Posted by: Scribble | 30/09/2008

Banks

So I’m almost down to my last £10 but not too worried as my income should be in on the 27th – but it wasn’t.  I go online to see what’s going on and see no sign of the money and it’s now two days late.  Of course the 27th was on Saturday and we all know that the banks don’t do business at the weekend.  But.  The money is paid into my account electronically, from one account to another.  There are no cheques to clear, it is a matter of a computer moving funds automatically.

I ring up the source of the money and am told that it ‘left the account on the 27th’.  Um.  So where is it then?  I mean did it pack up it’s bags and decide to go off on a little trip somewhere?  Did it run into a storm on the way to it’s destination or did it get lost on the electronic superhighway, in a fuzz of static?  Did it pop into someone else’s account for a short stop over?  The answer of course is that it did none of these things, except perhaps the last.  It must have stopped over into the banks own account, along with all the  millions of other transfers of money and where the bank can make use of it while it is missing in space.  Banks must make zillions on this time lapse, if you think how many transfers are done all over the world.

Banks have all sorts of ways of justifying this money making process.  We all know that no actual money, no pound notes actually move between banks and it is only a question of altering the figues between accounts.  Where cheques are concerned, there is some justification in a small delay in the process as the cheque, once presented, has to be returned to the issueing bank, though I think it’s sent in some sort of banking ‘post’ as opposed the the Royal Mail.  But even with a cheque, the receiving bank can see whether the funds are available and that the cheque is likely to be honoured long before the money is credited.  They also take the funds out of the issuing account the minute the cheque is presented at the payee’s bank but the issuer has no such grace period that the banks insist on with the payee.  So even then, for five working days, the money has left one account but has not been credited to the next.  Where is it?

There’s been lots of criticism over the charges banks levy it’s customers when they go overdrawn and we know that it is now possible to ask for all charges over a period of time, be paid back but at the risk of ruining the relationship or having to move to a new bank.  People get angry that the charges in no way reflect any actual cost to the bank and rightly so.  My own bank have come up with a different way of getting charges but offer something in return.  I can exceed my overdraft by £150 for one week at a cost of £22, whereas before, I would have been charged approximately £35 and additional costs if the bank then refuse to pay someone (bounce a cheque/direct debit, for example), which all adds up to such a lot of money comparable to the amount you may be overdrawn.  This new system is marginally better but only if you actually need to use the extra £150 or any part of it.  So if you go overdrawn by £5 it will cost you a staggering £22.  Clearly, one needs to keep one’s account in order.

My money finally arrived this morning, but who knows where it’s been.  No doubt it’s made the bank some money during it’s journey from one account to the next and in addition to the charges levied on my account, my meagre bit of money has probably earned the bank quite a few bob .  Umm.

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Posted by: Scribble | 28/09/2008

Return from NZ

It’s been a rotten week.  The elder Teen has been fired from his job on a vineyard in New Zealand after one too many ups and downs and since his employer was also his guardian, it has left him high and dry.  Unfortunately, with all that freedom, independence, car and money, the Teen has had a pretty wild time and driven his guardians to distraction, worry and an awful lot of work.  Pig headedness coupled with the arrogance of youth has led the Teen to stomp off saying he will manage on his own and without any help. 

The guardian, meanwhile insisted that he return to England until he has learnt some self dicipline and got his errant behaviour under control, pointing out that, amongst other troubles, a few speeding tickets, a couple of warnings for dangerous driving and a brush with the law outside a club, compounded by several injuries all adds up to a swift flight home.   The Teen points out that the driving issues were ages ago, that the brush with the law was by no means his fault and that he got dragged along with some other errant teens and that the charges were dropped because the police beat him up, severely injuring his shoulder.  He says he has learnt some lessons, no longer goes out drinking and drives carefully now.

I find myself right in the middle of all this.  His grand parents funded the entire project and I don’t have two beans to rub together so am unable to help him financially even if I backed his idea to stay there and I’ve been in two minds about it.  His grandparents, not kept fully informed about some of the incidents that have occured were suddenly given chapter and verse by the guardian and not surprisingly want him to return and no longer wish to help with the funding in an effort to force his hand.  Family relations are a bit strained at the moment.  I go from one way of thinking about it to the opposite way practically hourly.  sometimes I feel furious that the Teen has blown a golden opportunity with stupid, stubborn behaviour and let us all down.  Other times, I feel he probably has learnt a few lessons and I admire his determination to go it alone in the full knowledge that he really will be on his own and that we don’t have the resources to help him if he gets into a mess.

Faced with forced removal from NZ, The Teen had a plan.  He told the guardians he was going into hospital to get his shoulder pinned and wouldn’t be able to fly for at least a few weeks and that is where they thought he was which gave him some breathing space.  He planned to get another job in the meantime and a bicycle to get around, knowing that he had to return the car.  He pretty much had it all sorted out and then they got wind of what he was doing and refused to pay him the money he was due until he got on the plane.  Faced with no money at all, his plans were scuppered and he has had agree to return.  It’s a very disappointing end to what should have been the start of a fantastic life for him.

Much as I will be over the moon to see him again after 8 months, I am in fact dreading his return.  I know before he even gets here, that he will be full of resentment having been ‘starved out of the country’ as he puts it, reluctant to accept any blame for the failure of the venture and depressed at coming home to bleak prospects.  He will back where he left off but this time with no car as he crashed it prior to leaving, stuck in the country minus his friends who have only just gone off to university and back under his parents roof.  Personally I can’t think of anything worse.  I’ve been instructed to ‘reign him in’ and instill ‘discipline’ into him and curb his beavhiour generally.  But its worth noting that his lack of discipline stems largely from a severe lack of it in his school where did as he pleased more or less and a home life that is difficult and where he lacks firm control from a father figure who has not been well enough to influence him.

If I had to sum him up, I would say that he is an intelligent, willful, stubborn, sometimes argumentative lad.  He is in some ways his own worst enemy.  He allowed the relationship between himself and his guardian/employer to go severly wrong and was sometimes rude, beligerant and morose.  However, in the right hands he is a delight, willing, enthusiastic and charming.  We all have sides to our character and we all have faults and when you are dealing with a young person, just out in the world, old enough legally to do as he pleases, free from any restraint, it takes a careful young person to keep himself on the straight and narrow.  Clearly The Teen hasn’t managed this.

As things stand, he will return on the 4th October.  I am very worried indeed.  It’s going to be a bumpy ride.  Any suggestions would be appreciated

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Posted by: Scribble | 26/09/2008

Small Man Revisited

Honestly! I’m going to have to pay careful attention to what time Skinny and I go out for our walk each day.  You may recall my post about the evil Man with the big black Labrador and exactly what I think of him!  Very unfortunately I stomped out of our house at about half past four yesterday, not in the best mood in the world owing to troubles with The Teen that I won’t bore you with now.  I took off at a fast pace while Skinny raced ahead of me.  I had my head down in grumpy contemplation when I suddenly heard the screech of tyres as a car shot round the corner just as Skinny got there too. Fortunately they missed each other.  I was very annoyed to see that it was The Man again in his huge Volvo Estate car; the very last person I wanted to see.  Skinny slunk off guiltily, leaving me to deal with him.

I could have said that he was going too fast, that he knew perfectly well that there was a good chance of seeing either Skinny or other dogs and people along the lane and that he should have slowed down.  But I didn’t bother.  I was hoping to get away as quickly as possible and praying that he wasn’t going to let his black beast out of the car for a repeat of the last performance.  I hoped in vain.  He pulled up further along and as if there had been no time between now and the last time we met, launched into a conversation about how, inspite of his beast being exhausted after our last outing in the fields, he’d had to take him out again later.  I can’t quite put my finger on why The Man is so annoying other than the obvious and previously stated.   But a casual analysis of his character leads me to think that he is an oddball, a loner and very strange.  He has a way of saying things that leads you to think something but which in fact, turn out to be something else. The two dogs ran for quite a long time together so it was completely reasonable to assume that his dog, exhausted, had laid down and had a jolly good snooze, but instead we get the punchline.  “But!” he says with a manic glint in his eye, “e only lays down for five minutes! (laugh, ha ha) then, I had to take him out again, he was up and ready for some more!” he laughs as if this is totally unbelievable though it’s hardly out of the realms of possibility and frankly I couldn’t care less and am not interested.  Of course it may be his way of bragging about the strength and stamina of his dog as compared to Skinny who did indeed collapse in a heap and stayed there snoring loudly for the entire evening! 

I have to admit that I was in a truculent mood long before he was silly enough to stop me.  I tried to head off, walking backwards as I talked as if I was in a hurry but before I got very far, he whipped round the back of the car and let the beast out.  It seems that now we both know that his dog isn’t going to have Skinny for dinner and that the two muts actually get on well enough, he has decided not to ask me if I mind them joining us on our walks and of course it wouldn’t occur to him that perhaps we don’t want his company. 

The dog, relieved to be let out of the car having spent the entire working day in it, promptly looks around for a suitable spot to relieve himself.  Skinny keeps running up to him cheekily and flirtatiously, diving away just as she gets his attention and running around him at such lightening speed that the dog has no idea where she is, unable to match her swift twists and turns.  The poor lad though, still needing to find a spot uninterupted, wonders along the edge of the field sniffing here and there, stopping, turning, then moving on until he finds just the right place.  His whole behaviour is typical and easily recognisable of a dog needing to carry out his business .   And  so what followed was completely unbelievable.

I noticed the last time we met, that when the dog was let out and quite naturally, wanted to do his business before playing with Skinny, the man didn’t appear to recognise his needs.  Instead of letting the dog get on with it, he kept trying to get him to chase Skinny and run in the field, constantly calling him over and interupting him and then calling him daft when the dog kept returning to the edge of the field, looking for a place to relieve himself.  The dog behaved in much the same way yesterday and while his owner was chatting to me, he managed to start his business.  To my utter astonishment, The Man noticing this, turned to me and said,  “he wants to have a pee and a crap, do you know how I know this?”  Puzzled by this question since it was already so obvious, I let him tell me.  “I know this is going to sound rude and all but when *** wants to go, his arsehole gets really big.”  He pauses, looking at me.  I am lost for words.  “Yea, you know how small and tight it is usually, well when he needs to go, it gets really big” he gives an idea by circling his fingers to show me what he means.  I am so utterly amazed at what I am hearing, not because it is so crude, but because this ignorant jerk is telling me this in all seriousness and I am dumbstruck.

Finally my truculence gets the better of me and in exacerbation, my voice raised, I point to the dog.  “That there is what tells you that your dog needs to go to the loo.  All that turning around, sniffing, stopping, squatting down, that”, I say, “is what tells you this.”  And you know, he really hadn’t recognised this behavior for what it was. I know – it beggars belief! 

The dog has finally carried out this most basic of needs and The Man moves along onto another subject.  Before I can move away, he is suddenly standing right in front of me, up close, his face inches from mine.  It’s horrible.  I daren’t breathe, in case I smell his breath and his forehead is glistening with a thin film of sweat, his eyes large behind horn rimmed glasses, thinning hair slicked back over his head.  I reel backwards from this intrusion into my private space, slightly taken aback.  It turns out he is demonstrating the way he stood up to someone during a recent altercation.

I’d really had enough of him by now.  Luckily I spot the Teen waving at me across the field, trying to get my attention.  “I must go now” I say trying to find Skinny.  He looks disappointed and picks up the ball he’d been throwing for the dogs and bowls it miles across the field.  I am pretty annoyed at this tactic to delay me for as he anticipated, Skinny and the beast go chasing after it and I haven’t a hope in hell of calling her back.  He continues to talk to me, telling me about the time he wound up his car window and wondering why it seemed so stiff, realised he had caught the dogs ear in it.  I asked why the dog didn’t squeal or bark, a question he knew was coming.  “Oh well, that was the funny thing” he laughs again, at the memory.  “E don’t bark, I stopped ‘im barking when he was a pup.  ‘E used to of course, but I wasn’t havin none of that, I beat it out of ‘im.”

How I kept my face neutral I really don’t know.  Turning to the dogs, the idiot threw the ball again, “one last time”? he asks, as if I have any choice.  I watch them chase after it and suddenly Skinny is thrown into the air.  She comes down and stands still, completely stunned.  Both dogs had been so focused on the ball that they ran head long into each other and his being such a tank of a thing almost knocked her out.  I rush over to her, though the Man is already ahead of me.  He reaches Skinny and starts trying to examine her hind leg but she, knowing intuitively that he isn’t nice to dogs, won’t let him near.  “It’s not her leg,” I shout, “she head butted your dog, she’s almost knocked herself out!” He of course, who hadn’t actually seen what happened, insists it is her leg that got hurt as she is slightly limping but it’s because of the sharp stubble they’ve been running through.  I give up.  I call her gently towards me, check her over and we walk off home.  

I go and pay for my petrol at the garage this evening and as I turn to leave the shop, something pokes my elbow and I look up into large eyes and horn rimmed glasses.  Is there no escaping this nightmare?!

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