And That's Why I Never Insure With Domestic & General

Earlier this month, I received a letter from Domestic & General Insurance.

"Dear Sir," it began, quoting a reference number, "Further to your recent communication regarding the above agreement."

I thought this was a mite odd, considering that I make a point of not using their services, ever, and certainly hadn't communicated with them recently.

The letter went on to explain why the agreement I don't have with them had been cancelled.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Then I checked the Direct Debit mandate which they had helpfully attached, and all became clear.

Clear as mud, to be honest.

The signature didn't even remotely resemble mine.

Come to think of it, neither did the name, address, bank, sort-code or account number.

Although, on closer inspection, the quoted reference number was only one digit different from the one in the letter.

Ah.

At that point I picked up the phone and called their customer support number, which only took a couple of button-presses to put me through to their complaints department, where a very articulate young chap answered immediately, listened attentively to my explanation of why I felt his company was in breach of the Data Protection Act, interjected only to say that my reference number was for a make of appliance I haven't even owned in ten years, then apologised profusely and politely suggested that I score through the letter, write "return to sender" across it, attach a note explaining what I'd just told him, pop it in the enclosed envelope and stick it in the post, which I promptly did.

And I thought that was the end of it.

Until.

This week, I received another letter from Domestic & General.

Oh, how nice, I thought. They've taken the time to send me a written apology. Yay.

As it turned out, not so much.

"Dear Sir," it began, quoting a reference number, "Further to your recent communication regarding the above agreement."

My heart sank.

It was the same letter.

Had it fallen through a wormhole in the space-time continuum?

Well, no, because it was stapled to my letter to them, their original, scored-through letter to me and the same Direct Debit mandate.

Fuckwads.

I quite enjoy a game of ping-pong, so I'm sending the entire set of correspondence back to D&G. Only this time I'm sending a copy to the person named on the Direct Debit mandate so that they know why their appliance isn't insured.

And another copy to the Data Protection Registrar.

Because that's how I roll.

Every Time I Sit Down To Write A New Blog Post, I Get Distracted By The Bloggess

Not that this post is about Jenny; it's actually about something I saw in the news today - and I've just remembered what it was.

The UK has a census coming up and in that census, there is precisely one question that's voluntary - "What's your religion"?

The last time around, 390,000 people put "Jedi".

This year, I'm joining them. *You must do the same.

It's not as much of a protest as sitting in Tahrir Square chanting, "Mubarak must go", but it's a start.

What are they going to do - blow up a planet to bring us into line?

Or perhaps they'll offer us a choice between death and something else.



* Old Jedi mind trick.

Do As We Say, Not As We Do, Urges UK Government

So the House of Commons has just voted to flout the law as laid down by the European Court of Human Rights. The vote was 234 to 22 in favour - a 99% majority according to innumerate Tory MP David Davis.

With such fine, upstanding citizens as these telling us that it's ok to pick and choose which laws we can ignore, is it any wonder there are so many prisoners behind bars in the first place?

Now excuse me, I'm just nipping off to burgle my MP's second home while he's down in London - assuming he's not simply fiddling his expenses. Again.

Don't Give Up

When you look up at the top of a stunning waterfall and catch yourself thinking, "That would be a good place to jump from".

When you're slicing bread and you realise how easy it would be to open your wrists.

When you take a walk along the waterfront on a stormy day, with the salty wind whipping your hair while the surf hurls itself against the seawall, and you idly wonder if they'd ever find your body.

When you're terrified to be left alone in the house in case of what you might do to yourself.

Don't be too afraid to ask for help.

If Anybody's Going To Show Underage Girls With Their Tits Out, It Should Be Us, Rants Murdoch Empire

Rabid Murdoch mouthpiece Fox News was in paroxysms of rage after it transpired that MTV had set itself up in direct competition with Sky Filth by broadcasting a mediocre US remake of the British award-winning E4 series Skins.

The show, which airs after the 9pm watershed, aims to explore the trials and tribulations of a typical group of hot, young, randy teenagers in modern-day USA, featuring such diverse topics as sex, drugs, sex, pop music, sex, drugs and sex (sub - please check, I've never seen it).

Some interfering parents' group which doesn't know what an "off" switch is for has branded Skins as "the most dangerous show for children on television - unless you count that dodgy Icelandic show where the adult male lead gets way too up-close-and-personal with the cute kid. You know the one I mean."

The Dirty Digger's other major organ, The Sun, a national daily "newspaper" which prides itself on its long-running tradition of printing topless pictures of teenage girls, was unavailable for comment, as all of its "investigative journalists" were busy snorting coke off hookers' tits.

What Were They Thinking?

There's a story in today's ParentDish about a head teacher who told his primary school kids that World War III had started, led them to a cellar and simulated a bomb explosion, then acted all surprised when they suffered nightmares about it.

Nobody in their right mind should subject young, impressionable children to that kind of mental torture. It's worse than exposing them to the X-Factor. Arguably. Depends how many weeks he kept them in their improvised bomb shelter. And how many of their classmates they had to eat before he 'fessed up.

I'm shocked, outraged and shocked.

Flashback

When we lived near the prison back in the '60s, we'd often play out in the street (this was before X-Boxes and Wiis and shit) with our pals, one of whom was four-year-old David. If one of Her Majesty's guests took an unscheduled leave of absence, they'd set off an alarm that sounded remarkably like an air raid siren. We took great delight in telling David that the Germans were coming and we'd have to run for cover. He's probably still in therapy now.

Er...

But we were only kids ourselves. A head teacher really should know better.

On the other hand, it's good practice for the Zombie Apocalypse.

Banned from the Co-op – Didn’t like shopping there anyway!

Yesterday I was at my local Co-op buying a large bag Pedigree Chum dog food for my loyal pet and was in the checkout queue when a woman behind me asked if I had a dog.

What did she think I had an elephant? So, since I'm retired and have little to do, on impulse I told her that no, I didn't have a dog, I was starting the Pedigree Chum Diet again. I added that I probably shouldn’t, because I ended up in hospital last time, but that I'd lost 2 stones before I woke up in intensive care with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.

I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pockets with Chum nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well and I was going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in queue was now enthralled with my story.)

Horrified, she asked me if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned me. I told her no, I stepped off a curb to sniff an Irish Setter's arse and a car hit us both. I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard.

I'm now banned from the Co-op!

Better watch what you ask retired people. They have all the time in the world to think of daft things to say. Forward this (especially) to all your retired friends - it will be
their laugh for the day...

(Thanks to Jennifer for this tale)