So after some months of quite hair-raising ineptitude on the part of Banco Santander De Abbey National (or whatever), I am in the process of switching to First Direct, mostly because I haven't heard anybody I know moan about them so far. This, however, involves sending them a current bank statement - IN THE POST??? ARE THEY MAD???
I have a problem with paranoia - being part of a generation brought up on Watergate, Vietnam, etc, my first reaction to anything is to wonder what's in it for somebody else. Why would that nice Chinese general choose me, out of all the possible bank account holders in the world, to look after $1,000,000 for him until he can defect to the West? Ditto the Portuguese National Lottery (whose email address, oddly, is in Russia), who so much want me to win that the fact that I never bought a ticket seems no obstacle - and some unspecified kindly-intentioned do-gooders in Nigeria who have found me to be the closest living relative of deceased billionaire Franklin Ngombo? Flattered as I am by their touching faith in my honesty, I have had to decline so many of these offers I now feel like Scrooge. I am tormented at night by visions of poor Reverend James Willy of Unicef (his real name! But of course probably not), wringing his hands and wondering why I have not replied to his email begging me to look after orphanage funds because, and I quote, THE CHILDREN TODAY IS OUR FUTURE UNICEF HAVE BEEN USING ALL MEANS TO MAKE SURE THE WORLD HAVE A NEW CHANGE BY CONTRIBUTION FROM GOOD MINDED PEOPLE ALL OVER THE WORLD WHO DONATE TO MAKE SURE THE WORLD IS GOOD FOR ALL HUMAN (Capitals and lack of punctuation all courtesy of the Rev Willy).
Having become the cynical old bag I now am, I wouldn't consider giving anybody even my postcode these days - I am aware that all my social networking shenanigans links to itself, Facebook to Twitter to Blogger etc, but hopefully it's a closed loop - and I should be grateful that I am so wary of handing information out that I even balk at sending a bank statement to another bank - but I still am. On the plus side, I don't do actual conspiracy theories - life's too short, and I'm too busy losing sleep over the unfortunate General Weng and his desperate attempts to get his money into my bank account, the poor love.
I have a problem with paranoia - being part of a generation brought up on Watergate, Vietnam, etc, my first reaction to anything is to wonder what's in it for somebody else. Why would that nice Chinese general choose me, out of all the possible bank account holders in the world, to look after $1,000,000 for him until he can defect to the West? Ditto the Portuguese National Lottery (whose email address, oddly, is in Russia), who so much want me to win that the fact that I never bought a ticket seems no obstacle - and some unspecified kindly-intentioned do-gooders in Nigeria who have found me to be the closest living relative of deceased billionaire Franklin Ngombo? Flattered as I am by their touching faith in my honesty, I have had to decline so many of these offers I now feel like Scrooge. I am tormented at night by visions of poor Reverend James Willy of Unicef (his real name! But of course probably not), wringing his hands and wondering why I have not replied to his email begging me to look after orphanage funds because, and I quote, THE CHILDREN TODAY IS OUR FUTURE UNICEF HAVE BEEN USING ALL MEANS TO MAKE SURE THE WORLD HAVE A NEW CHANGE BY CONTRIBUTION FROM GOOD MINDED PEOPLE ALL OVER THE WORLD WHO DONATE TO MAKE SURE THE WORLD IS GOOD FOR ALL HUMAN (Capitals and lack of punctuation all courtesy of the Rev Willy).
Having become the cynical old bag I now am, I wouldn't consider giving anybody even my postcode these days - I am aware that all my social networking shenanigans links to itself, Facebook to Twitter to Blogger etc, but hopefully it's a closed loop - and I should be grateful that I am so wary of handing information out that I even balk at sending a bank statement to another bank - but I still am. On the plus side, I don't do actual conspiracy theories - life's too short, and I'm too busy losing sleep over the unfortunate General Weng and his desperate attempts to get his money into my bank account, the poor love.
