OK – I retired early. I’d worked for just about 40 years and reckoned that was enough for anybody. At 56, I was still active, my brain was still searching for new things to learn and I looked forward to a long, happy and financially trouble-free retirement.
Some chance!
I’m not going into details about my bank (The Abbey) again other than to say that during my ongoing complaint about their computer changing my name and address, seemingly at will, and then the Abbey paying my compensation into someone else’s account, and then reading that of all the UK banks, the Abbey had been voted as the worst for customer service (fills you with confidence for the ongoing battle), I actually started getting calls and letters at regular intervals from them updating me on the progress of my complaint. It was almost like the CEO had been mortally offended by coming last in the ‘customer service league’ and had dramatically improved the bank’s treatment of its clients – hurrah! Anyway, the penultimate letter said they would be increasing my compensation, to a level equivalent to 5 lunches in the village – not bad – I’ll eat and drink to their health, and then I got another letter saying they hoped everything had been sorted to my satisfaction. Wow – what great service.
Final point on this is that I have every confidence that the computer will change my details again very soon and another little bit of ‘compensation’ will come my way. Don’t knock it – the money they pay me is the equivalent to the interest for having thousands of pounds on deposit….which I don’t. Long may it continue.
Now after that little aside, the thing I wanted to gripe about was all the time I have to spend chasing financial problems. I should be gardening or lunching or working on my car or taking day trips to Italy, but no, I’m on the phone constantly chasing money which is rightfully mine. It’s a complete drain on my retirement. When J comes back from whatever she does all day and asks me what I’ve been doing with myself, I just list the phone calls I’ve made that day and their duration. It’s not unusual to be on to the tax people for over an hour at a time!
The Abbey issue actually took quite a few weeks to resolve but that pales into insignificance when I think of the time I’ve spent chasing a quite considerable sum from the UK Tax Authorities.
From a standing start last March, I’ve been chasing these people every two weeks for my money (on which they will pay no interest) and at one stage in July of 2008, I actually got a letter from them saying my payment was agreed and that it would be ‘on its way soon’. Some hope!
A couple of days later, the letter arrived. I ripped it open, hoping to see a cheque with lots of zeros on it only to find some rather official text saying that all my tax details were to be moved to Cardiff. No problem I thought – we’ll just call them to see what’s happening. That was 9 months ago and I’m still chasing them. Every day another person who knows nothing about my case. Every day, I repeat the same old story about being a poor pensioner and don’t they feel pity for me. Nope – they don’t. I’m afraid the young girl who answered this morning got it after yesterday’s call when, after waiting on the line for over 30 minutes, they put me onto the totally wrong section – aaaaagh!
And then we have the water company. I made a bit of a mistake last year and overpaid them, so for the last 9 months I’ve been in credit and as such they don’t actually send me a bill, they send a statement of use, showing the declining credits I have left but the dear old computer knows I should have had a bill, notes that I have not paid the bill I didn’t get, and slaps a fine on me for late payment! It’s incroyable!
How we’ll get this one sorted I don’t know. They actually have a ‘foreign’ section, essentially for those absentee landlords who might have had a bill and want to query it from their homeland in a language other than French, but ……. it doesn’t work! The line has been disconnected. Incroyable again.
So, going back to my first few sentences. Although a complete pain in the ass, at least I’m compus mentus enough to at least try and resolve these little challenges. What happens to the 85 year old lady or man who needs help even to get their shopping in? What hope have they got?
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