Posted by: Paul | April 22, 2010

At the Bank

Went to a popular High Street Bank this morning in order to open a savings account for the little man. What a palaver!

OK, I know the “banking crisis” has had a very big knock on effect. But the amount of hoops you as a general, bottom-of-the-rung consumer have to jump through now in order to get what you need is staggering, frankly. I lost count of the amount of times the very patient man I sat down with had to stop our interview to say “and at this point I just have to read you our code of practice / conduct / FSA regulations / another meaningless piece of legislation.” How dull your days must be, I thought.

Fortunate then that I had Adam with me to provide some entertainment. He had already wee’d himself while we were in the library and with our appointment looming I had no choice but to bung him in the buggy in his damp state and hope for the best. (Parenting tip – don’t buy Boots nappies. They’re dreadfully leaky.) So he was already somewhat agitated but the usual mix of raisins and rice cakes kept him amused for much of the 45 minute (yes, 45!!!) meeting. That is until a lapse in the conversation for more form filling, when he proudly announced: “I done poo!”

He hadn’t. He just likes to frighten Daddy. He went back to reading Dora the Explorer while Daddy fished around in his bag for 2 utility bills, passport AND driving licence, Adam’s birth certificate, bank details for our joint account, the list seemed endless. Honestly, all I want to do is open an account to put his birthday and Christmas money into! It turned out that with this particular account you had to open a second account for the first to empty into at the end of its term – and that you couldn’t put both cash AND cheques into the first as an initial deposit, and all other transfers thereafter have to be electronic from a single, nominated account, and so if he gets given cheques we can’t put them in anyway! Like I say, palaver.

It was almost lunchtime by the time we made our way out. I asked Adam what he’d like for lunch.

“Sandwich”, he said. What kind of sandwich, I asked?

“Potato”.

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