B is for banks

B is for banks and, like D for drainage, the dealing with them on a day to day basis is listed under W for Wife. Most of the time this involves a quick check online, burying of head in hands, clicking a button or two and making a few declarations of 'no more...for a while,' before exiting the screen and adopting the out of sight out of mind method of daily accounting.

Today, however, I had need to call and discuss some matters with my friendly banking establishment. After a few minutes my clearcut questions had been unravelled, strung out, spun and woven into a complicated semblance of what I had thought they once were. The softly spoken advisor in her lovely lilt competed against a cacophony of her comrades in the background, all of whom were doubtless also dispensing words of financial wisdom. By the end of the conversation I felt as though I had asked for five mortgages, each in excess of the value of our home and all payable in eighteen months, rather checking my balances and discussing possibilities. If she asked 'Why?' one more time, I would have been sorely tempted to reply, 'because it just is!'

Towards the end of a five minute explanation of one issue the Jack Russell decided he'd had enough of hanging about in the kitchen and came to join in. This involved a) barking at an imaginary bird as my friendly banker came to the crux of the matter; b) sitting on the very pieces of paperwork that I then needed to answer her question and c) barking again as the postman walked past the window, leaping to his feet, scattering more paperwork (yes, it was on the floor, but neatly laid out in piles so that I knew where it all was) and prompting a repetition of the previous few minutes of painstaking explanations.

My tea went cold quickly and I welcomed the news that the advisor would call back within five minutes to confirm the outcome of our discussion. After half an hour and no call, I decided that I had deferred the decision to visit the bathroom enough times and ... the phone rang as I was half-way up the stairs. The cup of coffee developed a thick milky scum by the time we had finished, the dog was fed up as he'd barked at the window cleaners but not been allowed in with me to chase them around the house (it's all sport for terriers!); I had brought the wrong specs back to the 'phone with me and couldn't really see what I was referring to and ... I can breathe a sigh of relief that I shouldn't have to repeat the experience again for a while; but I am seriously wondering whether it might be easier to switch to a face-to-face bank another time; no interrupting dog, someone might bring me a cup of tea and I'd probably even remember to take the right glasses!