desperance (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
desperance) wrote2013-03-01 03:21 pm
desperance) wrote2013-03-01 03:21 pm
Friday: just one thing after another
This morning began with my getting out of bed in order to phone a call-centre in the UK before they closed.
Those of you who know me will be able to guesstimate from this just how much I had been awake last night, playing and replaying all possible variants on the upcoming conversation until it was just about as bad as it could possibly be without velociraptors in it.
Aaaand then I actually did it, and it all went rather easily (thanks, no doubt, to my stipulated preparedness). The nice woman and I agreed that there was no reason on God's good earth why their system was not taking payment for my insurance premiums, but that the insurance was in place regardless so there was really no reason for me to do anything more about it, as I had in fact already done everything right.
So there's that. In fact most of my troubles this last year have been caused by institutions cocking up, rather than my doing it myself; the phone-phobia thing only exacerbates them, because it is so very hard to call and put them straight.
Which reminds me, I still need to write a letter of absolute protest to Lloyds TSB, via the banking ombudsperson. But one institution per day is enough, surely...?
Since then, though: since then I have posted to the BVC blog and got on my bike and delivered a check (see me speak this funny foreign lingo! I'm almost fluent!) and picked up a scrip and a metric tonne of ibuprofen (hunh - the choices I know are between metric and imperial weights and measures; we know the US doesn't dabble in metric, but I doubt they're comfortable with "imperial" as a denominator either; does anybody know what they call it over here?)* and ridden to the Palace Cafe and written for an hour and then run one more errand for m'wife and come home and baked bread and had lunch and read the internets and it's probably time I got back to work again. The Wimseyesque adventures of Lord Anthony Berkeley on Mars are approaching 50 pages, which is always something of a landmark to push towards.
In other news, a cat may look at a Karen. Critically, by and large.
*I have seen a temperature given as "eighty degrees American", but that was in a MS I was copy-editing and I duly queried it
Those of you who know me will be able to guesstimate from this just how much I had been awake last night, playing and replaying all possible variants on the upcoming conversation until it was just about as bad as it could possibly be without velociraptors in it.
Aaaand then I actually did it, and it all went rather easily (thanks, no doubt, to my stipulated preparedness). The nice woman and I agreed that there was no reason on God's good earth why their system was not taking payment for my insurance premiums, but that the insurance was in place regardless so there was really no reason for me to do anything more about it, as I had in fact already done everything right.
So there's that. In fact most of my troubles this last year have been caused by institutions cocking up, rather than my doing it myself; the phone-phobia thing only exacerbates them, because it is so very hard to call and put them straight.
Which reminds me, I still need to write a letter of absolute protest to Lloyds TSB, via the banking ombudsperson. But one institution per day is enough, surely...?
Since then, though: since then I have posted to the BVC blog and got on my bike and delivered a check (see me speak this funny foreign lingo! I'm almost fluent!) and picked up a scrip and a metric tonne of ibuprofen (hunh - the choices I know are between metric and imperial weights and measures; we know the US doesn't dabble in metric, but I doubt they're comfortable with "imperial" as a denominator either; does anybody know what they call it over here?)* and ridden to the Palace Cafe and written for an hour and then run one more errand for m'wife and come home and baked bread and had lunch and read the internets and it's probably time I got back to work again. The Wimseyesque adventures of Lord Anthony Berkeley on Mars are approaching 50 pages, which is always something of a landmark to push towards.
In other news, a cat may look at a Karen. Critically, by and large.
*I have seen a temperature given as "eighty degrees American", but that was in a MS I was copy-editing and I duly queried it
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