The Reverse Opal

There exists in London, to my certain knowledge, a person called Opal, who is a complete marvel and whose services are much coveted by all members of London society. Some people of my acquaintance are fortunate enough to have secured said services, and so Opal comes into their houses while they are out toiling, and makes them all clean and tidy ready for their return. In our house we have unfortunately got a ReverseOpal who does the opposite of what Opal achieves, and that in a fraction of the several hours per week that Opal lavishes on each of the houses in her care.

When I go out to work I leave the house spotless with nothing waiting to be washed up or put away, and fully equipped with what is requisite and necessary for the family. When I return home I find that the ReverseOpal has been in operation here, getting stuff (LOADS of stuff) out and making it dirty and then leaving it lying about everywhere. Also ReverseOpal has used up all the bread/milk/butter/kitchen rolls/toothpaste etc. and I believe she also goes out sometimes and fetches such things as some greasy tongs to bring here, and she spills cooking oil over the entire kitchen and while doing all these activities she produces basketfuls of dirty washing. I may sack her. 

ReverseOpal has an enthusiastic team of experts who help her eagerly with her evil tasks. The place is CHAOS, everything is filthy, nothing is where it lives and there aren't any anythings left (eg cereal, coffee, shampoo, pens, clothes hangers, and (this is the worst) tonic in the fridge). Also they tear the buttons off EVERYTHING and make holes in ALL the socks. I simply can not cope. 

ReveseOpal and her team spend their time necking the household claret and availing themselves of the contents of my chocolate safe (strictly forbidden). Also they go about leaving the waste bins overflowing, breaking things, and running everything out of batteries.

The microwave invariably gets used to explode various substances and NOT CLEANED OUT AFTERWARDS in direct contravention of the regulations.

If I leave my wallet behind on leaving the house, it will have been neatly filleted of any folding cash and coins of the higher denominations by the time I return. This is the only thing where Opal and ReverseOpal have the remotest similarity, namely they both cost money. However Opal is paid by prior arrangement whereas ReverseOpal helps herself to my money without reporting the fact so that the first I know of it is when I find myself at the checkout with zero means of payment.

National Westminster Bank (now "NatWest") is a Disgrace

NatWest : a very annoying bank.

"Oh!" said the executive committee of an old folks' home where I am the bookkeeper, "Let's do our banking online! It'll make life easier!" Ha.

Enquiries elicited the information that they could not bank online because cheques on the account required multiple signatures. "Fine!" said the dauntless committee, "Let's alter it so that we only need one signature on the cheques."

Such an alteration, the bank told us, meant that the signatories would have to fill in a form - "This form," they said, handing over a fat sheaf of closely typed A4 sheets. 

Sighing, the committee took away the form and spent many hours complying with the unnecessary demands for their dates of birth, mothers' maiden names, NI numbers, first schools attended and other irrelevant, impertinent questions. This was required despite the fact that they have all been signatories on this account for the last 20 years. 

Triumphantly, they returned the form to the bank and awaited developments. 

No developments occurred. 

Several weeks later, having heard nothing, they asked the bank when they might expect some news. Blank looks from the bank ladies were followed eventually by the information that the wrong form had been issued to us. "But... but... why didn't you get in touch to tell us we'd filled in the wrong form?" asked the committee. The bank ladies denied all responsibility and said such transactions were dealt with by a separate department who reside in Birmingham or some such distant (conveniently inaccessible, you might say) location. 

On prompting, they said they would get the correct form for us to fill in. 

When (after repeated requests) the form was at last surrendered to us, the committee again answered all the questions and provided the required proof of eligibility to reside in UK etc.

After this form was given to the bank the committee waited a reasonable length of time before enquiring at the bank why they had not had a reply from them. No-one at the bank had the faintest idea. It was also clear that they did not care 2 hoots.

The House Committee Chairman called in an old favour from a high-up bank employee, who ascertained, eventually, that the second form had been lost. Yet again the committee filled in and signed a wad of A4 papers. These are old, frail folk themselves - some of them are even older than the residents, so it was a lot to ask of them for a third time to fill in the form. No apology was made at this or any other time during the dealings. It was always some unavailable person's fault when things went wrong.

A very long wait / delay followed.

Suddenly! Our cheques began to bounce! 

No-one at the bank could tell us what to do to rectify matters. Our account had been frozen and that was that. Bank staff blithely refused to sympathise.

House Committee Chairman again contacted his acquaintance in the bank, and we were told that the freeze on the bank account had been ordered by the 'Compliance Team' but more than that nothing was known. The Compliance Team were uncontactable. So watch out, Everyone! Large sums of your own money, that you are perfectly entitled to have access to, can be impounded at any moment by NatWest without warning or explanation.

After much gnashing of teeth it transpired that the reason for the freeze was that the Compliance Team had discovered that it had not got the DoB of the House Executive Secretary. The House Executive Secretary isn't even a signatory on the account so I would have thought his DoB was none of the Compliance Team's business, but there we are. When we supplied the DoB we were allowed access to our money again. 

That crisis being over, we only needed one signature on the cheques and secret codes were sent to enable us to set up online banking.

We got online banking! It said "you may need a card reader to make payments." Card reader? What card? we thought.

Sure enough, we did need a card reader to do online payments, so we clicked the online button to order a card reader.

When I went in to bank to ask why the new only-one-signature-required cheque book we had been assured had been ordered, had not arrived, they said there was no record of the cheque book having been ordered, BUT they gave us a card reader! But only because we promised them we had ordered one online; else it will not work. Now since we had actually ordered a cheque book but they thought we hadn't, it is unlikely that merely pressing a online button will really constitute ordering a card reader, so I have my doubts that it will work.

On fairly severe questioning, the bank lady admitted that we were going to need a debit card as well as the card reader. She gave us another extensive, many-paged form to fill in for application for a debit card. Luckily I had been talking to my IT-literate brother who had warned me that a debit card was going to be required. Otherwise this would have been the next surprise on our long path to online banking freedom.

Facts: to get online banking there are an unspecified number of stages you must complete. You are only told of the next stage once you have completed the previous stage, like a computer game. We don't want to play a computer game, NatWest. We are a bunch of old biddies who are not tech savvy. No information is proffered at any time and you have to prise it out of the reluctant employees like drawing teeth, all the way through the process. There is no indication, ever, of how many stages there are going to be. 

And you can't use one set of answers already submitted, to assume during the next stage that Nat West now know your DoB, MMN, FSA, NI number etc. No, you must tell them time and time again. This is because i) they have lost the last lot of answers you gave, or ii) this stage is being dealt with by a different department. Different departments of NatWest do not communicate with one another under any circumstances whatsoever, unless for their own convenience. Customers' convenience has a negative effect on their ability to communicate.

During the wait for a debit card, one of the poor signatories died, poor fellow, and who can blame him really. This meant the bank then cancelled the secret codes for online banking, because those codes had been issued to him specifically. New codes have to be applied for, so at present we still haven't got online banking. We have got another fat form to complete instead.

This is all correct apparently because despite being a group of kindly volunteers trying to run an old folks' home for the good of the general public, dear old Audrey and her aged friends might in fact be running weaponry out to drugs cartels in S America or something. I mean LOOK at them, NatWest. They can hardly see or hear or walk, most of them, and would not know one end of an AK47 from the other. 

Capt. Mainwaring would have sorted this out in 5 mins flat. 

"Now look here, Fanshawe. I command you to give Audrey any banking facilities she asks for.
That woman is a pillar of the community and I personally vouch for her good standing."

Riding on the Balmoral

The crew of the steamship Balmoral, which offers trips aboard along the coast here during the summer, are notorious for their cowardice and refusal to put to sea in even the slightest swell. However this year they are also inept, in the extreme. We went to Watchet to join the ship for a cruise round Porlock Bay, and the sea was like a millpond without a ripple or breeze of any sort so even that craven crew could not balk at sailing. Well, they may have balked, but they could not justify refusing to sail, is what I mean. Eager passengers thronged the quayside and the Town Crier arrived in his finery to greet the ship as she (it, actually; only sailors are permitted to refer to ships as 'She', sailors and the pompous or people pretending to be posh) arrived from Wales on the other side of the Severn Sea.

Town Crier speaking to his admirers.

Boat coming in to view round end of quay. Note extreme calmness of waters.

Once it was in the harbour the boat began to perform strange manouevres. It tried to turn round, then stopped half way through and began smashing the pointy end repeatedly into the side of the quay. Then it backed off, as if it was about to have one last try at running at the quay and hoping to break right through and back out into the open sea.

HMSS Balmoral smashing repeatedly into Watchet quay 

Watchet urchins running for cover.

However this is not the way of that crew. They don't much care for life on the open sea. They manouevred on, gave up trying to turn round, and eventually managed to get the boat lined up more or less along the quay. The terrified Welsh passengers disembarked and hastened to safety on dry land, some crossing themselves and some kneeling to kiss the tarmac or perform other, more exotic (Welsh), rituals associated with thanksgiving and deliverance from peril - and all resolving to return to Penarth (where they had come from) by road. 

Shocked passengers vowing never to set sail again from their Welsh fastnesses.

We the daredevil English on the other hand bravely went aboard, the actual sailing of this ship being such a rare occurrence that it was not an opportunity we were prepared to miss, and our fearless race being always keen to look danger in the face and to dismiss it with careless glee. (The crew are not English - not one of them.) 

Brave English queueing up to get on board.

Departure was undertaken in haste, as the tide was not going to be in far enough for long on this treacherous coast where the tidal reach is huge. 

Town Crier waving the boat off.

Due to the bungling crew's time-consuming attempts to make landfall, our advertised 1 and a half-hour cruise was curtailed to a mere 35 mins so we had to make the most of it. The loudspeaker told us we were going as far as the 'Famous Dunster Beach'. This was the first anyone had heard of Dunster Beach being famous. They were just trying to make it sound as if we'd had a meaningful trip. Almost immediately we turned round, and went back to Watchet for another exhilarating attack on the shoreline.

Heading straight back to Watchet without even reaching Porlock Bay.

At Watchet all the town was there on the harbourside to watch our return. I went to stand near the bridge to hear the captain's efforts to moor up in the light of the limited time available, and I must say I was impressed by the calm way he tried everything he could think of to get the boat alongside the quay. I would have freaked out and had a meltdown. Resignedly he would say "Well let's try so-and-so" and the crew would obey. During the docking we backed right out of the harbour to the astonishment and concern of the onlookers, to try coming in again at a different angle. It was marvellous. Well worth the full price we had to pay despite only getting 35 mins instead of 90. They managed to get us all off the ship just in time before the tide could strand them, and then they went off, most likely never to return to the scene.

Deterioration of Wells

Distressing alterations to conditions in Wells greeted us on our return there after an absence of quite a few months. It just goes to show that you must never allow your vigilance to lapse.

1. Our usual parking space had been re-designated as For Permit Holders Only. Very unwelcoming I must say. Going to our habitual second choice of parking space we found that it had been gated off, selfishly and for no reason other than mean-mindedness. Probably in consequence of these occurrences, the Lay-by of Last Resort was also, unprecedentedly, full! We had to hang around waiting for someone to vacate a space, and thus were forced to waste valuable drinking time etc.

2. The moat round the Bishop's Palace, once a beautiful place of clear water teeming with fish, ducks and mermaids, has been allowed to become a revolting soup of filthy water festooned with litter and algae and no sign of dere little ducklings. The only wildlife was the vicious swans which have been permitted to remain.

Not a naiad in sight.

Close-up. Discarded ball floating on moat.

Close-up. Out of date collapsed poster thing defiling the greensward.

Savage killing machines. Last year Archy witnessed the murder of an innocent duck by one of these swans.

3. The Co-op on the High Street has been replaced by a gifts and stationery shop. This meant we had to go to expensive Waitrose to get supplies for our picnic. Actually this was not a bad thing as Waitrose stuff is highly superior and I am not normally allowed it due to the cost.

4. On the Cathedral Green there were zero children doing cartwheels and no toddlers running about chasing the pigeons. This omission detracts from our enjoyment. Also when we got there all the benches were taken so again we had to wait for one to become available. Once we did sit down, the place was overrun with drunken louts drinking beer.

Sots. Admittedly these were US, but the point remains; people were openly boozing on the Green, and no-one came to put a stop to it.

5. Complete dearth of freaks and hippies. Freaks and hippies contribute hugely to the merriment of life for the whole of society. The lack of them saddens us all.

6. Busking population consisted of 2 men blowing tin whistles inexpertly, one of them with recorded background music. Terrible. Buskers should play violins.

7. They have put a 'Donation Station' across the entrance to the Cathedral to try to shame people into paying to go in there. Luckily we know other ways in so got in free. I do enough for the C of E to justify this in my opinion. But this is bound to be the thin end of the wedge and getting in will become more difficult as they will gradually close off all the back doors. The 'donation' will soon become an entry fee of at least £8 per person. Mark my words.

Wells altar frontal. An affront.

Wells ceiling etc. Not an affront.

In conclusion. The people in charge of Wells are ignoring what needs doing around the place such as clearing up the disgusting moat and drunks and addressing the hippie-vacuum, in favour of concentrating on fleecing money out of the public for parking and access to Cathedral. Poor show, Councillors.

Tudor House

In their defence, at least the people described in my previous entry here did not do THIS which has lately come to my attention: Cruel desecration of a fine Tudor manor house.

Here is the worst misplacement of a wood burning stove yet seen. This sort of barbarity is reason enough for all wood burning stoves to be banned utterly and is exactly what I have long feared would begin to happen. How right I was, as usual. Expect the worst and you are generally vindicated soon enough. Oh woe. The spindly-legged table and the armchairs also distress me. 

What has been done to the rest of this house is equally shameful as I shall explain.

Now you would think that given this house as a starting point -

it would be hard to go wrong and make it beastly; but someone's managed it.

Behold, 2 views of the Library. 

Libraries are lovely places and one has to work really quite diligently to make a library in a Tudor house into an uncongenial space. The current owners have done it splendidly. They have installed another inappropriate wood burning stove, the oppressive wallpaper is unsuited to the room, the shelves are cheap and of unsympathetic pale wood and so are the unnecessary 'library steps' (how short are the users of this library?). The shelves obscure part of the window which is most unsatisfactory and I would have had the carpenter take them back out and then leave with a flea in his ear. One likes to be able to glance up from one's book and out of the window across the grounds and to the haha. I don't much like their painting over the wood burning stove and the horse's head on the top shelf with a silly hat on, makes me want to punch someone on the nose. For putting the horse's head on the shelf, and for owning a hat like that in the first place. The sofa should be covered in leather not that silly patchwork. So should the books be bound in leather preferably but you can see that this is the sort of room whose owners have got a lot of Jeffrey Archer books and Joan Collins etc. The ensemble is finished off with an unacceptable chandelier thing. The whole combines to make a thoroughly objectionable room which will do nothing to encourage any children resident to develop a love of reading. You might as well be in a Railway Waiting Room. zero/10.

Next, the kitchen. First of all, no-one puts the sink against a plain wall. One wants to be looking out of the window across the grounds to the haha (see previous paragraph) while doing the washing up. The shelves above the sink zone are ridiculously narrow and things would be constantly falling off them. Fail. I question the wisdom of having that expensive Persian rug in the kitchen where it will certainly get baked beans etc. spilt onto it. This kitchen could be in ANY house as it takes no account whatsoever of the Tudor house in which it stands. Another zero.

I don't know what function this room serves but I hate it anyway. More nasty armchairs, another spindly table, and that stove thing is a gas burner which should not have been allowed across the threshold. Maintaining a steadfast nought out of ten.

Bathroom, featuring another spindly table and another unwise rug placement. These people are out of control. 


Here is the great hall, which is slightly better than some of the other bits. They have got a proper fire going, and the tables while not right for the room are at least not spindly or circular. They seriously need advice though from someone with a bit of knowledge of the period. That mirror above the fireplace is a crime.

The dining zone which has been made to look unwelcoming and cold, like skool.

I don't like this bedroom either. I would change the furnishings, bed, bed position, plants, everything. The table will have to go, so will the armchairs and that cupboard, the dish on the bedside table, the wall lamps. Bye, all of you.

Here the face of Cranmer, who once lived in this house, expresses what he thinks of what has been done to the place.    Deliver us O Lord from the hands of those who would defile our habitation : abate their pride, asswage their malice, and confound their devices, that we, being armed with thy defence, may be preserved evermore from all perils and spindly tables.

Architectural Disgrace

This is repetitive because I have complained on here about one of these articles before, but really, when you see this you will not blame me. No-one could let idiocy of this magnitude pass without comment.

I refer to a feature in the Times' Saturday magazine, in which a ghastly architect showed off his family's house. He actually makes them live in this place; it's not something he inflicted on some foolish client and then gave no further thought to.

Here, you may think, is a highly desirable, well-preserved (unspoilt) cottage of Cotswold stone with pleasing non uPVC windows and stone slate roof. It has (see left side of picture) a monstrous and most unfortunate excrescence attached.

The addition was put on out of spite because the architect could not get permission to demolish the house. "In hindsight," the architect says, "the planning and conservation people were right to refuse permission 'because there were some original wrought-iron features on the windows'." Actually, mate, there were a lot more things than that which would have made demolition a crime against humanity and against the entire Cotswolds. 
So up went the hideous extension, far bigger than the original cottage and totally out of keeping with it. The architect considers the extension to 'blend seamlessly with the surroundings'. Look, and tell me - does this blend in with the surroundings?

No. Of course it doesn't. It is a mortal wound on the surroundings and quite hideous. 

Inside they have furnished it with unsympathetic furniture including ugly village hall style chairs and put offensive so-called art works on the walls.

All completely inappropriate for a gamekeeper's cottage. 
And I disapprove of that mantelpiece thing they have stuck on the bressemer beam over the fireplace.

The architect's wife is an art adviser. See what she puts in her own house, and reflect - is this wise? Do I require this person's advice? Would I value it? The answer, as we all know, is, no.

See what I mean? And they've children living in the house as well. Most unseemly.

Here's the kitchen

with the family bravely smiling through their tears and concealing their amazement and despair. There is miserable plain white melamine everywhere you look, and the architect boasts that they banish all signs of culinary equipment behind white cupboard doors which he designed himself. Fancy!
"Now, what shape shall I choose? ...Yes, I'm going to have rectangular doors... I think I'll make them the same size as the front of the cupboard... gosh it's difficult designing a plain white door."
Apparently that type of decor is John Pawson-like. This surprises me, since I wouldn't have thought one would need any mentor or outside influence in order to come up with such a dull, utilitarian, characterless kitchen.

Still, it's not all been easy for these poor deres - listen to what happened when they tried to make a wild flower meadow... the posh landscape gardener they called in to help them had decided to 'achieve a grassy carpet of white wild flowers'. Silly woman. Sure enough when the wild flowers came up, OH DEAR! they were all sorts of colours! Look, luv, that is what you get with wild flowers. They're WILD. Anyway a whole lot of many-coloured wild flowers is jolly nice and you should be grateful. However, Architect and Mrs Architect viewed the whole incident as a total disaster and really ought to get out more.

Also in the interview the architect was horrid and unchivalrous about his wife - he said that contrary to her claim that she found the place, really he found it; and he railed against her sofa cushions, in the national press. He said the only thing he doesn't like about his beastly house is some sofa cushions that his wife insisted on having. Poor thing, she must have wanted some shred of comfort to solace her in that disagreeable habitat. 
I consider his conduct childish, peevish, and not admirable.

Yet despite his architectural and husbandly misdemeanours he remains totally unrepentant and in my opinion is not fit to practise as an architect at large in the community, or indeed, as a spouse. 

In conclusion, I think you will see why it was impossible to remain silent on this matter.

Beware of the AA

Bad AA! For the thirtieth year in a row it has annoyed me, and this time I can take it no more so I have cancelled my Direct Debit; and I exult in the fact.
Renewing AA breakdown cover every year involved me ringing them up to remonstrate with them about the exorbitant price demanded, and every year till now they have backed down and reduced the price - so I stuck with the brutes. One year when I said "Oy. You want £115 from me, when you are offering the same cover openly in the newspapers for £24. Therefore I am phoning you to ask for a price cut. Every year, this happens. What have you to say on this matter? Why do you not just offer me a fair price to begin with, and save us both the trouble?", the operator told me that it's just their policy and that I must ring them every year to get the premium reduced. What a farce, and calculated to make all the AA's customers hate them. She agreed with me. Poor thing. It's not her fault.

Evidence of the AA's devious machinations.
Top: Join us for £39
Below: Valued special members pay £135.96

THIS year, when the fools sent me my membership renewal demand, by the same post they sent my son a junk mail shot offering him membership for £39 AND they promised to give him a £20 M&S voucher. For my continued membership they wanted £135.96 and nor were they presenting me with any vouchers. Naturally I rang them up, and this time I spoke to an insolent young puppy who refused to understand what I was on about and in essence told me I was lucky to get the cover offered for the sum in question. I got nowhere, and told him I would consider my position.
Consideration of my position involved ranting about the experience to my husband, who said "Yes, dear," as is his wont. Then I researched online and with difficulty obtained a comparative price for the cover I was being offered for £135.96. They make it difficult by "cleverly" (annoyingly, transparently trying to stop you bothering) altering what they call each bit of the cover - thus on their renewal sheet I had Roadside, Home Start (complimentary!) and Relay. On the website you have to read carefully to check which of the new names they are calling things relate to the same cover you have got on your renewal letter. You can see why most, sane, people give up and just renew regardless.
However the AA have got to get used to the idea that some of us are not "most, sane, people" and will not stand for it any longer.
On their website, I discovered that as a newly joining member the same level of cover can be yours for £125 and you will get a £30 fuel voucher thrown in. 
This is a confounded cheek specially as their renewal demand came with a most sycophantic nauseating letter in which they

i) declared their extreme gratitude to me for my years of membership and assure me that I am a) hugely appreciated, b) valued, and c) being given preferential treatment.

ii) proudly boasted that they will "show a 'no quibbles' approach to breakdown", - well I should bally well think so, what do they think we're paying them for?

iii) said they are giving me their most valuable benefits free. I couldn't care less about these "most valuable benefits" which I never asked for and don't want. They include
      the AA app - useless;
      2-day European breakdown cover - useless;
      Key insurance - of no interest to me whatsoever;
      "My Member Benefits" - sounds as though it could be lively but I bet it isn't;
      Accident Management - I'll manage my own accidents, ok;
      Legal Advice - don't need that thanks my husband's a solicitor;
      Vehicle Helpline -  what's that for?
The AA have failed to grasp the meaning of "free". These things I neither asked for nor want, I can only have because I must pay more. Therefore, I am paying for them.  They aren't free. I refer you, AA, to the Concise Oxford Dictionary.

iv) told me that the At Home cover which I am being "given free of charge" should really cost me £66.74; which is unfair since new members would get it for £36, and which means that the other bits of cover are even more more expensive than normal, unappreciated, unvalued customers are expected to pay. It simply does not make sense. 

I think the AA are lying. They do not value me and are not giving me a special good deal. They are hoping to rip me off due to my own laziness.

My position having been considered, I cancelled the Direct Debit and the AA can go to blazes. I bite my thumb at it. Their loss is the RAC's gain, till next year when the RAC will doubtless try the same game and I will be back to square one.



I have done the AA a re-draft of their sycophantic letter which they might like to use in future if they wish to avoid dishonesty which would stand them in poor stead on the Day of Judgement. Act now, AA, or you could end up writhing on a pitchfork for all eternity.

Redrafted letter : what the AA really mean.
Hi, Twit! 
Since you have proved what a sucker you are, by renewing your membership all these years, here is your inflated overpriced estimate. Pay, or get lost - we don't care. We aren't grateful, you aren't appreciated and your loyalty makes us scorn you. We don't give two hoots about you or your paltry contribution to our profits. 
Yours, the AA.