Haters Gonna Hate. Bankers Gonna Bank.

Evening everyone. Ever wondered why banks are so hated? I mean reeaaaaally hated. Don’t say because of the credit crunch and the global economic crisis; everyone hated the banks before 2007. The reason they’re detested by Mr Joe Public is because they’re out of touch with reality.

The rule of business is to make a profit by generating sales through looking after pre-existing customers and getting new ones. I’m pretty sure the aim of business isn’t to piss-off your loyal customers by not being able to do simple tasks, such as printing a piece of paper.

High street banks are very much like doctor’s surgeries: if you’re there, you’re pretty much f*cked and try and get out of there with the minimum of fuss whilst knowing that both will probably charge you for the privilege of “helping you”. Not only was the pain of queueing excruciating, (not only because I’m impatient, but because there were two members of staff ‘on the tills’ whilst three worked out the profit margins of their stationery or something) but the fact was that I was using my sacred Friday-afternoon off for the privilege of being there. I mean, who doesn’t open on Caturdays? Seriously? Pffft....back to the story, and following the Pakistani man putting two grands worth of ‘legitimiate’ money into his business account, and the retired couple requesting a new cheque book, I finally get to the cashier:

RBS:  “Hello how can I help you today?” (with a wide grin and a patronising tone)

Me: “I’d like to request a statement please, because I need one for work - as proof of residency.”

RBS: “Do you not get them in the post?”

Me: “Yes, I do, but quarterly, and I normally throw them straight out, because they’re not happy reading” (attempting humour...)

RBS: “Oh I’m sorry to hear that.”  (humour not appreciated and/or understood)

Me: “So... can I request another one please?”

RBS: “Well, we can’t process them here I’m afraid. I can get one sent to you and it should arrive in about a week.”

Me: “A week? I need it today, now, that’s why I’ve come in - I may as well have ordered one online. I thought you could help.”

RBS: “Well we don’t have the facilities to print statements I’m afraid”

Me: “Are you joking love? There’s an all in one scanner/copier/printer thingy over there *points to the office-sized one adjacent to the queue I was just standing in*, why can’t you print it on that? 

RBS: “Well...it’s not for that, and I can’t just print it I’m sorry.”

Me: “Crickey Moses! (the three members of staff meerkat’ed to look at me, stopping working out the cashflows of their imaginary paperwork) I pay tax for this tripe? 84% of rubbish is still rubbish. No wonder you had to be bailed out, you can’t afford a flippin network cable or decent service!

RBS: “Sir, I think you should remain calm and I’ll try to help”

Me: “Remain calm, I was never calm to begin with!”

RBS: “I think you should leave sir, and return another time...”

Me: “And I think you should give me my bloody piece of paper and my tax revenue back.”

*Storming exit* (drama hindered by the lack of the door slamming noise.....bloody automatic doors!)

So yeah.... RBS Gloucester branch....you are my nemesis and not a scratch on the high-standards of customer service I experienced in HSBC. If you cannot provide a customer with a piece of paper with his details - you clearly do not deserve to be a leading player in the British or any other national economy. The next day I received a standard email entitled “Mr Edwards, your latest statement is available online.” To which I thought....of course it is. Digital banking is a permanent statement which is always available and always online. F*ckers. 

Sorry everyone for this rant. Just had to get this off my chest.

Comment & spread the bloggo love....or RBS hatred, preferably both.


x

Working With The Colour Beige

Good evening everyone. Ever had one of those days where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry? I mean, you’re so stressed out yet having such playful work ‘bant’ that it seems to pass you by? You know; the stress train that whistles past you on a direct line to crash-town whilst you’re teetering on the platform of employment-based revelry? 

Anyway, even if you don’t, today was one of those days for me. The reason for the heightened levels of angst in the office is because the external auditors are in. You know, the Ofsted inspectors of accountants? Often characterised as the dullest form of beige? As actual human beings, they’re surprisingly sound guys, they’re just sheep wrapped up in.....flannel clothing. No wolves...wolves show their emotions too much...and howl less.

Since last week’s list-based posting seemed to be well-appreciated, I will provide you with another set of free tips, although these are more specific and less useful throughout the ins and outs of daily life. 

Here it goes:

The Five Steps to Surviving an Audit (or any other critique of your work)

1 Pretend to be polite, even if you hate their guts - Nothing says “extra work” for you like a snide comment or guillotining them with a short response. Sometimes the best way to play the game is to ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’ the referee, even if you do think he’s more of a tool than a Black & Decker EPC18CA cordless power drill.

2 Look busy even if you’re not - Nothing gets you out of work another mountain-load of work than appearing to be intently busy on a current task. Even if its bashing insignificant numbers into a calculator and then audibly going “hmmmm”, it’ll do the trick. Until there’s a guy about to ask you to retrieve a single piece of paper from an immensely large cabinet full of mislabelled lever-arch files, you never realise how incomplete your life is without knowing the square root of BOOBS, I mean 80085. 

3 Don’t lie, just be economical with the truth - As is the philosophy in our department; “accountancy is an art, not a science”. Therefore, be creative with everything: numbers, words, questions et cetera. You could get into some deep philosophical and epistemological cul-de-sac about there being “no absolute facts”, but I wouldn’t (see the first point) as this could give away the fact you’re lying through clenched and gnawing teeth. 

4 Remember to be covert - Pretend your workplace is Colditz Castle and they’re the guards. “Verr are your papers?” you imagine them ask. This will remind you to keep things on the down-low and should hopefully stop you shouting: “Shit, these important *insert business-related acronym*  documents haven’t been filed since 1978!!” Being covert also means remembering that they too have home-times and a lunch break. If you’re wise you can utilise these times to perform your “legitimate business practices.”

5 Remember it’s only for a week - However stressed or uptight you get around your superiors, jurors or Colditzian guards never forget that it’s for a limited period of time. It might be a day, an afternoon conference-call grilling or a week-long inquisition; but it is finite and is shorter than the length of your employment (hopefully). Use the experience to build up your archive of anecdotes or to recall to scare your future children into doing their homework, whatever. Just don’t flip out (he says with beers in hands).

I hope these translate for you who don’t work in accountancy or an office-based environment. If not you’re probably bored or not reading this. For those of you who are, I appreciate it. 

Evening All. 

10 Nuggets on a Post-It Note

Evening tout le monde. As another day becomes inscribed into tomes of the past, I have learnt that lists are an absolute waste of Biro ink and premium Amazonian tree pulp. 

I appreciate they have a useful purpose for reminding you to pack a socket-adaptor in your hand luggage or to buy an extra bottle of wine ‘cos you’re meeting the gf’s parents or whatever, but in terms of daily tasks....stick to keeping it inside ya noggin.

Writing out a ‘to do’ list not only makes you aware of how little free time there is in a day, but when you inevitably fail to achieve these goals it makes you realise that although you’ve been constructive and working hard, you haven’t actually ‘achieved’ anything. In the words of a greater man than myself; ‘you end up filling your day with trivia’.

So, I puzzled myself. Are there any lists people actually stick to, or enjoy making? Having tried to list my Desert Island Discs (picking 8 songs out of 13,313 is hard) last night in an effort to get to (yet simultaneously avoiding) sleep, I will admit that making some lists are indeed fun.

Alas, since Facebook-affiliated media groups have already published all the obvious ones within annoying quizzes such as “which historical dictator are you most likely to babysit for?” , I thought I’d make up a little list just for you avid readers.

The 10 best bits of advice I’ve ever heard/made up:

1 Never apologise for your feelings, because they’re the only things you can truly call your own.

2 Invest in some good headphones - you won’t need to buy new muzak when you can just rediscover all your old favourites.

3 ‘More is lost by indecision, than by wrong decision’ - Carpe Diem, grab life by the balls and do something fantastic with it. 

4 If you’re a man, be a gentleman; if you’re a woman, keep your class - You never know who might be watching or who your actions might impress.

5 When you get angry, remember Sun Tzu’s words - “He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious.”

6 Social media sites should never replace real life -  Facebook cannot replicate the hormones and endorphins which you experience when you actually meet up with people.

7 “Be nice to people on your way up because you meet them on your way down.” - Jimmy Durante. Enough said really. 

8 Live within your means -  Basic maths and some self-discipline will save you some stress and the embarrassment of bailiffs knocking on your door. 

9 Never buy a house on a flood plain - I’ve got to thank my dad for this chestnut. But seriously though; DFS sale furniture is worth even less if it’s covered in spring rain and faecal matter.

10 Don’t give up, work hard, enjoy life and for heaven’s sake wear a seatbelt.

That’s about it really. Apologies if it seems obvious or patronising. I just wanted to pass this wisdom onto someone as I don’t currently have children who can moan and humph and look bored whilst I rant. 

 Take care everyone.

Dementors, Dermot & The Daily Grind

Evening everyone. How was your weekend? Promising? Enlightening? The sudden realisation that everything is the same as it was ten years ago? That’s what I experienced anyway. When I returned home from a weekend in vernal Berkshire, I was summoned into the position of ‘domestic IT support technician’ (I’m sure all of you are called into this role by at least one parent, at least once a week). After a day of sorting out old paperwork and files, my rather archaic father asked me to install a 3.5” floppy disk drive into his computer. *Raises eyebrow*. The moment of holding a piece of blast-from-the-past technology wasn’t the thing that nostalgia’ed me; it was what followed.

Errors, not responding screens, cursors remaining stationary whilst the mouse is shaken like a pepper-mill. These were the things which brought me back to the earlier days of computing. I mean, seriously; the average PC is now about 24 times faster than they were a decade ago, but Mr Microsoft still asks you to do unpaid overtime whilst repeatedly punching you in the head. The problem isn’t that computers are worse, the problem is that all the programs that used to be so basic, are now so bloody media and HD-happy, that they suck the life of your poor little lappy like a Dementor touching your face. 

So....proportionally, computers haven’t actually become any faster, nor has TV become any better. The propagation of 24-hour journalism has replaced concise, well-documented, professionally-delivered facts, with continuous chattering and ad hoc reckonings from some reporter standing outside a closed building, or the thoughts of James, 12 from Solihull. FFS, no one cares! If I wanted ‘public opinion’, I’d ask my mates at work, or down the pub....oh wait....I’m human and vaguely social - I already do media-world! Leave me alone! Stop trying to replace my friends with these wannabe-journalists who broke into media purely to do Strictly or meet Dermot O’ Leary. 

I’m not going to apologise for the above, cos you know, and I know, that you agree at least to some extent. Also, because the daily grind is sucking the life out of my creativity, or the creativity out of my life; I’m not sure which yet. This is reason why this series of unfortunate writings are under the title of The Daily Grind. Not because because they’re daily (they were meant to be, but I’m just not self-disciplined enough, and for that I will apologise) but because the daily life we are all exposed to moulds us, makes us, breaks us is often bleak and that in these five-hundred or so words, I can try and eek out my own existence, to let the world know that I am here...and hopefully to give you readers some sort of enjoyment from my rants and personal anecdotes. 

So there we have it. The tenth post lists the raison d’etre but is also the worst in terms of content. Ironic non? For a greater example of this, see The Godfather Part III.

Take care everyone. 

Tango Down!

Evening casual and avid readers. Apologies for lack of bloggage the last few days - I’ve been busy with work and applying for jobs and general shenanigans.

Anyway, to bring things back into normality, here is a verbatim conversation today I had whilst at work. Many of you ask me what I do at work and I hope the below helps answer it:

The following occurs between 11:40 and 11:50 am.

*Phone rings*

Me: ( usual speaking baritone-pitched voice) Good morning, Finance.

Caller: Hello, is that Denise?

Me:  ...... Um...no, it’s not I’m afraid.  (Puzzled face)

Caller: Oh, Can I ask who it is then? It’s Katie here from So-and-So Company.

Me: Paul Edwards here, accounts payable. Denise was my predecessor. Anyway, hi Katie, how can I help?

Katie: Hi there, basically I’m ringing up regarding an old November invoice that’s quite late in being paid.

Me: I’m sorry to hear that, can I ask for the invoice number please?

Katie: (Interrupting) The value is for £216 

Me: (looks for invoice on computer system and realise she’s not actually listening) I’m sorry, I can’t seem to find one of that value I’m afraid. Could I ask you to be so kind as to provide me with a copy of it please?

Katie: Of course, would you like it by fax or email?

Me: (Beginning to realise she’s not the sharpest crayon in the box and inevitably play up to this fact) Well, we don’t have a fax machine so email would be ideal please. 

Katie: OK, what’s your email address?

Me: It’s Paul Robert , P-A-U-L-R-O-B-E-R-T.... 

Katie: (interrupting again) Paul Roberts@...

Me: No. Paul Robert... ending in T.  As in T for Tango 

Katie: Paul Robert Tango @....

Me: No no no!

Katie: Eh? What? Start again!

Me: Paul Robert dot ... Edwards 

Katie: Paul.....Robert..... no tango? 

Me: No tango. (Deep inhale to avoid torrent of laughter, whilst the rest of the department cackle around me in surround-sound)

Katie: Paul..Robert...  dot?

Me: Dot Edwards

Katie: Dot Edwards

Me: @ GE dot com    (Avoiding the desire to use Golf - Echo)

Katie: @ G E dot com

Me: Yes (with sigh of relief) 

Katie: OK, thanks Robert, I’ll get that to you now. 

Me:   ----

Katie: Bye!

Me: Bye. (puts phone down with considerable force)

Me: (enraged) Absolute fudge biscuits!!!!!

Five minutes duly followed until I received an email with two attachments from Katie. It read as followed:

Paul, as per our phone conversation, please find the two November invoices attached for £115 and £111. Please could you get back to me as to a payment date.

Regards,

Sue King. 

Two things. 

Firstly, she said it was one invoice on the phone call but it’s now suddenly two. (Both of which we had on our system)

Secondly, she obviously let someone else use her email, but failed to amend the signature so it appeared to be from someone else. Perplexed and still infuriated I replied thus:

Dear Sue,

Many thanks for your email and for the invoices. Your colleague telephoned me regarding the status of a £216 invoice which fails to exist. Both of the invoices you attached are clear on our system and if she had been clearer in explaining this, it would have saved both of us a lot of hassle. 

Kind Regards,

Paul 

Moral high-ground achieved! Needless to say, neither Sue or Katie replied. Apologies for the lack of niceties in today’s blog. I just wanted to share the grief I go through on a daily basis and wanted to use this as an example to state that accountants are sometimes seen as dull or ‘beige’, but it’s only because they have to deal with people like Katie...and/or Sue regularly. 

Anyway, hope your day was less frustrating. Comment if you wish, I’ll be back tomorrow. 

Alchemy, Magic Beans and Columbo

Sinus problems, haters gonna hate. A second day off work in as many weeks isn’t good for morale or the ol’ personal finances. Doctors surgeries are depressing places aren’t they? Even the upbeat spunky 90s tunes being tannoyed from Star FM can’t lift the mood as I wait in line for the only appointment they had... 10 bloody 40. Behind all these retired people...who don’t have to be at work and could do this at any other time of the day. Pffft. Anyway, after the classic ‘poke and grill’ (that’s grill as in to question, rather than to BBQ, although that would perk me up farrrr quicker) it’s off to next door to the chemist.

Not many places make you feel like a comedy-tv burglar as enter a shop, but Lloyds Pharmacy is such a place. BLAP, Whooooosh. The alarm and the temperamental auto-door are as offensive to my sore ears as a salvo of Howitzers, but less awe-inspiring. By the time I’m actually in the queue, (oh yes, Blighty’s quintessential institutions of queuing and the NHS are inseparable) I’m bored and vexed out of my throbbing mind. 

Second in line for the joy parade, I hear a soft yet alien voice coming from the entrance:

BLAP, Whoooosh.

 “Oohh, hello Mavis, alreet I hoope?” (Scottish accent, not poor spelling) 

“Yes ta me dear, just a wee bit of problem with me knee.” (massive surprise when I realised there were numerous Scots in suburban Gloucester)

“Not too painful I hooope?”

“Ahhh nooo, just a wee bit sorrrr, I cannae kneel on it, but I can still kick the husband where (it hurts) !”

After I turn my head, smiled and brought myself out of what I briefly envisioned was the set of Still Game (great comedy) I request to have the lady behind the till transfer a green piece of paper into magical tablets for the price of £7.20, like some sort modern-day alchemy. 

The thing I miss the most about living in Wales (besides the people, rugger, countryside, weather, culture, language and ambience) is the free prescriptions. Not only do you have to pay, you have to declare your name rank and serial number before they hand you over the drugs which you just paid for...5 minutes ago. I’m Paul Edwards not Mr Benn - I haven’t changed address or outfit to confuse you; I’ve just been pretending to look at the mens razors because it’s more socially acceptable than looking at oral thrush tablets in the absence of adequate seating provision. 

After leaving with the magic beans only Jack would be proud of, I venture home for a day of sofa, tea, the Telegraph crossword and the inevitable Channel 4 afternoon western. (Columbo is so ‘old-hat’....and old-coat come to think of it.)

So there we have it, the joys of being ill. I hope you had more exciting days than myself and if you didn’t; get better soon.