Wagpoo
Depoossy
Poopin
Pooch
Poondel
Poodn
Elgpoo
Pooccini
Poohler
Poochelbel
Benjamin Britpoo
Poozet
Pootok
Poozinsky
Rimsky-Poosikov
Tchaipoovsky
Johan Pooss
Poomaninov
Poockner
Poossaien
Poovener
Pooszt
Pooydn
Poovaldi
Saint-Pooaëns
Pookofiev

And there's more!!!

Day 658: I Have Been Tagged

... and thank the sweet Lord for that, for I am - in the most general of senses - entirely at a loss.

The 'tag' was done (made?) by Miss Baroque, whose web-blog you should read, as she is a) clever; b) interesting; c) nice; d) "wicked bad", as I believe the young people say.

OK here goes!! It is quite a good one. I must "write six random things" about myself, which will be easy as I am entirely random, from the top of my jaunty fez, to the tips of my tiny monkey toes.

1. I Really Like Gin

Every evening, now I live in Canada, I like to remind myself of my British imperialist supremacy by drinking gin and tonic, listening to Elgar at top volume and shouting "Oi, You! Colonial!", at the neighbours. It is quite brilliant.

The gin (Tanqueray) and tonic (Schweppes by preference; Canada Dry* at a push), is made every evening around 6.32pm, and a plate of 'small snacks' is crafted, roughly hewn from a packet of dried ham and some carrots, sprinkled with a light dusting of salted almonds and featuring - occasionally, if we are feeling frisky! - a 'croute' of rabbit paste. Le tout is crammed down our gaping mouths in under ten minutes, at which point we are then 'ready and willing' for dinner. It is great.

The gin and tonic is more than just a way of getting vast amounts of alcohol and salt into my greedy monkey face. Oh no. It marks the end of the work day (feat. Fucking Idiots - see point 2), and the beginning of the evening (feat. Canadian cinema - see point 3), and as a result has acquired a symbolic significance all of its own.

2. I Really Hate Fucking Idiots

You can spot a fucking idiot by checking if the person you are with:

- isn't shitting listening
- talks over you
- doesn't look you in the eye
- repeats what you've just said like they made it up themselves and are clever
- makes ill-informed comments and then looks triumphant
- attempts to manipulate/charm you
- challenges everything for the sake of it
- does not realise you have the mind of a killer.

3. I Am Not Convinced By Canadian Cinema

No, but really. Canadian cinema? Come on. Give it your best shot. I've tried this before, but it didn't work. I had to sit through I've Heard The Mermaids Singing when I first met the French Canadian veterinary research pathologist and was pretending to be interested in everything to do with Canada, but I have since wrought my revenge by making him sit through The Vicar Of Dibley Christmas Special.

4. I Am A Bit Homesick

I am. I am not coming back, and I do not want to live in Britain at the moment, but that does not mean that I don't miss a great many things about it, and wish I could visit more often. It makes me immeasurably sad, but what was making me sadder was pretending everything was OK. (In fact, this should probably be titled "Say If You Are Feeling Shit; You Will Feel Better And The World Will Not Fall In").

5. I Am In Love

It is grate!!! It is also the thing that makes (4) acceptable. It is quite surprising, and it happened when I had given up rather on chaps. For the ladies in their early 30s who have 'given up': do give up! Do! Go and do something more interesting than pretend you are not waiting for a chap and worrying about your ovaries and all of that.

Go and wander about the place being jolly and happy in your own shoes. Then, when you are not expecting it (i.e. aged nearly-37 in Canterbury), you will meet someone splendid who will make you glad all all the other ones didn't work out, particularly the vegan twat with the teeth.

6. I Am Soppier Than You Would Think

See (5) above. Also I am always tearing up!!! It is quite annoying. Circumstances include:

- I see dignified old men buying food for one in supermarkets (esp. liver)
- Certain bits of music, e.g. 'Never Forget" by Take That
- Thinking of people I like being really great, e.g. Sebastian Coe being made a 'Lord' and Jeffrey Archer writing another book
- Successfully shoplifting lipglosses
- Seeing Mariah Carey's new bikini body, etc
- Go to the cinema. I was in spurting floods at The Band's Visit and wept hotly in Odette Toulemonde. (That last one was actually true in a way that the Archer comment was not.)

OK here are the rules - as now I must tag other people!

1. Link to the person that tagged you - i.e. me.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself in a blog post.
4. Tag six people of your own.
5. Let each person know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know your entry is up.

Here are the people I am tagging. (Sorry everyone.)

Dave Shelton
Katy
Tired "I've Retired, Apparently" Dad

That's 3. Anyone else want to do it?

In the meantime, here's another:

7. I Am Greeted By The Hotel Receptionist

"Welcome home", he cries. What am I to make of that?! It is true I am here every week, but still!


* "Canada's Ambassador To The World", or so says the can - come on Canada; is that the best you can do?

Day 655: I Hate Working, But I Like Canada (Part 1 Of An Ongoing Series)

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. I am pretty certain that work is bad for my health (mental and physical).

On the other hand, I did get to spend the day on the road with a Botox salesman, and if I play my cards right, I might get to go to a chip factory. My drawer full of stolen Aveda miniatures is fit to bursting; I have three offices in two cities; when things break, someone else mends them.

I am spending a lot of time in Toronto, which thinks it is cool* and has as its main the attraction the CN Tower, which is rubbish, and definitely not "Canada's Wonder of The World" (what that is I couldn't tell you, but it isn't the CN Tower, which you can see there to your left).

French Canada (i.e. Montreal, and Quebec generally) is much better than R.O.C.**, and English Canada knows it, despite spending most of their time either grumbling about French Canadians, or forgetting they are there - which is a bit hard as there are 7m of them out of a population of about 33m. The French ones are generally better looking, ruder, sexier, work less, are funnier and drink wine at lunch, although they too are capable of delusion, for e.g.:

French Canadian: Montreal in the summer is just like Paris!
Me: Ha ha ha! You are funny. When's the last time to went to Paris, by the way?
French Canadian: I have never been to Europe.
Me: I .... oh.

There is nothing wrong with English Canadians as far as I can see; they are "almost incoherently polite", as Jan Morris said, and a bit passive-aggressive, but they have good skins and good hearts and yes, they really are ... nice. (And they don't say 'eh?' the whole time.)

That is all.

P.S: The bank sorted it, sort of.


*For British readers, Toronto thinking it is cool is like Hull suddenly really starting to reckon itself.
** "The Rest Of Canada". This is not a joke!!

Day 637: I Get A Reply From The Bank!!!

I amused myself by telephoning the customer complaints department this morning. I had to tell the entire (long, relatively dull) story (I cannot even find the energy to provide a link; it is the post before this one) three more times. Allegedly they are going to call me back on Wednesday (I am super-excited).

In the meantime, I receive an electronic mail communication (I reproduce it in its entirety, weird spelling and all):

Good Afternoon NWM

I havent received the messages you have left here for me, did you call
the branch in Fleet Street?

Either way I am looking into your charges tomorrow and will look to
refund these at from what I understand, charges occurred from the Branch
misplacing a cheque.

I will update you tomorrow with further action.

Thanks and regards

I was having an irritating day, plagued by people bellowing URGENT and then doing nothing. I wrote back. Not particularly polite, granted, but anyway:

Hi

Thanks for getting back to me. I called the branch who seemed to suggest they would get a message to you.

Please could you address each of these points:

- why the second mortage payment was returned when you said it would be cleared
- interest lost on my offset mortgage
- general apology/compensation for how long this has taken
- the returned direct debits being paid.

Weren't you also going to investigate what happened? And whilst I appreciate that something (finally) seems to be happening, why has it taken so long, and why is only part of the problem being addressed?

Best

Nearly four weeks it's taken, and even then they can't get it right. Twats. (I'd call them 'cunts', except cunts are usually fairly effective and/or intelligent.)

Day 635: I Write To My Bank

There is little to say, other than I paid a cheque for $10,000 into my bank account in the UK on 3 January. "It will take a week to clear, madam!", they squeaked. It did not! A week became three weeks; then six; then eight.


Finally, it was revealed that the cheque had been lost.

Three months and two unpaid mortgage payments, ten returned direct debits, approximately 20 unreturned phone messages and forty emails later, I write to them or call them* pretty much every day. Nothing ever happens, but still I write. Here is the email I sent them today:


Morning all,

Hope you all had a good and relaxing weekend. I didn't, really, to be frank; sadly (and despite my best efforts, meditation, breathing into a paper bag, etc), I'm getting increasingly irritated by the fact that I'm being ignored. Anyway, here goes with today's email! (Are you enjoying them? They could make quite a collection!)

I left a message for you on Friday Mr Rogers - I take it you didn't get it? I bet you didn't. You didn't call me back, and there's only one reason why someone would ignore a pissed-off customer: because they didn't get the message! (Weird - that's happened twice this week.)

I really hope you haven't written to me at my London address. There wouldn't be any point in that; I live in Canada, as I keep saying. Still, just in case you do want to write to me and apologise, and tell me what you're going to do about lost interest on my offset mortgage, refunded bank charges, paying unpaid Direct Debits, etc, here's my Canadian address:

I've written to customer services via RBS online, just to see if something else will help prompt a response. I'm not quite sure what to do after that, mind you. Any ideas?

Now, I realise that the thought of phoning and talking to me fills you with dread. (It's been frightening you for at least six weeks, it seems - poor you). But you could give it a go: here (again) is my number: 001 450 .... If a French message kicks in, don't be afraid - we speak French in this part of Canada. Just leave a message. It'll be nice to hear from you. In fact, if I don't get it immediately (which I may not: I travel a lot, you see), don't worry: I'll make sure I call you back.

If that seems too difficult and/or scary, you could send me an email. (It would be nice just to know you're getting them - I think it's called "polite acknowledgement" or something?) If you don't want to do that, though, you could write to me at the address above. Oh yeah - the address I've ALREADY given you, asking you to re-direct my statements and correspondence - something else that (heavens!!) seems not to have happened.

Have a great week - fingers crossed this is the week you finally get rid of me by getting back to me, eh?!!! (As we say in Canada.)

Best wishes

NWM


Does anyone know a really effective way of kicking up a truly enormous fuss about things like this? I am - despite writing sarcastic emails (an occupation that always amuses me) - properly at my wit's end, in a kind of 'aching at the back of the throat and stinging eyes' way.

Oh, and if you work for the Royal Bank of Scotland: sort your shit out, would you? (Particularly your branch at 1 Fleet Street.)


* Them: the regional manager, the area manager, the private banking person who was looking after my account, and his boy.