Giving up your youth for this?

My father is 89. He is frail after suffering a stroke three years ago and is prone to urinary tract infections. He lives with us but receives quite a good care package because my husband and I work erratically – often being based at home but also often being away from home for a few days on end. Dad is pretty with it – he keeps a calendar to record what is going on every day, and if it weren’t for him, we’d always forget to put the dustbins out in time. In fact, the first sign that there’s something wrong is often that he does become confused. He does sleep a lot. But he is continent and with the care package, we can cope with him at home and shall continue to do so unless he deteriorates.
It’s no less than he deserves. He was called up just after his 21st birthday in September 1939 and was then a conscript for seven years. This happened just before he was about to sit his final exams at the Rylands Art School. This would have admitted him to the Royal Academy, given him a degree-equivalent qualification and given him the right to teach art in either a normal school or one of the Art Schools. He just about stayed out of most of the action in the war – his art skills meant he was good at drawing maps, and they preserved him for that. He went over to Normandy three days after D-Day. Most of his work then involved clearing up the debris – including clearing out Bergen Belsen. He never talks about it. But it was clear that it affected him quite badly. He wouldn’t go back to art after he was demobbed. Not for a long time.
He lives a genteel life now. He cannot cook for himself. We cook for him at weekends and holidays and make especial arrangements when we can’t be there. On ordinary days, he gets Meals on Wheels. They’re not bad. They’re better than hospital food and it’s a well-meaning service. It gets quite complex on the days when we’re not there and neither is the Meals on Wheels service. He usually pays by cheque each Monday. His bank still accepts his cheques in his rather scrawly hand-writing. However, he often spoils cheques and sometimes posts them and forgets to put the stamp on the envelop. So, the trigger cheque does not kick in and he does not get a new cheque book.
The local council send him an invoice. It seems to be for a period when he was in hospital. I try to phone to find out. When I do eventually get through, I’m told they can only discuss that bill with him.
“Good luck,” I say.
With a state of the art hearing aid, all cleaned up and with a brand new battery, my father has the quarter of normal hearing in one ear. His eyesight is not too good either. He is bright, but modern systems defeat him. They defeat me and I’m only 56 – and I have three degrees, all of them language related. I’ve taught communication skills for over twenty years. Obviously, my colleagues and I did a bad job.
So, they send him a nasty letter, outlining ways of paying, but also saying in what would be a hoity-toity voice if it were spoken, that the bill will not be considered to be paid until the cheque has cleared. I have to read the thing three or four times before even I understand how to pay. Couldn’t a gentler approach be taken with someone who gave up so much so that we don’t live under a Nazi regime?
I hear you murmur “power of attorney”. Really? Take away that last little bit of independence? I wouldn’t dare.
We went to Barclays Bank today, the Hedge End branch. They know him and me there. And cheers to Gemma who managed to assure him that a new cheque book was on the way. They also made it possible for me to be a third party who can deal with his affairs if need be. That is a good arrangement. This tends to be the exception rather than the rule, though.
But please, can we treat out World War II veterans with a little more dignity?

Bring Back the Branches

A colleague of mine has her main home in London. Having an Oyster card is the most sensible option for dealing with her transport needs at home. The most efficient way of making sure that there is always credit on that card is to have it renew automatically against a credit or debit card. All is fine and dandy until the day the card fails to renew because there is something wrong with the card. No problems – this is just a glitch – a phone call to the card company should sort it out. Except that you can’t get through to the card company, your own bank or indeed Oyster. And if you to get to speak to a human being, you have inevitably picked the wrong option. So, the waiting continues whilst they keep ypou on hold, trying to put you through to the right department. All very annoying when you only have a few minutes to make that call.
I’ve had comparable problems, with a bank “having technical problems”, and not being able to process my card – a card in fact, which is not recognised by my pin sentry or even my own bank, but which normally works in ATMs and for phone transactions.
The problem is, the branches are so far away and so busy also, because there are now so few of them.
Bring back the branches. Bring back the human beings.

Can we actually win ecologically spkeaing?

We seek to combat global warming by cutting down the number of methane-producing animals. That means planting and growing more grain. In order to do that, we have to cut down the trees.

Can we really sustain all these repossessions?

I have been offered a property below market value. The current owner has defaulted on the mortgage, and was threatened with repossession. There are now many repossessions in effect. However, December is a really bad time to do this. The property market always slumps a little at this time. So, how will these building societies be able to sell these houses? To whom will they sell them? Who wants to engage with mortgages with interest rates being so high?
I had this conversation with a building society at length on Friday. They were going to evict the vendor on Monday. Fortunately, the judge showed some common sense. He said it was ludicrous as the vendor has found a buyer.
What a waste of everybody’s time and money. I can’t believe that particular building society. They operate in my birth town and there is every possibility that someone I know made this decision. I can’t believe that anyone with the same background as me can think so unclearly.

Direct debit madness

I had a phone call form a credit card company. In fact, they called me three times on my mobile phone. One of the first things they asked me when I eventually spoke to them was could they have a mobile phone number in case they needed to contact me in future. They would not believe that they must already have my number because they had already used it three times … but I digress. However, that mistake is not too dissimilar from the one I’m really writing about.
For some reason – and I’m completely non-plussed as to why – my direct debit did not go through. That is going to mean some meaningless conversations with my bank, I guess. But again, I digress.
So, I paid by another debit card. Would I like to pay next month’s payment as well? Well, not really. But apparently, their computer is set to take a double payment from the day after the payment is missed. Well, I know all about the direct debit guarantee and that we shall be informed of all payments etc. But much of that is just back-covering activity anyway. If the computer is programmed correctly, customers can be informed in a fairer way.
“All credit card companies do this,” was the defence. No, they don’t. Many do have unfair practices, but they are not all the same by any means.
And as usual, the junior employee at the call centre can neither give you satisfactory advice nor point you in the direction of someone who can really deal with the matter.

Critical Illness Cover

There’s a lot of talk about critical illness plans at the moment. Many of them are said to be worthless. They don’t pay out – they’ll find every reason not to pay out. I have had an even more interesting experience.
I phoned out to see if there was a payment on death. After all, I am paying £170.00 a month and it would be nice to have some return on it. Of course, there is no pay out on death – too predictable – although isn’t death the most critical of illnesses? However, more alarmingly, when they took me though security, we found that they had my date of birth down wrongly.
“Not a problem,” said the clerk. “But you will have to write in and confirm this. It’s not your fault.”
Well, I suppose, actually it is. I should have checked the policy more carefully. It seems my independent financial advisor had put down my husband’s date of birth instead.
I wrote the letter and assumed all would be fine.
But oh no. I get a letter saying I now owe over £3,000. I try to phone, but the number they have given is for one of those call centres where first of all you queue forever and when you do speak to someone they don’t have a clue because the script only deals with the usual. You’re phoning because you have an unusual situation.
Now, I’ve had a letter saying that if I don’t pay up, the policy will be null and void. I’ve been paying into it since 2003. Immoral, isn’t it?