One day, the washing machine was feeling a little bit under the weather, nausea was spinning its poor head. It appeared there was a lot too much swirling around its underbelly.  As if in a desperate cry for help, the incessant low murmur beeping and neon red flashing display for DANGER (more likely attention seeking rather like males with man-flu) cried out from its small dark mouth:

I wonder what on earth this could possibly mean and peruse the troubleshooting area of the user guide kindly supplied by the manufacturer. Lo and behold, I located some detailed assistance:

Wowzers, I would not ever have guessed that was my current issue considering all the water in the drum was plainly invisible to my eyesight and numb to the touch of my wet hands.  However, thank you sincerely for your information, I will proceed to Point 4 as per your guidance:

Paragraph 6.3 you say, well I don’t mind if I do – it’s rather like one of those childhood adventure books, you know, where the reader makes up the story based on decisions set on particular pages. P.a.r.a.g.r.a.p.h.s.i.x.p.o.i.n.t.t.h.r.e.e. is whizzing through my mind at the excitement of the next step:

Excusez-moi? Am I being completely dense? Wash and Dry Programmes? On which day, where purple pigs fly, do activating cycles have any inclination for relationships with mute unstuck cylinders where The water does not drain. I glance over the pages wondering at my disability to comprehend the logic. I continue onwards, and EUREKA! We have Paragraph 7.4:

Just to re-iterate, PARAGRAPH 7.4.  SEVEN.  POINT.  FOUR. They do not have the audacity to even complete checks on the user manuals distributed to the depths of outer space for a washing machine dating back to, the starting point of Back to the Future. God forbid they were writing out clauses to protect consumer rights for let’s say, current account agreements.  Calmly. I. Proceed. To. Read. The. Further. Instructions.

Using a coin. Blah. Blah. Blah. At the rear of the machine. That’s handy. Really. Considering:

The cabinet door is screwed tight to the front of the machine, the machine is on a plinth, and therefore I’m unable to pull the plastic-looking metal box of crap out of its make-do igloo housing, never mind reaching for its dirty fat ugly rear.  With a coin.  For god’s sake.

Were the design engineers highly stoned when setting about the fittings and fixtures for this apartment?

As well as a hole in my pierced nose, I have a hole in my pocket burning up deep inside the hellish resting place that is Nationwide Building Society.  A hole, that is rather empty and most unsatisfying.  I must wait forty-eight hours to find out whether my money will be refunded to me, even though it’s left my account without my authorisation which as per regulations issued by the Financial Ombudsman Service requires immediate replacement as the bank are liable for their error in unsafe practice of fraud prevention.  Mouthful? Yes.  I rest my case on this for the time being as I investigate how to bring Pretend Saiqa to justice.

I request advice from my favourite people; the Enforcers in Room 101 at Thames Valley Police.  I am advised as the card was not handed in and instead used in fraudulent activity, this is classed as theft of the pretty blue.  I’m pleased to hear this and I obtain a Crime Reference Number passing over all of my contact and personal ID details.  To gear up the investigation I am recommended to speak with Action Fraud, I note the number and request whether I can take criminal action against the bank.  This is a no-go.  The enforcers advise when the bank process the refund (as it appears to be a clear cut identity theft), Nationwide Building Society will effectively become the victim and it will be up to them to commence any investigations and press charges where they deem necessary for any losses they have incurred.

I know right – but it was, is, my identity which has been assumed so how am I not permitted to take any lawful criminal proceedings against (a) the accused – if Pretend Saiqa is ever located, and (b) the bank for not following any kind of procedures. It’s great that the money will be sent back to me by Nationwide Building Society and rightly so, however, I am me.  Someone else has pretended to be me, and appears to have morphed into Scott Free.  All I can think about is ‘strawman’ and ‘consent’ and how in fact, the façade of identity is a falsity. It’s the principle here, and the law does not protect me from this?  The law of England we are all supposedly abiding by…?  Except for the corporations and criminals, more irony…?

As it’s just the beginning, I accept this statement of ‘fact’ knowing somehow I will take it as far as possible and in the voice of Braveheart; they can take £500, but they can’t take me.  I call Action Fraud and re-explain for the fifth time so far today the Armageddon with which I am faced.  I am provided with another reference number and thanked for the information: “?” runs through my brain.  Anyway, it’s now logged with the appropriate authorities.

After a weekend with no access to my means, actually, my means have been stolen as well as my permissions.  Monday comes, and passes without word.  Tuesday arrives, and still not a keyboard tap.  Wednesday wiggles on and halfway through a meeting with my directors at work, an 0800 number vibrates on my mobile phone.  I request to be excused and lo and behold, it is indeed Nationwide Building Society.  A member of their Fraud Team to be exact.

Being extra vigilant, my details are taken for security purposes (!) and I have entered into the realms of the Spanish Inquisition.

Where did the card go missing?
How did the card go missing?
Was the PIN number with the card?
Was anything else taken?

I am slightly agitated at these questions considering I spent an entire ninety minutes on Friday afternoon explaining the situation, where I was advised it would take forty-eight hours for investigations to complete.  Here I am, five days later (two including the weekend I must add) still being asked preliminary questions about my lost card rather than how the event unfolded in the branch itself because the point that is continually missed, is that there was a ‘stop’ on the card and Pretend Saiqa had no further ID – other than the cancelled card and a forged signature.

Unfortunately for Mr Telephone Fraud Member, he is at the receiving end of my shortened fuse.  Perplexingly, the Fraud Investigations team have not yet discussed the situation with Aylesbury Kingsbury Square Branch Manager or the Cashier involved, or investigated the withdrawal slip or contacted the Enforcers themselves OR even examined internal CCTV footage.   I have more investigation in my little finger than the entire banking squad put together but they won’t hire me since I have an ever so slightly blemished credit history. Go figure.

I am fuming at this point relaying my dismay at the lack of actions so far undertaken and the length of time I’ve endured being without my own cash – at the error of Nationwide Building Society.  I demand the money is refunded to my account without any delay and investigations are properly started to find out how this ‘mistake’ came into being.  I am informed as soon as the money is refunded into my account by close of business today, there will be no further action.

Again, I am stunned by this detail.  I go on to comment on information given to me by the Enforcers regarding the bank being the ‘victim’ and he confirms there is nothing further they can, or will, do – Nationwide Building Society have money set aside for these errors so there is no real loss to them at all.

(!)

I must continue resort to exclamatory punctuation since I do not have the words to reflect my disbelief.  I can record his contact details and he will be happy to liase with Thames Valley Police in order to obtain CCTV footage accordingly.  I must repeat the details to make sense in my real life;

So when the money is refunded, that’s it?  That’s the end of the scenario?  There won’t be any formal investigations, apologies or compensation?

No, not really.  The refunding of the money is the end of the matter for Nationwide Building Society.

(!)

I’m afraid that’s not acceptable, no processes or procedures have been followed here.  The money was not taken from an ATM via a PIN, it was withdrawn from inside a Nationwide Building Society branch, a Nationwide Building Society cashier completed the transaction.  How can there be no outfalls?

I’m afraid there is nothing more we can do.  Regarding compensation, I can offer £20.

I laugh in exasperation.  Again, I’m really sorry but that’s not at all viable, I will be writing to the branch to make a complaint about this entire event.  That figure is nowhere near the trouble I have been through including the lack of customer service and excuses such as “we’re too busy to monitor our own processes”.

Mr Telephone Fraud Member apologises for the service received and for my anguish and offers £50 compensation.  I refuse.  I am subjected to notes resembling some sort of melody for perhaps ten minutes whilst he speaks to a Supervisor and he returns with an offer of £100.

I will have to think about this and complete some calculations, I am not accepting the figure at this time.  Can I let you know later today?

This is fine, in the meantime, I have logged the complaint on the system and this is in process.  The cash will be refunded to you in the next ten minutes.

OK, thank you.

To his credit (pun not intended), he calls me back late afternoon, however, I remain unstuck in meetings for the rest of the day and unintentionally miss the call.  Thursday beckons and yawns, and Mr Telephone Fraud Member contacts me to clarify the compensation I am seeking, I advise my calculations are done and a decent sum would be £275 considering:

- £500 was stolen and happily given away by Nationwide Building Society
- stop was over-ridden internally with whose permission?
- an overdraft was not easily provided
- a direct debit has gone out (charges are ‘removed’)
- without money for five days
- booked and reserved events that had to be cancelled
- unable to purchase a weekly bus pass therefore paying extortionate day return tickets with money I don’t have
- no further action is going to be taken internally at Nationwide Building Society
- processes are not going to be reviewed at Nationwide Building Society
- no real apology from Nationwide Building Society
- it all appears to be a bit of a joke at the Kingsbury Square branch
- no explanation has been provided as to how this could have occurred
- investigations have still not yet begun
- Nationwide Building Society are trying to blame me for losing the card
- do I need to go on with this list?

Mr Telephone Fraud Member advises that he is not authorised to compensate such a figure as if I am requesting six zeros married to a ’1′, it astonishes me stolen money can be handed back from funds set aside in special internal accounts (and incidentally handed over the counter to a random person) but when it comes to actually going above and beyond customer service, my case must head off to the appropriate department and I must wait for the outcome in writing.  I can still contact the branch for local action though, as if this is a consolation prize (which still needs to be done).

Two days later, I receive another phonecall from Nationwide Building Society based in Swindon.  I have no idea why Swindon branch is calling… (later on I google them to find out it’s Head Office, she did not casually add this into the conversation).  Little Miss Head Office asks identical questions as per the three previous telephone calls, and practically told me:

- it was my fault for losing the card
- the branch are quite busy so these things happen
- the person came in with the card therefore they were correctly assumed to be the cardholder
- she will investigate the complaint as if it is not worth investigating

I stop her before she went on.

I can understand how I can be blamed for losing the card in the first instance however, I put a stop on the card pretty much immediately.  It is not acceptable that the branch was busy, nor is it acceptable to suggest just because someone comes into the branch with a card, they are automatically the cardholder.  I placed a stop on the card and you still let the money go.  The stop was over-ridden. I will be writing to the Financial Ombudsman about this doubly so because of the stupendous behaviour of Nationwide Building Society from the moment it occurred and regardless of the outcome of the compensation. I am completely unhappy, this is an understatement if ever there was one.  You are not taking any responsibility at all apart from processing the refund which is a matter of course.  You do not see any need for research to take place which is astounding considering in this day and age how sensitive the world is to security – in contradiction to the very first telephone call where the staff member would apparently face stern disciplinary action, which I don’t believe has occurred.  And on top of that it has caused me so much stress, my body has decided to break down a week earlier than scheduled. I am not impressed. 

Little Miss Head Office advises she will look into the complaint and the result will be sent to me via snail mail in a few days, and that I should not yet report details to the Financial Ombudsman until I read the response.  She offers her telephone number for god knows what reason, No, it’s fine you’re going to write to me in a few days so please add it to the letter.

The same evening I speak to the Financial Ombudsman – boo her – I’m going to find out my rights and actions I can take…  unfortunately, I am unable to do anything until I hear the final decision which was the expectation by week end.  I query how I would be able to complain about processes, Mr Smooth Operator is confused and asks the reasons for my consternation since these enterprises are fully aligned to regulations safeguarding customers. I explain, and he is shocked.  He advises for him to withdraw £250 from HSBC, he requires his card, proof of ID and proof of address… he gives me the contact number for the Financial Services Authority. (Incidentally, I also learned from a colleague that to withdraw cash at NatWest inside the branch, the PIN is required as this clamps down fraud too.)

Still wearing my complainant prosecutor head, I log into my account online and a happy message entitled “Important Information for Compensation Arrangements” infects my eyesight.  It was dated 30 November and the bank in conjunction with Pretend Saiqa robbed me seven days later.  “Nationwide: on your side”. Don’t make me laugh.

Just to educate myself and out of interest, I wonder how banks hold themselves liable since we enter into agreements with them about our finances.  How are we protected?  The simple answer is, we’re not.  The agreement is for the bank’s protection… the current account agreement reads like stifling words uttered by arresting officers.

i. “Identity fraud involves fraudsters obtaining personal information to obtain financial services products in your name…”
- This does not appear to cover individuals who walk into branches in the bright cold light of day imitating the cardholder.

ii. “We may register information about you and the conduct of your account…to prevent fraud.”
- Not to actually prevent fraud against the customer though – only once the account holder has committed fraud against the bank.

iii. “An example of exceptional circumstances would include us taking action to prevent or risk fraudulent activity for the benefit of our members.”
- Not me, the customer.  Them, the members who sit on chocolate brown leather armchairs smoking Cuban cigars whilst the man in the high street bank gives away my hard-earned cash over the counter.  How is not taking any further investigations benefiting their Members so in fact, they’re letting their own selves down…?
Nationwide Building Society breach of contract

“Clause 11. We will debit your account with all payments authorised by you.”
- But it wasn’t me, and Nationwide Building Society failed to complete thorough and proper checks to confirm the identity of Pretend Saiqa.  They have my phone number for goodness sake, they didn’t even speak to the branch who put a stop on the card.  Surely alarm bells will have been ringing.  But no, Pretend Saiqa had my card therefore IT was me.
Nationwide Building Society breach of contract

“Clause 13. Your entire balance may not be available for withdrawal in circumstances where it would be unlawful for us to allow the withdrawal.”
- What kind of person in their right mind clears their entire bank account at the beginning of the month in cash when debits are scheduled to go out for the rest of the thirty days.  This also warrants no suspicion? Isn’t cancelling a cancelled card unlawful without any form of ID?
Nationwide Building Society breach of contract

“Clause 33. Before we can act on your instructions we will require your consent and may require proof of ID.  How we obtain your consent may include the use of passwords, cards, card readers, PINS or encryption devices and card verification.”
- Just fail.
Nationwide Building Society breach of contract

“Clause 48. We may refuse to carry out any transaction on your account that you might request if we reasonably believe you did not give us the instruction.  We reasonably suspect fraudulent activity. Your instructions are unclear or incomplete.”
- Another blatant fail.  It is not hard to pick up the telephone to speak with the branch who cancelled the card.  It beggars belief (and common sense) the cashier wilfully and forcefully over-rode the stopped card. I didn’t even know you could cancel stopped cards, did you?
Nationwide Building Society breach of contract

“Clause 50. If we have to take action against another party as a result of a transaction on your account you must assist us.”
- But they do not have to assist me unless I ‘fight’ to obtain help persuading them with my Crime Reference Number, Action Fraud reference number and to safeguard my personal security.
Nationwide Building Society breach of contract (since it protects only them, not me)

“If we are liable for any losses due to the delay or error by us for unauthorised payments we will refund immediately.
- Five days later (two including the weekend), the refund was processed only after I raised my concerns about the delays. Funnily enough, immediate refund is also the advice issued by the Financial Services Authority so official guidelines have been thrown out of the cashier window too – but wait these are exceptional circumstances, please see (iii) above.
Nationwide Building Society breach of contract

“Term H. Any information about me and my account can be shared within Nationwide to prevent or detect fraud.”
- Er. Chance would be a fine thing.
Nationwide Building Society breach of contract

That is all, there are no terms and conditions for the protection of my money, my identity, my account however visiting the FSA website I come across a ‘handbook’ which are more of a set of guidelines than actual rules.  So the following ‘advice’ is not being adhered to either (starting point Bipru 6.4.1):

“A firm must implement a system of management reporting that provides operational risk reports to relevant functions.”
“A firm must have procedures in place for taking appropriate action in response to information contained in such reports.”
“A firm takes active steps to prevent criminals taking advantage of its services.”
“A firm has a strategy for self-improvement in financial crime.”
“Good practice: the firm actively considers the impact of crime on customers.”
“Poor practice: The firm makes no effort to understand or address gaps in its financial crime defences.”

Must I really comment on each of these points that are extracted from the first few pages, imagine the thousands of other stipulations…

To conclude the drama thus far and to wrap this up as your eyes must now be tired, a week later I receive a letter from Nationwide Building Society.  Considering Little Miss Head Office advised she would write to me with a decision on the complaint and compensation, the letter states I will have the final decision by 07 January 2013.  In the meantime, I am sending the above to her, the local branch, and the Chief Executive, in writing.

Welcome aboard the Nation Wide, Miss Aftab! Arrrrr!
Captain of the Building Society sailing the pirate seas of banking.

(!)

I sit on the bus in despair, drained, confused, dejected.  Clearly, it must have been a pre-meditated and calculated notion, the subject of consternation which worries me further is the amount of detail Pretend-Saiqa and her fellow Pretend-Saiqa-ites might know about me… and how…? I am not a millionaire in the first instance so that my account has been completely cleaned out has fully infected my mood and altered my otherwise blindly optimistic state of mind. Moreso disconcerted at the human race than anything, I guess because I’ve not been personally pillaged – well not recently, someone mugged me a few years back whilst I was standing at the bus stop conversing on my mobile phone and he sprinted the marathon across the main road with my blue Nokia 8210 handset, I couldn’t catch up even though I ran miles after him, he disappeared into the park far too quickly. Enter sad face emoticon here.

I can’t help but think of nothing else, not the criminal aspect so much but the nature of the person, the audacity of the female individual to brazenly breeze into a ‘secure’ financial institution as an enterprising entrepeneur, actually pretend to be me, assume my identity and dupe another more stupid human being (unless by some horrible coincidence it was an inside job) on a personal level and escape with, essentially, a wad of cash to which she has no rights (Harry Enfield and Loadsamoney suddenly waves obscenely in my imagination dancing with Kylie in love, but this is not the time to rave about the locomotion). I am dancing a jig of depression instead.  I barely have rights to my own money since the government take their share for no other reason apart from that they simply can, I have zero cash and the Bank seem to be quite happy – especially the dense Call Centre Supervisor.  I feel like a very valued customer.

I’m trying to understand the position of Cashier Lady, what could have possessed her to hand over money like that?  Five hundred whole pounds is not exactly £13.99 for the Elizabeth Duke silver charm moustache necklace… And then I resist the urge to be violently ill… maybe Pretend-Saiqa has my Driver’s Licence and that’s the reason the money was passed over the counter because that would act as bona fide proof of identification.  I fumble for my wallet and check each leathery fold, my licence has also done a Houdini – if I was on the brink of suicide before I’ve just slit my wrists now… but then I’m sure I lost it months ago since I haven’t seen it for a while anyway.  I’ve been using my passport for all ID purposes this year (mental note: obtain a new licence – again).   But even if Pretend-Saiqa had my licence, it states a previous address so it still appears to be all a bit dodge.

All this is circulating behind my eyes in the bubble that is my dehydrated brain and I’m considering whether I should let the Fraud Investigation Team deal with it independently or whether I should attempt to squander the investigation by paddling in with my oar, as a baseball bat.  Rather like Dorothy and her ruby shoes leading her to the Wizard, (of blizzard… where did that come from… Jack Frost & Michael Keaton, that movie makes me cry to this day having watched it a thousand times), my feet possessed by the Goddess of Contemptuous Curiosity and Anger march my annoyed body to the Aylesbury branch.

I walk past the male Asian Meeter and Greeter, he can’t be important right is what I’m thinking – he’s standing at the Welcome Podium which is surely reserved for the minions, especially since it’s opposite the entrance and the cold is gusting its way through.  It is insanely quiet for a Friday lunchtime, there is only one other person being attended to and there is no queue.  My first thought is to request I speak with the Branch Manager immediately however, I go for investigative journalism instead and approach Cashier Lady who I spy suspiciously because it may have been her who decided to emulate Santa Claus yesterday. 

I just have a query really, I’m not sure you can help me, if someone was to come in with a card to withdraw money, which security measures do they go through for them to be able to access the funds on the account?

Well, we’d request date of birth, address details, current transactions or any other means of securing the identity of the cardholder.

Riiight, so if the person came in with perhaps a Driver’s Licence with an old address would they still be able to access the money?

No, the licence would need to match the address we have on our system.

So it wouldn’t be checked on an historic address you have on record for the account?

No, it would need to be the current address of the cardholder.

Okkk, so if there was a stop on a card, would there be any way of handing the cash over?

No, if a stop was placed on the card then usually other forms of ID would be required to withdraw money from the affected account.

Riiiiiight, sorry, I’m just processing all of this information as I’m trying to figure out what happened…

Can I ask what this is in relation to?

Well, I reported my card lost yesterday at the Risborough branch and cancelled the card; half an hour later, someone came into this branch and a cashier processed the withdrawal from my account.

Cashier Lady looks at me a bit startled.

You say from this branch? The Aylesbury branch.

Yes. Correct.  This branch, yesterday lunchtime.

Can I take your name and address please and I can take a look?

Sure and I give over my credentials as requested by the ‘security’ questions.  Note: I was not asked for any formal ID before the rest of the account information is given to me.

I see a withdrawal for £500, are you sure it was this branch?

Yes, I didn’t make the withdrawal, I put a stop on the card but it was over-ridden by someone at this branch.

I’ll be back in a moment.

I laser eye her and burn her head clean off from her neck through the perforated glass, my superpowers are not working today.  It’s a shame.  She returns as promised.

If you take a seat, I’ll speak with the Branch Manager.

I head towards the seating area which is really a linear arrangement of chairs, adjacent to my left is a frosted screen for customer privacy where another female member of staff is sitting.  Cashier Lady and Female discuss my account transactions in hushed confusion and Cashier Lady re-appears requesting I provide an example of my signature.  I give her two signatures; my real one and the signature that appears on my lost card explaining the signature strip is too narrow for my full signature to fit.  Inside my head, I am berating myself for having such an easy signature to forge since it just practically spells my name quite messily…

Cashier Lady relays the situation to Female and I am unable to really hear the details.  Shortly afterwards, Cashier Lady speaks with Asian Meeter and Greeter and the three of them are now trying to play Cluedo.  Too many cooks comes to mind… suddenly, Asian Meeter and Greeter quite loudly says “No! Shuttup! How can that have happened?!” – this is hardly instilling me with any kind of confidence that the situation is going to be easily rectified.  Additionally, I am wondering how this involves the Asian guy.  Is it because I’m Asian he is now going to deal with me, am I too brown to be dealt with by the non-brown people?  At this point, I’m losing the will to live and all aspects of customer service are diminishing before my very eyes.

Asian Meeter and Greeter emerges from behind the screen and advises me to come through.  He doesn’t introduce himself as the Branch Manager so clearly he must not be and I am none the wiser, perhaps it is Female who is too scared to come out and face me just in case I toss a nuclear warhead at her from inside my tiny handbag, Cashier Lady has also quietly disappeared.  The branch is still empty. Ish.

So, I understand you have a query on your account.

I look at him wondering if he thinks I am oblivious to the events that have just taken place behind the screen.  It’s not a soundproof room!  I am surrounded by idiots.  In a bank.  No wonder they never catch bank robbers.  It’s incredible.

I’d like to know how money was withdrawn from my account after I put a stop on the card.

Well, if the money was withdrawn before the stop was placed that’s how the withdrawal would have occurred.

No. I put the stop on the account at 13:19 and at 13:49 the money was withdrawn.  The stop was over-ridden by the cashier at this branch, I’d like to know why and the reasons as to how this would have happened?

Another baffled expression.

The money was withdrawn after the stop was placed? 

Yes, you can check the account.  I’ve already spoken with the Fraud Team and those are the details that were given to me.

So you’ve already reported this to our internal departments?

Yes, from the Risborough branch which is the area where I work, it was reported this afternoon.  I’ve just come from that branch.  I was trying to work out how this happened considering I am not sure if I’ve lost my driver’s licence so I thought I’d check with you as I live in Aylesbury and to be honest, waiting until Tuesday is too far away.  If the person also had my licence, then you’d take a copy of the licence and note the driver number on the withdrawal slip so I wanted to find out if this was the case…

And in that split second, I noticed the withdrawal slip in Asian Meeter and Greeter’s hand with £500 hand written in black biro.

Is that the slip?

Yes, this is the slip.

Are you serious?  I cover my face with my hands so I don’t spontaneously combust with utter hysteria.  Is that the signature my money went out on?

Yes, it’s uncanny how the signatures are quite similar.

Are you joking?!  They look nothing alike!  This is the signature on the card… and I point to the second signature which I crafted on the blank piece of paper.  And I also see my Driver Number isn’t noted on the slip so they just had my card – which had a stop on it.  If I was working here I’d never have let the cash go on that signature, it’s ridiculous! They are totally different.  

Again, another stunned silence from another Aylesbury staff member.

Well, we are quite a busy branch.

My turn for confounded stupefaction.  I am unable to comprehend that sentence.

It is a December day.  Four days after my birthday and six days after I have been rewarded with my monthly salary.  I am happy.  So much so I changed my Twitter ID to Lady Luck, ahaha.  That’s hindsight.  And that’s ironic.  Anyway.  Back to the account at hand… minding my own business on the bitterly cold high street, I am returning to the office during my lunch break, trying to snuggle into my jacket though to be honest, it’s not working. I shove my hands into my pockets and come across a few pound coins that trigger my memory: I owe work for expenses.  My feet take me to the cash point before I forget again for the third day in a row.

I reach into my bag for my purple leopard print lined wallet and carefully open it up (it’s like a book), and where my blue silver piece of flat moulded plastic should be, is a very empty space. Hmm my inner voice says. I casually check the other compartments – even the clasped pouch containing odds, ends and shrapnel.  Nothing.  My debit card has ceased to exist.  My confusion continues… I have not made any card transactions since yesterday so it is unlikely to be at home on the arm of my sofa – which by the way is the only security I have since I don’t have the arms of a man – it’s the chosen resting place for my card if I’m surfing and purchasing on the wonderful wide web in the evenings (obviously not the spider kind though at times I do wonder).

I don’t have any other pockets to check and I am in two minds to the point of conversing with myself as to whether I should report the card missing (it could potentially be at home somewhere).   However, Better to be safe than sorry is the mantra I was brought up with so I think to put it to use for the first time in my life.  I skidaddle to the bank, present myself, exchange pleasantries, answer all the security questions correctly (of course) which is simple and painless as I’ve been banking at this branch for three years.  I explain the situation and with immediate effect, a ‘stop’ is placed on the card and a new lease of financial spending will be winged to me within about seven days which is absolutely fine.

Can I withdraw some cash now?  I’m hoping Lady Cashier will say Yes since they know who I am…

Have you any ID with you such as a driver’s licence or passport?

No.

I’m afraid you’ll need to return with your ID.

Thinking all these processes are in place for a reason, I thus abide by these retail banking procedures, it is for my own benefit and safety of course.  I think nothing further of the situation since the bank has drawn me into its protective bubble-wrapped security film.

Can I check the last transaction on my account? Ah yes, that’s fine.  Nothing untoward has occurred.  What’s my balance please?

£600.00.

Oh, less than I thought but never mind, thank you! I’ll be back tomorrow…

*

The next day, twelve hours later to be precise and in a revolving time frame I place myself back on the high street and direct my brain back to the bank.

Hi, I’ve got my passport with me today, can I withdraw £200.00 please?

Since I’m waiting for my card, this is a decent sum since I’ve got to catch the train etc. to the Christmas party tonight in London.

Your available balance is £82.00.

I’m sorry, £82.00?  How is that possible?

Let me see, you withdrew £500.00 on the 6^th?

Um, no.  No, I didn’t.

Yes, last week you withdrew £500.00.

No, I didn’t withdraw any money last week.  Are you sure last week?  The 6^th was yesterday…

For the first time in my life and by some miracle, I know today’s date.

I am sorry, yes the 6^th.

So £500 yesterday?  I couldn’t have done that I reported my card lost yesterday. 

<Lady Cashier frantically tries to find out as much information as possible and taps away furiously at her keyboard>

Can you tell me the exact time the transaction occurred?  I’d’ve remembered taking out that amount of cash and I wouldn’t be here now if I had.  I don’t understand, so was that from the cashpoint or inside the branch since I can only take £300 at the machine?

It was withdrawn at Aylesbury branch.

Sorry, actually over the counter?  Someone counted out and gave someone £500 of my money to someone who wasn’t me?

This seemed ridiculously incredulous to me, how can this amount of money be let through without any other form of ID, how did they pass through the security questions? Did this person claim amnesia to the Aylesbury cashier?

Let me have a colleague speak to you, clearly you didn’t withdraw this money.  We’ll put you through to the Fraud Team and they will investigate and sort this out for you.

I sit down and call the special hotline number from the branch landline, the automated voice repeats like a broken record for at least five minutes.  I’m meant to leave the office in half an hour, I have a lift with one of the girls.  I still have two more projects to kick-off with the team and on top of everything, I need to make myself over for tonight’s Christmas party – which let me tell you, is no easy feat.  The robot woman in my ear is hurting my cochlea, it is a blessing I am sitting down otherwise I might just fall about the place like a wobbling tower of jelly.  The gentleman I am with then uses an internal number as this might be quicker, it works (WOOHOO!) – although now I am through to the call centre, and the call centre is in the queue to speak with the Fraud Team instead.

After taking all my details and satisfied I didn’t plan the whole scenario myself, I’m advised as it’s Friday, it will be Tuesday before I hear anything back.  Usually, the time frame is 48 hours but due to the weekend blah-blah-blah.  I do not fight this either, I am trying to remain coherent and pleasant so I do not ruin my party preparation atmosphere and to be fair, up until this point everyone in MY branch has been really helpful.  My lift tells me she’s had to leave the office so I need to get the bus <internal groan> but still, I am dealing with keeping a lid on my emotions and thoughts.

It appears the stop on the card has been over-ridden, I apologise.  I’m unsure how or why this has taken place.

I have to repeat this out loud to try and make some sense out of the words I have just heard considering I was debating whether or not to cancel the card in the first place.  What was the point in me putting the stop on the card?!

The stop was o-v-e-r-r-i-d-d-e-n?! At what time was the money withdrawn as this detail wasn’t available earlier?

The stop was placed on the card at 13:19, the withdrawal took place at 13:49.

W.H.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.T  T.H.E.  F.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.U.C.K?!

…reverberates around my head like a Duracell bunny on acid doing somersaulting backflips in my head.

We’ll need to speak to the branch and investigate this for you, this is a clear-cut fraudulent event, we’ll be in touch with you on Tuesday.  Is there anything else I can help with?

I’m still being socially acceptable at this point, perhaps it is shock…at the same time causing a scene would be futile… mentally I am writing the complaints letter and branding each detail into my failing long term memory.  In the meantime, a snooty female has entered the branch for her two-pm appointment with the manager who has been with me for the last hour. As my call is coming to an end, I say “You can see to her, I’ll be fine…” as clearly she is unimpressed her meeting might be delayed by at least thirty seconds – she even heard me say it’s ok for him to leave yet she outwardly and loudly describes her disgust at having practically used her broomstick at a hundred miles an hour to reach the appointment on time.  I want to shout to her at the top of my lungs: I have just had five whole hundred pounds stolen from my account and this dude has been super helpful so shut the hell up and sit down you stupid, idiotic unempathetic woman – but I refrain.

Can you connect me back to the call centre please? The lady I spoke to previously advised she may be able to organise a temporary overdraft whilst investigations are taking place.

<Click>

Hi, my name is Matthew I’m the supervisor here, can I help?

Yes, I’d like to organise an overdraft please…

Can you give me a value?

Er, I don’t know…£350?

That’s not possible.  Can you provide another value please?

Can you tell me the minimum I’m allowed to have, that would be easier…

I’m unable to do that, can you give me another value?

But I don’t know when the money will be returned or if any debits are coming out over the next week, can you not just provide the minimum I’m ‘allowed’?  Can you check if any debits are coming out over the next week?

No, I don’t have access to those details and I’m not able to give you any other information, can you give me another figure?

To recap just in case you’d forgottten, I’ve been on the telephone for an entire hour trying to figure out exactly which incompetencies have taken place.  I won’t have any (of my own) money until god knows when, I’ve missed my lift, I don’t have any more time to complete any further work so now I’m behind and will need to work the weekend, I need to use public transport and I’ve hardly any cash for the Christmas party this evening… all because of the dumbass cashier at Aylesbury branch over-riding the cancelled card because it appeared in some lying girls hand.  I have wasted this time, and sort out the palava the bank has caused.  Apologies, building society – building a society by thieving my godam money.  I don’t even like money and now I’m fighting to get some – my own. I can’t even say I hope the cashier is sacked since I understand the importance of being employed - so after everything, why do I still have such a stupidly soft mind?

In a perturbed voice;

Is this bingo? You’ve just given away £500.00 of MY money for no reason and you can’t give me the minimum value of the permitted overdraft on MY account, which is blatantly on your screen.  I have no idea when the money will be returned to me and you are not helping the situation by asking me to pick figures from thin air.  Forget it, I don’t want your overdraft, thanks for nothing.

And quite unprofessionally, I hang up.

What a palava. You think with it being a weekend, God would most certainly have given me a day off. Yesterday, I decided I would travel to Birmingham in the morning as it would be less of a headache (cheaper and quicker), or so I thought. This is not a moan about public transport dear Reader, ‘tis a moan about the current state of my incredulous ridiculousness.

After having living in my apartment for three months, on the morning in question, I struggled to lock the door as if I had troll hands. Both locks. I locked and unlocked the double-system mechanism three or four times over trying to decipher which leprechaun had stolen my brain during the night. Eventually I managed to secure the security, and hi ho hi ho off to out I go on my way to the train station. Thankfully not for work of course.

A short distance up the road after my daily bobbing along to Example and She Won’t Go Quietly (which is really quite apt now for me but not in the same way as the song theme which is still on iPod repeat because I love the lyrics so endlessly…) Anyway. I search myself for my phone with my bag on my shoulder and decrease my long marching leap-frog steps into a mild panic of chicken-patter. I reach inside my two jacket pockets, and pat my two back pockets on my jeans. Then I pat my two front pockets. And as a last resort now, I pat my two thigh pockets. Nada.

I publicly frisk myself once more just to be sure, by this time I have ceased skipping and I am rooted to the spot like a meercat sensing imminent danger. The phone is not on me. I search my bag. It is not in my bag. I deduce of course, it must be in my apartment and I return to said abode, and retrace all of my steps from the kitchen, lounge, bedroom, bathroom trying to remain as calm as a summer’s breeze. I discover nothing.

I am despairing at this point as it is a good ten-minute walk to the train station, I cannot miss this train, I have an appointment at 12:45pm which is practically unmissable. I can actually live without my phone, believe it or not: tried and tested: proven successful. But the despair persists since my bus pass, or m-ticket, is on my phone via an ‘app’ (N.B: this ‘app’ is not recommended as Arriva also fail with this service provision and delete the m-ticket each time an update-download is required). I have at least one weeks’ validity on this ticket however, I need this bus pass. I am surely not about to lose any further expenditure, were this a commendable talent, I would be Queen. However, losing cash frivolously is, by far, the worst characteristic to possess as a human being in the continuing downturn of economy the history of the universe has ever seen, or that which has been documented…

I search EVERYWHERE. Even under and behind my lovely chocolate leather ottoman (which is more expensive than my sofa – I did advise you I am astoundingly good at spendthrifting but I am no Nora-bird although right now, its gracious presence is hardly comforting). I have now run out of places to turn upside-down-inside-out. I have rubbed out and retraced my steps fifty thousand times and my mind is numb with solutions. I sit, dejected, on the carpet, in amongst the contents of my travel bag having emptied and checking it a million times, each time knowing I will not find it, but check anyway.

Where on earth could it have disappeared to? My worst nightmare is to have nonchalantly gifted the phone to refuse bags that I carelessly flicked into the giant wheely-bin when I departed the apartment earlier. But surely I was not so stupid as to accidentally do that to myself? The longer I sat, the deeper I thought, the more I racked my memory, the quicker time passed, the higher the outcome of missing my train. The unlikelihood of finding my phone was increasing at a melodramatic rate.

The bin was looking to be the only solution. There was no way in the universe I was going to rummage through scummy leftovers and rotting vegetables on this bright Saturday morning. Lamenting over the lost cash on the travel pass, and the cost of replacing the handset since I have no insurance, I had an epiphany. A bit like an apple dropping on a head.

Aha! I remembered, I was being super dyslexic with the locking mechanisms, perhaps the phone is there. I jump off the carpet and like a criminal, mooch over to my door and carefully open it afraid to see absolutely nothing. I peek around the edge and there on the floor, as if sunbathing in artificial light, my phone lies naked staring at me blankly: as innocent as a lost button. I scream with delight and moreso at my stupidity.

After packing my bag like a mad hare in a dash to a tea-party, I made it to the train station with three minutes to spare before departure and I hula-hoop into my seat with happiness.

Eventually I fell asleep at 1:10AM, or rather I forced myself to retire to my purple boudoir and lying between the sheets in defiance, I set my alarm for 3:00AM. Yes. 3:00AM. My HTC quietly reminded me I would have approximately a hundred minutes of sleep. Brilliant. I thought it would be two hours of disturbed slumber at least and with only having three hours of sleep for each and every preceding night for the last nine cycles of day, I was not quite sure how on earth I have been managing to function. Or indeed, how I am managing to function at this very moment. Clearly, I am some sort of automated robotic. Scientists should be conducting tests on me.

Beep Beep Beep Beep!

I think I must have pressed the snooze on a variety of occasions already because when I glanced at the time, it was 3:50AM. The taxi, taking me to Heathrow, was arriving in forty minutes. OH MY GIDDY ENSEMBLE! I jumped from my bed as if God had descended from the heavens Himself and I stumbled blinded, into the bathroom for the most rapid shower of my life. I can only thank my earlier-more-organised-self for already having packed most items, ironing, and laying out the jewellery and make-up in obvious places in advance preparation. Well done me. I give myself a gold medal.

I checked the clock, it was 4:35AM. Where is the taxi? It’s not like him to be late (company uses same taxi company for all travel bookings). I added the last few items to my bag (lip balm, notebook and pen) and received an SMS confirming he was outside. After smalltalk that my brain was not registering, I fell asleep for the rest of the way to Heathrow. Again, just like last time.

Disoriented, I managed to visualise check-in desks. I would say hoorah for online check-in but as it happens, I could not print the boarding pass as the second leg of the journey from Rome to Tunis was not through British Airways, and Check-In Desk-Woman’s printer is broken. Too tired to huff and puff so I engaged my Britishness waiting patiently. After nearly four attempts, I was finally allowed to shout hoorah! Not out loud, obviously.

Each time I fly, I close the gap at check-in so I do not have to wait as long for the gates to open. I literally waited the full two hours on my last flight, today I scheduled an hour and a half but still, there I was twiddling my thumbs. BA552 to Rome, gates opening 6:15AM, closing 6:45AM.

Hm. Do you know what time it is? It’s 6:37AM and the gates have not even opened yet. Fail British Airways. But am I hardly surprised…?

*

Does nobody realise it’s summer in Europe still, while the bitter winds of England torture us? We need a mass exodus to warmer climes, our monarch needs to pull her finger out and start invading the continent to rob the sunny skies. My seat is directly in the heat of the sun as I wait for the flight to depart Rome. I’m peckish. That half mozzarella and tomato pesto panini has been obliterated already. So much for slow releasing energy.

Tunis Air seats are so much more comfortable than British Airways, how is that possible? And thank goodness God listens to me. I broke my right hip sleeping through the flight to Rome, so if I fall asleep this time, I will even out the pain by breaking my left hip since I am on the opposite side of the plane now. I even packed my bright pink blanket. Oh. You want to come on holiday with me. I’m so organised.

*

Except I forgot the food. Stewardess proceeds to hand out pre-packed chicken sandwiches. The packaging has Arabic writing on it and I think, as it is a Tunis Air flight, surely the food must be halal. The stewardess is half-way down the isle before all this started to register. Tentatively, I open the packet. It is that luncheon type chicken, except it smells like ham. Smoked ham. I can’t stand smoked anything, it’s disgusting. Why would you want food to taste like ash, we have an eternity of that in Hell. I continue to poke and prod the sandwich whilst holding my breath, and eventually tear some bread for a taster. It has the distinct lingering of cinders, it’s horrid. So I seal the packet as best I can and place it on the drop-down tray of the adjacent seat. I would rather starve thank you Tunis Air.

It’s a shame I didn’t get to jump out of the plane. It is 59,000 feet up – the skydive was only 13,500 feet. There is so much sky to explore, yet we continuously root ourselves to the ground. Evolution is being pretty slow, humans with wings (not from Red Bull) will be innovation beyond the stars. I perk up a little but I am starting to feel tired again, I wonder that nobody wonders where I am. Or what I am doing. I am becoming quite bored of this lone ranger lark. My eyelids suddenly feel like lead. And I have no idea what time it is. I can’t undo the seatbelt. Is this because I’m sleepy? Argh. How frustrating. I’m going to look like an imbecile when the plane lands and I’m unable to operate this ridiculous contraption. Arabic, French, Italian. The linguistic stewardess Queen is talking and I have no idea what’s going on. No English. She mentioned the time but all I picked up was ‘heures’ which is hardly helpful. I really can’t unfasten this stupid thing, I’m locked into its jaws. It is my arch nemesis. This is going to be highly embarrassing. Oh. Wait. I have to lift the clasp aaall the way… my fingers ache from trying to press the tiny nodules that I thought would release me. Yes, I will die. Even the safety demonstration is in French. How comforting.

*

Really. Because these things only happen to me. In all honesty. I must have been born under the cursed comet of the solar system. Passengers are required to complete a permit for Passport Control when entering Tunis, since I was sleeping I missed out the distribution. I manage to obtain the attention of the stewardess. She returns some time afterwards advising they had ‘run out’. ‘Run out’? For goodness sake, it’s hardly as if the plane was full to the brim with stowaways in the luggage compartment. Meh. Since it was half my own fault for sleeping, I also let this go and without any French or Arabic, I obtain the card from the Visa Section of the airport upon landing.

*

Travelling is easy peasy. Why do humans get into such a fuss and bother about it all? I walked through customs without any hassle but unfortunately I walked the wrong way so I could not see the name on the blue sign this man was holding. I didn’t have a photo of the person who was coming to collect me, and I thought it might just be typical that Blue-Sign Man was the Man. However, I could not be sure and didn’t want to randomly approach him just to read the card since he did not look like he could speak English so it was becoming all a bit of a messy situation inside my head.

Brainwave.

I called Mr Shady. If Blue-Sign Man was he, then he’d reach into his pocket for his mobile phone. And if it was not he, I would hear the phone ringing… I should set up a private investigator consultancy. Babble PI, it has a ring to it, no? Anyway, back to Blue-Sign Man, he did not even flinch. I could hear no phone ringing. Joyous. So I will just stay here and wait like a lemon. But not so bitter since it’s warm and that makes me happy. I sit in front of the entrance on the steps by the Bureau du Exchange since there are no available seats elsewhere. I am not about to sit by a strange bunch of Arabic men. Two seconds later. Inbound call. It was Mr Shady himself, and he advised he was on his way. ‘On his way’? I am already here as he should have been. I still do not know the time, this is going to be a fairly important detail if I am to make it back for my flight to Gatwick this evening. Oooh. A fountain. I might go look-see.

*