Sodding banks. Or rather, I should say, sodding call centres located in exotic climes, employing local people because it's cheaper than paying some miserable scouser to sneer at you donw the end of the telephone line. To explain: In the past few years, I've had some difficulties with my credit card payments, to which end I've been diligently paying a fixed,interest-free amount regularly. Recently, they sent me a letter saying that my credit card rights had been reinstated, and that I would get a new one in the post. This duly came, late, followed by a letter with my credit card pin number. During lunch yesterday, I was passing the bank and decided to give the crad a try, just to make sure it was working. I put it in the Hole in The Wall, punched in my numbers, and the bloody machine swallowed it and told me to phone a particular number. This I did, after copious swearing: after all, it was a brand new card. After explaining to the call centre employee that I didn't know my card number because it was a new card, he passed me to another centre, where I explained the situation again. The operative took my bank account details, then promised me that another card would be sent out within five days.
It was only later, when I was in a supermarket, that I found out that the stupid ARSEHOLE had cancelled my bank debit card, not my credit card!
Cue, then, an hour of incresingly angry phone conversations, punctuated by a call centre operative giving me a phone number that redirected me back to her call centre! And, apparently: a) I will have to grin and bear it about my bank debit card and b)my new card and my credit account have been cancelled, meaning that should I want it, I will need to re-apply, even though they have just re-issued the bloody thing in the first place!
Needless to say, I am not what you could call a bobtail in a felicitous mood.
Apart from that, Halloween went rather nicely.