Day Of The Phone Calls

I’ve had visitors on and off since mid-June, the last ones leaving on Wednesday. It’s great to see old friends but in order to socialize, my personal admin has to be put off so yesterday was a catch-up day - a day of phone calls.

Call 1 to Bank Number 1

Hello, Mr Tom Cupples here.

Bank – ah Mr Cupples, welcome to the premium banking service – what can I do for you?

Me – I called you before I went on holiday. I had a fixed term savings scheme maturing and I complained that the form you sent asking me to nominate another account for the money did not have the obvious option – that of putting it into my current account until I decided what to do with it.

Bank – hmmm yes. There is a note to that effect.

Me – so what did you do?

Bank – we put your money in another 1 year fixed term account.

Me – please take it out and put it in my current account.

Bank – we can’t do that. It’s locked away for another year now.

Me – you can take it out – what if I died?

Bank – yes of course we can take it out, but we’ll have to charge you for removing your money before the year is up.

Me – ok, so you send out a misleading form and now you’re saying you want to charge me for keeping my money with you. Have you got the number for the Banking Ombudsman please?

Bank – where was it that you wanted us to move your money Mr Cupples and of course there’ll be no charge.

Call to Insurance Company

Hello – Mr Cupples here.

Axa – Hello Mr Cupples, what can we do for you?

Me – I renewed my scooter insurance a few weeks ago and I have not received my little green sticker yet and my last insurance expired on the 1^st July.

Axa – Ah – don’t worry Mr Cupples. The post at this time of year sometimes takes 2-3 weeks to get to you.

Me – but you’re in Nice

Axa – ah – it doesn’t matter where you are – you could be at the other end of the street. It’ll still take 2-3 weeks.

Me – how do businesses survive when the post takes 2-3 weeks?

Axa – we’re in France Mr Cupples. One learns to adjust.

Call to Bank 2

Ring, ring, ring, ring.

Hello – you’ve called at the wrong time. Please call back.

Brrrrrrrrrrr.

Note – no answerphone. No options. No Bank !

Call to Bank 1 (again)

Hello Mr Cupples. It’s you again. What can I do for you this time?

Me – yup – your premium client.

Bank – ah yes.

Me – you know that money which you so kindly put in my current account ?

Bank – yes.

Me – well another part of your bank is offering twice as much interest as you are so I’m calling you to see what you can do before I transfer it to them.

Bank – nothing I’m afraid.

Me – but you’re part of the same bank.

Bank – ah yes but we’ve recently bought them from the UK government and they’re able to offer higher interest rates.

Me – so let me get this straight. As an old, financially stable bank you can offer me only 1.75% interest but that bankrupt lot you bought to get Gordon Brown off the hook are able to offer 3%.

Bank – er yes. That’s about it.

Me – thanks. Now can we transfer this money.

Call to Bank 2 (again)

Ring, ring, ring, ring.

Hello this is Sanjeev can I help you?

Me – yes – I live in France and therefore cannot get into a branch so can you send me some paying in slips please.

Sanjeev – ah no Mr Cupples. You have to go into a branch to get those.

Me – I’ll repeat. There are no branches in my country. Can you get someone to send some paying in slips please.

Sanjeev – sorry Mr Cupples, you’ll have to visit a branch for that.

Me – Grrrrrrrrr!

The Wacky World Of The French

80% of France’s electricity is produced by nuclear power. Well that was the figure in 2004 and I’ve not heard of any new nuclear generating stations being built since so let’s assume the percentage is still about the same.

This means, in theory, that our electricity should be cheap and at 25% less than the typical UK charge, I suppose we should be grateful, but at around €2,500 per annum, we (sorry, I) look for every means possible to reduce our energy consumption.

The new house we’re in was installed with a sort of smart meter which has a little light which flashes in line with how much energy the house is consuming at any point in time and it’s quite noticeable that since J and the kids have been on holiday, the light probably flashes about once per minute. Now they’re home, you open the cupboard door and the inside is all lit up with the light flashing faster than a strobe on a disco’s ceiling!

Anyway – two things. With all the sunshine we get down here you’d have thought that France would be awash with solar panels, but no, the ever-dictatorial local mayors have virtually vetoed any solar energy being produced by hard-strapped pensioners like myself. Apparently, they don’t like the roman-roof tiled houses being blighted with row upon row of glass panels, and to a certain extent I can understand this view, but where we are, many of the roofs cannot be seen, by anyone, except Easyjet passengers flying at approximately 25,000 feet above us. But it seems like there is a blanket ban on solar panels being fitted. Our neighbours recently applied to have it installed and the scheme looked brilliant. The total cost was about €20,000, 40% of which could be reclaimed on your behalf by the solar company as a grant. Therafter, once installed, EDF (the national utility company) would contract to buy the electricity you produced for approx €2,000 per year which meant that after 6 years, you had paid nothing and were now getting, in effect, €2,000 per annum of free electricity. Taking my earlier figure of €2,500 per annum, you can see that my bill, for an outlay of zero, would be reduced by 80%. It’s a no-brainer as they say but my neighbour’s planning application was turned down and there we remain – solar powerless!

The second and related point and generally in line with France’s agreement to cut greenhouse emissions is that a French company developed another sort of smart meter. This device actually worked out (from the grid I suppose) when national/regional consumption was at its peak and then gradually shut down devices in the home. This had the effect of reducing France’s need to import or generate ad-hoc electricity and at the same time, reduced the homeowner’s consumption. The problem was that the device was too clever by half and the supplying companies found they had too much electricity and had to sell it on the wholesale market (you cannot store electricity) thereby reducing their revenues and profits. So what did the French utility regulator do? They made the makers of the device pay the electricity companies the equivalent of their lost profits, thereby rendering the whole scheme a waste of time.

So, despite the fact that France needs to reduce its greenhouse gasses or it will receive a huge fine (mega hundreds of millions) and hence it’s incentives to install solar panels (the 40% grant), nobody seems to give a toss! And all this when Sarky is spending over £300 per day on flowers for a palace he never lives in – aaaagh – don’t start me on the French!

Bloody Nora

Well I’m back from Greece. J and the kids are still there enjoying themselves and drinking all the ‘happy-hour’ cocktail bars dry.

As you may have read from previous postings I was last in Agios Stefanos 17 years ago and though lots of things have changed, the overwhelming friendliness of the people still stands out. Within 15 minutes of arriving at our hotel I knew the owner’s background (Dunfermline), how she came to be in Greece (met her husband to be on the 2^nd day of a trip to the island), how she helped build the hotel and now runs it with her in-laws and generally everything about the place and her life. And all said with a genuine smile.

Our trips to Agios back in the nineties saw us frequent a particular hotel/bar/restaurant. It was run by three brothers, Stefanos, Spiros and Stavros and over the years we became very friendly with them, and it wasn’t just that we spent a lot of money at their establishment, we genuinely felt that it was just good-natured friendliness on their part.

Stefanos in particular was always our favourite and as we walked down the main road in Agiois last week, past the biggest, loudest and best bar in the resort, a grey-haired Greek man ran down the steps of the bar, grabbed me by the hands and said, ‘Tom – Bloody Nora’.

It was Stefanos. After 17 years he’d recognised me walking past. Over a few drinks he told me that he and his brothers had sold the Golden Beach and he’d started the Condor Club and was now its proud owner. He also introduced his son and wife and pointed out the jewellery shop his wife owned. They’ve obviously done very well but as the Condor Club was packed out every night, I’m not surprised.

Needless to say, after we met, we frequented the Condor Club quite a lot but as it was significantly better than anything else in town and was also the best/cheapest place to eat and drink, it was a no-brainer. J is probably there every night this week, doing her Abba karaoke. Thank goodness I’m home and in no place to be embarrassed by her rendition of ‘Knowing You, Knowing Me – Aaaaaaa Haaaaaa’.

See picture above of the 1992 Stefanos and the 2009 version.