Wednesday, June 30
Banks And Balls
Riiiiight.
You'll all have noticed the new layout. I got bored of the last one (too much grey, not enough black and white), so, inspired by Girdag's new blog (in the Links bar herewith), I changed the layout to something more black and formal. You're quie welcome. Aside from that, service will remain as normal for the forseeable future. But now, it looks like I've actually written lots! Hurrah!
But, an actual update. Lots of ideas have come to mind, actually. Lambasting the idiots who wrote "You loosers" on a picture of David Beckham. Making a Stoner Dictionary. Slating the ex. Or, as the case may be, My Wonderful Bank Adventure.
Ever since I was a foetus growing within Mama Jennings (I think), I've had a kids account for the Woolwich. No longer beibg classable as a kid, said darling Mama has been nagging me to get a "proper" account. Admittedly, I knew I needed to do this...
My bank book. Has seen withdrawls for: plastic men, green, pub trips after sex that never happens. Ah, a good six years...
...but I couldn't be arsed. Until today, I started filling in my form for student funding, a nightmare of beauracracy that deserves an update in itself. But it needed loads of crazy bank numbers I just didn't know. Time to get a new account, thought Chyld.
Part I: Going to the Bank
Knowing I'd need lots of things, I gathered up the following:
>My scrotty old bank book (as shown)
>My passport, complete with spiky-haired picture
>My wallet, containing useful cards
>£7 in loose change, that I was going to put in either way. I am the loony that picks up loose change and hoardes it. Scrap that, I'm loony anyway.
>erm... tasty meat pies? If that point makes any sense to you, either 1.) join the forum, Stalky/anyone else off of FR, or 2.) TASTY PIES, AMY!
Then I left for town. Then realised I'd left the scrotty book behind, and waled all the way back home to fetch it. So what if I'd only walked 50m by then?
Part II: The Man at the Counter, Part One
I got to the bank, and lined up in the queue. As I was the only person in the bank at the time, my waiting time was non-existant. Unlike my average waiting time at the pos office, which is usually long enough for an entire species to be wiped out twice over.
"Hi, I'd like to close this account, and open a shiny new one." I said, in a more nervous and officious tone.
After a few minutes of mad clicking, said man asked "Have you got two forms of identification?"
TWO? OK, one passport, and... one old scrotty bank book?
"Have you got a drivers license?"
No...
"Are you on the Voters Roll?"
Yes...
Promptly, the man rattled off a sheet of paper with my information on it, then promptly asked me where I lived.
Its probably for securitys sake, but having a bank book, passport, and sheet of random paper with it on, it doesn't take too much effort to put two and two together.
After this, I was told to sit down, and wait for another man to come along and fill in the forms with me.
Part III: Man in his Office
After a minute of sitting down watching my trousers not fall down, a man called me into his office. Ooh, lots of officious things to do, I thought.
Not a bit of it.
Essentially, my involvement was to tell him everything I'd already told the first man, which the second man even had on his screen, and sign lots of bits of paper thrust at me.
This sounds shorter than the other bits, which is a lie. It was longer. Just not as 'funny'. Until I was given a copy of the forms I'd signed.
On the last sheet, it gave a list of terms, and reasons my informtion would be disclosed. They generally amounted to "so we can send you spam/junk mail". Except for the last one.
"The only time we will disclose about you is... to our agents and others who work on our behalf."
That made me giggle even then. Out agents? Makes it sound as if, if I don't pay my overdrafts, stealthy ninjas will come and assasinate me in the night! I was very happy that my bedroom was on the top floor of a three-story building. Stil not a problem for Stealthy Woolwich Ninjas, however. Must buy super shiny lazers, or hire pirates to guard me.
As I was deliberaing this, I was given back my many things, and told to see the first man about transfering money from old account to new.
Part IV: The Man At The Counter, Part 2
"Hi, me again."
"..."
"I'd like transfer the money from my old account to my new one, please.
"Rightyo."
"...oh yeah, and I have £7 in change to stick in as well."
"Rightyo."
Once he had done this, Id remembered the reason I'd come, to find shiny numbers to write on the silly form.
"What's my sort code, while I'm here?"
"(insert sort code here)"
"Thanks."
And that was that.
Part V: Get home, and upload a pithy update on my odyssy
Erm...
ThenI've got to fill in that form, fill in another, send them off, all by 2pm, because I've got a game of Warhammer Quest to play. And If you don't know what that is, you wouldn't be interested.
Until tomorrow, compatriots!
You'll all have noticed the new layout. I got bored of the last one (too much grey, not enough black and white), so, inspired by Girdag's new blog (in the Links bar herewith), I changed the layout to something more black and formal. You're quie welcome. Aside from that, service will remain as normal for the forseeable future. But now, it looks like I've actually written lots! Hurrah!
But, an actual update. Lots of ideas have come to mind, actually. Lambasting the idiots who wrote "You loosers" on a picture of David Beckham. Making a Stoner Dictionary. Slating the ex. Or, as the case may be, My Wonderful Bank Adventure.
Ever since I was a foetus growing within Mama Jennings (I think), I've had a kids account for the Woolwich. No longer beibg classable as a kid, said darling Mama has been nagging me to get a "proper" account. Admittedly, I knew I needed to do this...
My bank book. Has seen withdrawls for: plastic men, green, pub trips after sex that never happens. Ah, a good six years...
...but I couldn't be arsed. Until today, I started filling in my form for student funding, a nightmare of beauracracy that deserves an update in itself. But it needed loads of crazy bank numbers I just didn't know. Time to get a new account, thought Chyld.
Part I: Going to the Bank
Knowing I'd need lots of things, I gathered up the following:
>My scrotty old bank book (as shown)
>My passport, complete with spiky-haired picture
>My wallet, containing useful cards
>£7 in loose change, that I was going to put in either way. I am the loony that picks up loose change and hoardes it. Scrap that, I'm loony anyway.
>erm... tasty meat pies? If that point makes any sense to you, either 1.) join the forum, Stalky/anyone else off of FR, or 2.) TASTY PIES, AMY!
Then I left for town. Then realised I'd left the scrotty book behind, and waled all the way back home to fetch it. So what if I'd only walked 50m by then?
Part II: The Man at the Counter, Part One
I got to the bank, and lined up in the queue. As I was the only person in the bank at the time, my waiting time was non-existant. Unlike my average waiting time at the pos office, which is usually long enough for an entire species to be wiped out twice over.
"Hi, I'd like to close this account, and open a shiny new one." I said, in a more nervous and officious tone.
After a few minutes of mad clicking, said man asked "Have you got two forms of identification?"
TWO? OK, one passport, and... one old scrotty bank book?
"Have you got a drivers license?"
No...
"Are you on the Voters Roll?"
Yes...
Promptly, the man rattled off a sheet of paper with my information on it, then promptly asked me where I lived.
Its probably for securitys sake, but having a bank book, passport, and sheet of random paper with it on, it doesn't take too much effort to put two and two together.
After this, I was told to sit down, and wait for another man to come along and fill in the forms with me.
Part III: Man in his Office
After a minute of sitting down watching my trousers not fall down, a man called me into his office. Ooh, lots of officious things to do, I thought.
Not a bit of it.
Essentially, my involvement was to tell him everything I'd already told the first man, which the second man even had on his screen, and sign lots of bits of paper thrust at me.
This sounds shorter than the other bits, which is a lie. It was longer. Just not as 'funny'. Until I was given a copy of the forms I'd signed.
On the last sheet, it gave a list of terms, and reasons my informtion would be disclosed. They generally amounted to "so we can send you spam/junk mail". Except for the last one.
"The only time we will disclose about you is... to our agents and others who work on our behalf."
That made me giggle even then. Out agents? Makes it sound as if, if I don't pay my overdrafts, stealthy ninjas will come and assasinate me in the night! I was very happy that my bedroom was on the top floor of a three-story building. Stil not a problem for Stealthy Woolwich Ninjas, however. Must buy super shiny lazers, or hire pirates to guard me.
As I was deliberaing this, I was given back my many things, and told to see the first man about transfering money from old account to new.
Part IV: The Man At The Counter, Part 2
"Hi, me again."
"..."
"I'd like transfer the money from my old account to my new one, please.
"Rightyo."
"...oh yeah, and I have £7 in change to stick in as well."
"Rightyo."
Once he had done this, Id remembered the reason I'd come, to find shiny numbers to write on the silly form.
"What's my sort code, while I'm here?"
"(insert sort code here)"
"Thanks."
And that was that.
Part V: Get home, and upload a pithy update on my odyssy
Erm...
ThenI've got to fill in that form, fill in another, send them off, all by 2pm, because I've got a game of Warhammer Quest to play. And If you don't know what that is, you wouldn't be interested.
Until tomorrow, compatriots!
