A guest post - or perhaps a warning tale - from hip young gunslinger Caramel Betty, relating what happened when he tried to change his mortgage provider from one branch of the Santander* organisational tree to another.
*****
When I bought my flat, it took me 35 days from end to end. I walked into the flat, looked round, and made an offer (conditional on the valuation etc. not showing up any major faults). The flat was vacant and the owner was a buy-to-let landlord who wanted out of it quickly. If I could do it in a month, he'd knock a "small" amount off the price, which more than covered some of the additional hassle - like paying rent on my old flat while also accruing interest, that sort of thing. These 35 days covered an inspection/valuation, choosing a mortgage, sorting out exchange and completion of contracts, document searches, my solicitors having to ask their solicitors to clarify things at least once, and being given the keys.
In the interests of being totally honest, I was going through a mortgage broker (who lived in a cubbyhole in the estate agents I used). I had looked at another flat about a week before, and decided not to go through with it in the end - the flat was gorgeous, but it had a very short leasehold, and extending it would have potentially put the price up quite a lot, with some uncertainty. This meant the mortgage broker did already have a photocopy of a few important documents (payslips, some ID), but at the very most that would have taken another 24 hours to sort out. I could easily have taken them along to the flat viewing, anyway.
The mortgage was all sorted out, and in the end I went with the Alliance and Leicester. I can honestly say I had no trouble from them at all throughout the mortgage, including swift and efficient handling of the occasional overpayment.
*****
The deal I was on expired, and for a fair while I was on the Standard Variable Rate. Sorting things out involved effort and hassle, and like a lot of people I'm probably very bad at really thinking through the real effects of compound interest. Sorting out a new mortgage would only save me, what, mumble pounds per month, right? But if you put that through a compound interest, over the lifetime of the mortgage, that'd save me enough money to buy, I don't know, Saturn, right? I know the principles and can actually do the calculations if I need to, but, you know, effort.
I finally got round to choosing a new mortgage. I wanted an Offset mortgage, because it meets my needs which are, basically: I want somewhere to stash my cash savings where I still have relatively easy access to them. I'm not about to buy a yacht and have champagne parties with the Abramoviches, but I have sufficient cash savings that it's worthwhile. For personal reasons, locking things up for five years in some investment or other doesn't suit me.
*****
Looking around the market at offset mortgages, I decided to stay with Santander. It wasn't the best product on the market, but other options seemed to strongly encourage me moving my current account to them. I'm happy with that where it is. Also, sorting out valuations and things involves money and hassle, as do exit fees. Alliance and Leicester are part of the Santander group, so this is going to be easy, right? Read the website (done). Phone up and talk through a bunch of stuff with some eager sales bunny who needs to read me a bunch of disclaimers and waffle. Probably some paperwork to prove it's really me. But fundamentally, one bit of Santander already loans me a large sum for my mortgage, and I'm just moving it to another bit. This can't be hard, surely?
(I don't have the exact dates written down, so one or two of the dates that follow might be off by a day or so.)
Phonecall 1 - Day 1 (February 16): I phone up and talk to a lovely guy, who is friendly, charming, and has a lovely accent. Think a male equivalent of Ruth Archer, who's less inclined to tell you off for tracking in mud from the milking shed. If this was Blind Date, I would pick him. He has a long script to cover, and he does it in an efficient manner without turning into a robot. The offer is valid for 14 days, and he'll get it in the post ASAP. I need to send that set of papers back ASAP, then they'll send a second which I'll need to get witnessed and send those back, and then they'll send a third set of papers.
Phonecall 2 - approx Day 10 (February 25): The papers still haven't turned up. Even if they went out second-class, they should be here. The woman I speak to is apologetic, and arranges to have them sent out again.
Phonecall 3 - approx Day 15 (March 2): Still no sign. The woman I speak to explains that because I wanted an offset mortgage, her colleagues would have needed to change their printer settings. Offset mortgages use a different printer, and they're a fair bit rarer than the other mortgage types, so maybe it screwed up. At some point, the mortgage offer got extended - maybe it was phonecall 2 or 3, I forget which.
Phonecall 4 - Day 21 (March 8): I call back, and each of the people on phonecalls 1, 2 and 3 have told me to call back and press a particular sequence of keys on the telephone prompt system, so I press the sequence they gave me. This sends me to Santander mortgages, not Alliance and Leicester. Santander mortgages cannot access the A&L system - even though the offer I've been given is for a Santander mortgage! It is now apparently too late to talk to someone from Alliance and Leicester, so I get to call back tomorrow. Yay.
Phonecall 5 - Day 22 (March 9 - Saturday): I call up again. It's very unlikely to be a problem with printer settings, they explain, because if you try to print out an offset mortgage to the wrong printer, the system stops you. (Handy!) Very sorry, we'll send these papers out by recorded delivery. It's a Saturday lunchtime now, as I've waited for the post to come, so the papers might not get sent out until Monday. Because people sometimes use terms like 'recorded delivery' to mean a couple of different things the post office do, I specifically check that this will mean I can phone up and ask for a tracking number. Yes, it will.
Phonecall 6 - Day 25 (March 12 - Tuesday): I'm at home today, by random chance. The post arrives and nothing has turned up. I phone up and ask if I can have the tracking number. "No, because it wasn't sent out." Uh... helpful. This phonecall actually turns into a couple of phonecalls, but they're initiated by the person I called. She explains that she works in Leicester. When she prints things out to be sent to me, they go to a different office. This used to be in Bradford. It has very recently changed to Glasgow. There are apparently some issues in the handover. She phones up Glasgow, frogmarches them through printing out and sending out my offer. She phones me to confirm that Glasgow have an envelope in their sweaty mits. They can't confirm the tracking number yet. She phones me back a couple of hours later (presumably when the post guy turned up, or something), and gives me the tracking number. After a while, the Royal Mail tracker site knows the number really exists. All good.
While talking to her (during the first phonecall, I believe), I express extreme unhappiness with the way this has all gone, and she raises a "customer dissatisfaction" (!), which includes texting my mobile. Hence I know this date. (The resolution of this customer dissatisfaction is, roughly, "Well, you've got it by recorded delivery now, so shut your cake hole.")
Still Day 25 - The offer had been extended at some point in this process to 28 days. Even had it been sent on Day 22, that could still be quite tight. I ask if it can be extended again. Alas, no - but she can work around that by creating a new offer for me with the same details.
Day 26 (March 13): The letter turns up! But I am at work, so I get the "While you were out" card through the door.
Day 27 (March 14): I go to the sorting office on the way to work, and get the offer. I read it overnight, sign it, and send it back on Day 28. By and large, it is correct. Interestingly, at a couple of points in the process, they've checked that they definitely, definitely have the right address for me. It would be upsetting if you didn't, because that would mean you valued the wrong flat. The offer I get says words to the effect of "You have asked us to send correspondence to 29 Acacia Road, and not the address of the mortgaged property." Except: a) that is the address of the mortgaged property and b) it doesn't state anywhere what the address of the mortgaged property is, if that's not it. I imagine that the person I spoke to manually typed in my address, which triggered some system or other, but it's still a weird letter to get.
Day 28 (March 15): Send it back, with a cheque.
Day 33 (March 20): The cheque clears.
Approx. Day 40 (March 27): The second lot of paperwork turns up. No recorded delivery, but it does get here. This is the one that needs to be witnessed. The Easter weekend is rapidly approaching and I've taken a day or two extra, and visit family for the Easter weekend. I take the paperwork with me, but everyone I see for more than five minutes is close family and I'd rather get someone less connected with me to witness it, so I end up waiting until April 2 (Day 46) before I can send it back.
Day 52/53 (April 8/9): Unbeknownst to me, Santander finally set up my mortgage.
Day 53 (April 9): I get a letter from the Alliance and Leicester half of Santander. It thanks me politely for my enquiry of how the redemption amount of my mortgage has been calculated. (I have not explicitly made any such enquiry. I assume it's an automated thing provoked by some activity in the system somehow.) The first page very explicitly tells me to send it back when redeeming my mortgage. The back page has four options to fill in, none of which apply to me. The closest is to the effect of "At the same time as shutting down this Alliance and Leicester mortgage, I have a new Alliance and Leicester mortgage, with the account number: __________________" for me to fill in. This isn't quite what I'm doing, but seems plausible.
Phonecall 7 - Day 54 (April 10): I phone up and query how I should fill in this form, since it doesn't appear to apply to me, but is also quite insistent I should send it back. "Oh, you don't need to send that back. Your mortgage was closed a couple of days ago, Santander should be sending you the paperwork imminently." During this phone call, I also point out that they have not only sent me my redemption statement, they have also sent me the redemption statement for a Mr and Mrs Powell's property. The person on the phone immediately freaks out and is completely unable to discuss this at all, so I send the paperwork back with a letter encouraging them to improve their data protection compliance.
Approx Day 57 (April 13): The paperwork confirming the account turns up.
At this point, I want to log in to the online banking system. In the past, I had a Santander cash ISA - it was good value that year. I no longer have it, but the e-banking login still works. (I'd checked before.) It knows who I am and would let me, say, apply for a credit card - it's just I have no accounts to manage. Logging in now, it knows I have a mortgage! Presumably it connects up the names and addresses. It will tell me the mortgage account number, it won't tell me the balance, and I can't get any other details out of it. At this point, I wonder if it still needs a day or two to catch up, so I choose not to harass them immediately.
Phonecall 8 - The morning of Day 62 (April 18): I phone up and explain that I can see the account in my login, but it doesn't work. I want to manage the mortgage online. They can set up some new online banking details for me! Can't you just activate it on this one? No, you have to have a different login for a mortgage. (Santander's website explicitly tells you you can manage all your accounts from one login.) Sigh. If you want to manage your mortgage online, I can arrange that for you now. Yes, please, that's why I have this mortgage. So take down this number, and we'll send you a passcode in the post.
Turns out there are actually three things I need - the registration number they gave me on the phone, and two random other numbers. The first envelope I get several days later has the registration number in it and one of the other two numbers, and warns me the third number will come soon. The third number arrives on...
Day 68 (April 24): I finally have all three numbers. Let's log in and see all this whizzy shininess! It'll be awesome, right? It looks... exactly the same. It shows me I don't have a bank account, I don't have a credit card, and I do have borrowings. It shows me the account number and the sort-code, but no details. No balance, no contents of the savings pot, no ability to tweak payments, no ability to do anything. It is entirely identical to the login I already had.
Phonecall 9 - Day 68 (April 24): I dig around the Santander website a lot, looking for anything I might be doing wrong. I can't find anything I'm doing wrong. I give in and call e-banking support. "Is it possible your account is set to View Only?" Well, I can see an option in the e-banking system to change it to View Only, but I can't see anything suggesting it already is View Only. "Ah, but have you filled in a View and Transact form?" I found that on the website before calling, and it says that's only necessary for mortgages in more than one name. *puts me on hold* "Yes, I think it's correct that you don't need to fill in one of those forms. I'll need to talk to the mortgages department to check your mortgage has been set up correctly, but they're not here at this time, so can you call back tomorrow?" Sigh.
Phonecall 10 - Day 69 (April 25): I call back. I explain what's happened, and say that the person I spoke to last night said she thought she'd need to talk to mortgages to check the account was set up properly. (I don't know what "properly" really means in this context.) I get put on hold, and then - to my surprise - transferred to the mortgage department. Oh, hi, sorry, wasn't expecting to be transferred to you, but this is the problem... and I assume I've been transferred to you to check it's configured properly. "Oh wait, did you say your mortgage is with Santander?" Yes, I did indeed. "You've been transferred to Alliance and Leicester mortages." Oh. "Let me transfer you." After being transferred, the person in Santander mortgages is able to flip the right switch. She says it's an overnight change, which is usually code in computer systems for "It won't happen immediately, so just give it some time, cheers." So I check a few hours later, and I can log in and see my balance and everything.
The menus and options aren't the best I've ever seen, but I do manage to kick off a transfer from my current account to the savings pot. It's called a "Lump Sum Deposit" and it doesn't say for certain when typing in the details whether it goes to the savings pot or a capital repayment. I manage to find an FAQ that covers this (you have to phone up to make capital repayments after a transfer, so...), and it does confirm this on the second screen. For reasons I don't understand, deposits like this take them a week to process, so some time on Day 76, I'll be able to check that the deposit has worked okay. Then I can move my savings into it properly.
But seriously: 35 days, an estate agent, a mortgage broker, an insurance company, two sets of solicitors, and a vendor to get myself into a vast amount of debt vs 69 days to get one bit of Santander to move a debt to another bit of Santander and let me actually put money into it. What?
Bonus fun: Throughout, I have to authenticate myself to Santander. One of the questions is about where the payments for my old mortgage come from, which is my current account with a different bank. In what feels like every phone call, I therefore get asked something like: "I notice your current account is with AnotherBank. Would you like to take out our Rory McIlroy-endorsed Santander 1-2-3 account?" After the first few times, I try very hard not to phrase my response as "Can you see the notes on my account about trying to get you guys to sort out my mortage? Can you imagine me letting you guys handle transferring my direct debits? Are you insane? I'd rather take a pint glass, put it in a blender, and gargle with the shards." I think my tone conveys a similar level of displeasure, however.
* Nearly typed Satander there. Bad Glenghis.
Sunday, 28 April 2013
Monday, 18 February 2013
Yodel: failing to deliver satisfaction
This isn't the first story we’ve had on The Restless Consumer about useless delivery companies, but it surely won’t be the last.
My sister recently ordered some trainers from Littlewoods, who use Yodel for their delivery. She was out when they first tried to deliver, so the driver put a card through the door with a handwritten note saying “I come back tomorrow”. But she was also out the following day, which is where things started to go wrong. The driver put another note through the door with the message “I take your parcel back” and a collection reference.
So she rang the 0800 number (free from landlines, extortionate for mobiles). No chance of getting through to a human even if you are paying for the privilege of ringing them, but she keyed in the collection reference and was told by a robot voice that her package was now in a depot. She had to confirm the date she would pick it up, again by pressing buttons rather than communicating with a human.
So, on the agreed day, she travelled all the way to the depot. The journey was from her home in Brixton to Vauxhall, which required taking the Tube and a bus. But when she arrived at the depot, the woman there told her that the parcel had been delivered to her home after all. On travelling all the way home again, she discovered that this was true – the parcel had been left with a neighbour.
So my sister’s 90-minute round trip, on a freezing day, had been completely pointless. She complained to Yodel and pointed out that she’d wasted £6.40 of her own money on travel fares because of their mistake. She asked for compensation - not for her wasted time, just for the money she’d spent as a result of Yodel’s error.
So she contacted Yodel and complained. They apologised, but:
That’s a reasonable stance to take... if Yodel hadn’t caused this customer to incur the travel costs in the first place. But the fact is that the unnecessary money she spent was entirely because of false information given to her by Yodel – and Yodel are happy to admit this.
She wrote back saying their response wasn’t good enough:
Yodel decided to completely ignore this follow-up email and she received no response at all. So she challenged them publicly by tweeting the Yodel twitter account. Of course, the goal of the Twitter account isn’t actually to help customers; it’s to shut them up and stop them slagging off Yodel on Twitter. The Twitter guy was sympathetic but didn’t actually do anything to help. The reason given for not helping? She has a complaint reference number. Yes, you read that right. She can't get any help through Twitter because if she's been given a complaint reference number, Yodel's sytems take that to mean that the problem is already being dealt with. Even though, as I've just explained, "dealt with" in this case means "completely ignored".
So she’s given me her permission to make her story public. Let this blogpost be a public record of Yodel’s unwillingness to compensate one customer for the costs incurred by their own uselessness. Turns out £6.40 can buy you quite a lot of bad publicity.
My sister recently ordered some trainers from Littlewoods, who use Yodel for their delivery. She was out when they first tried to deliver, so the driver put a card through the door with a handwritten note saying “I come back tomorrow”. But she was also out the following day, which is where things started to go wrong. The driver put another note through the door with the message “I take your parcel back” and a collection reference.
So she rang the 0800 number (free from landlines, extortionate for mobiles). No chance of getting through to a human even if you are paying for the privilege of ringing them, but she keyed in the collection reference and was told by a robot voice that her package was now in a depot. She had to confirm the date she would pick it up, again by pressing buttons rather than communicating with a human.
So, on the agreed day, she travelled all the way to the depot. The journey was from her home in Brixton to Vauxhall, which required taking the Tube and a bus. But when she arrived at the depot, the woman there told her that the parcel had been delivered to her home after all. On travelling all the way home again, she discovered that this was true – the parcel had been left with a neighbour.
So my sister’s 90-minute round trip, on a freezing day, had been completely pointless. She complained to Yodel and pointed out that she’d wasted £6.40 of her own money on travel fares because of their mistake. She asked for compensation - not for her wasted time, just for the money she’d spent as a result of Yodel’s error.
So she contacted Yodel and complained. They apologised, but:
I must respectfully advise that Yodel do not reimburse travel costs.
That’s a reasonable stance to take... if Yodel hadn’t caused this customer to incur the travel costs in the first place. But the fact is that the unnecessary money she spent was entirely because of false information given to her by Yodel – and Yodel are happy to admit this.
She wrote back saying their response wasn’t good enough:
I am not satisfied with this response.
Clearly due to Yodel's mistake (collection ref no on card, automated message) I was told my parcel was at the depot. I wasted time and spent my own money to get there. You can't give me my time back but I am right to want my money back. It is up to you to reimburse me. I would not have spent that money if it wasn't for Yodel.
What if I had been elderly/disabled and I had spent up to 2 hours and my money on a return trip to Vauxhall in the cold on public transport?
Please think more about the customer and do the right thing.
I would like a response to this email with details of how you are going to reimburse me.
Yodel decided to completely ignore this follow-up email and she received no response at all. So she challenged them publicly by tweeting the Yodel twitter account. Of course, the goal of the Twitter account isn’t actually to help customers; it’s to shut them up and stop them slagging off Yodel on Twitter. The Twitter guy was sympathetic but didn’t actually do anything to help. The reason given for not helping? She has a complaint reference number. Yes, you read that right. She can't get any help through Twitter because if she's been given a complaint reference number, Yodel's sytems take that to mean that the problem is already being dealt with. Even though, as I've just explained, "dealt with" in this case means "completely ignored".
So she’s given me her permission to make her story public. Let this blogpost be a public record of Yodel’s unwillingness to compensate one customer for the costs incurred by their own uselessness. Turns out £6.40 can buy you quite a lot of bad publicity.
Sunday, 2 December 2012
To regulate or not to regulate (Leveson mix)
The objections to implementing the recommendations of the Leveson report seen in the press over the last few days seem mainly to fall into the following categories.
1. Conflating the issue of freedom of press with freedom of speech, and then arguing the sacredness of the freedom of speech, quoting something like the Pussy Riot trial, or Mugabe, or claiming that the UK is a shining beacon for the freedom of speech in the rest of the world, and that government control of the press will undermine that.
4. Saying that Shami Chakrabarti (director of liberty) objects to Ofcom control of a press regulator and therefore the whole of Leveson is an attack on human rightsl;
Let's have a look at what Leveson says. This is taken from the executive summary of Leveson Volume 1, which can be found here.
This, I think, effectively deals with objections 2 and 3 above - if anyone says that Leveson's recommendations are for the regulation of the press or that they would imply government control of the press, they're lying. Please feel free to point them at the Leveson report itself.
Objection 1 - that what is proposed is the same as taking away freedom of speech - is risible. You are not free to shout fire in a crowded theatre. It is already illegal to freely publish lies about people (libel laws).
Objection 4 is a misrepresention of what Shami Chakrabarti has actually said. In paragraph 72, Leveson clearly says that the independent recognition of the work of the independent press regulator could be done by Ofcom, but he does not state that it must be done by Ofcom. Chakrabarti has said that "she supported an independent regulator but believed it would be possible for a judge, rather than Ofcom, to determine whether the new regulator was fulfilling its goal". In other words, she believes that Liberty would be content with Leveson's proposal for a statutory underpinning of an independent press regulator, but believes that the judiciary would be sufficient to determine whether or not such a regulator was meeting its goals. What she does object to is Ofcom directly regulating those members of the press who refuse to join an independent regulatory body - the fallback position that Leveson moots in paragraph 74 and 75 above.
So there you go. If you cut and paste from the parts of this article quoted from the Leveson report, please refer back to the URL presenting the report: http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/interactive/2012/nov/29/leveson-report-executive-summary
1. Conflating the issue of freedom of press with freedom of speech, and then arguing the sacredness of the freedom of speech, quoting something like the Pussy Riot trial, or Mugabe, or claiming that the UK is a shining beacon for the freedom of speech in the rest of the world, and that government control of the press will undermine that.
2. Saying that what is being proposed is statutory regulation of the press whereas what is actually being proposed is statutory regulation of a body that guarantees the independence of regulation of the press.
3. Saying that David Cameron (or the government) would have a direct say in the regulation of the press, whereas what is actually being proposed is regulation that entirely excludes the government from the regulation of the press.
4. Saying that Shami Chakrabarti (director of liberty) objects to Ofcom control of a press regulator and therefore the whole of Leveson is an attack on human rightsl;
Let's have a look at what Leveson says. This is taken from the executive summary of Leveson Volume 1, which can be found here.
- 70. These incentives form an integral part of the recommendation, as without them it is difficult, given past practic and statements that have been made as recently as this summer, to see what would lead some in the industry to be willing to become part of what would be genuinely independent regulation. It also leads to what some will describe as the most controversial part of my recommendations. In order to give effect to the incentives that I have outlined, it is essential that there should be legislation to underpin the independent self-regulatory system and facilitate its recognition in legal processes.
- 71. It is worth being clear what this legislation would not do. The legislation wuld not establish a body to regulate the press: it would be up to the press to come forward with their own body that meets the criteria laid down. The legislation would not give any rights to Parliament, to the Government, or to any regulatory (or other) body to prevent newspapers from publishing any manterial whatsoever. Nor would it give any rights to these entitites to require newspapers to publish any material except insofar as it would require the recognised self-regulatory body to have the power to direct the placement and prominence of corrections and apologies in respect of information found, by that body, to require them.
- 72. What would the legislation achieve? Three things. First, it would enshrine, for the first time, a legal duty on the Governmemt to protect the freedom of the press. Second, it would provide an independent process to recognise the new self-regulatory body and reassure the public that the basic requirements of independence and effectiveness were met and continue to be met; in the Report, I recommend that this is done by Ofcom. Third, by recognising the new body, it would validate its standards code and the arbitral system sufficient to justify the the beneifits in law that would flow to those who subscribed; these could relate to data protection and the approach of the court to various issues concerning accceptable practice, in addition to costs consequences if appropriate alternative disupute resolution is available.
- 73. Despite what will be said about these recommendations by those who oppose them, this is not, and cannot be characterised as, statutory regulation of the press. What is proposed here is independent regulation of the press organised by the press, with a statutory verification process to ensure that the required levels of independence and effectiveness are met by the system in order for publishers to take advantage of the benefits arising as a result of membership.
- 74. In the light of all that has been said, I must recognise the possibility that the industry could fail to rise to this challenge and be unable or unwilling to establish a system of independent self-regulation that meets the criteria. I have made it clear that I firmly believe it to be in the best interest of the public and the industry that it should indeed accept the challenge. What is more, given the public entitlement to some accountability of the press, I do not think that either the victims or the public would accept the outcome if the industry did not grasp this opportunity. Neither do I think the public would find it acceptable if I were to overlook the consequences of the industry doing so.
- 75. For the sake of completeness I have therefore set out in the Report the options that I believe would be open to the Government to pursue, and some views on the potential way forward, in that regrettable event: these include requiring Ofcom to act as a backstop regulator for those not prepared to join such a scheme. I have made no recommendation in relation to this situation, nor do any of the options in this pragraph amount to an outcome that I want to see.
This, I think, effectively deals with objections 2 and 3 above - if anyone says that Leveson's recommendations are for the regulation of the press or that they would imply government control of the press, they're lying. Please feel free to point them at the Leveson report itself.
Objection 1 - that what is proposed is the same as taking away freedom of speech - is risible. You are not free to shout fire in a crowded theatre. It is already illegal to freely publish lies about people (libel laws).
Objection 4 is a misrepresention of what Shami Chakrabarti has actually said. In paragraph 72, Leveson clearly says that the independent recognition of the work of the independent press regulator could be done by Ofcom, but he does not state that it must be done by Ofcom. Chakrabarti has said that "she supported an independent regulator but believed it would be possible for a judge, rather than Ofcom, to determine whether the new regulator was fulfilling its goal". In other words, she believes that Liberty would be content with Leveson's proposal for a statutory underpinning of an independent press regulator, but believes that the judiciary would be sufficient to determine whether or not such a regulator was meeting its goals. What she does object to is Ofcom directly regulating those members of the press who refuse to join an independent regulatory body - the fallback position that Leveson moots in paragraph 74 and 75 above.
So there you go. If you cut and paste from the parts of this article quoted from the Leveson report, please refer back to the URL presenting the report: http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/interactive/2012/nov/29/leveson-report-executive-summary
Saturday, 1 December 2012
Food banks and food rights
I think this is a consumer rights issue. It's certainly a human rights issue.
So, I went to Tesco today. I do it automatically on a Saturday but, as I am now restocking the restock piles, and am shortly to start restocking the restocking of the restockng piles, I do wonder why I do it. I probably go because I can handwrite shopping lists on my new Android smart phone, and then rub the items out by hand as I find them, and this rocks and makes me feel as if I have joined the twenty first century; handwriting shopping lists! They'll be inventing somethign that doesn't use batteries next, and calling it, oh, I don't know, paper.
Anyway, when I got to Tesco, a sad faced man in his mid-fifties stopped in front of me as I was going through the doorway. I mean, really intrusively. I couldn't go forward without talking to him. He was in the way. I couldn't shake my head and carry on because social convention says that you are not supposed to use your shopping trolley to run someone over. He was using social convention to hijack my time.
"Are you going to buy any of these items today?" he asked, handing me a list.
I checked out his bib, the heading of the leaflet, etc., without taking the leaflet. It was a food bank. This made me angry (see below).
"I can't read the list," I said.
"I can read it out to you," he said.
"I just want to go shopping," I said. "I don't want to listen to the list. You are in my way."
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he said, and stepped aside. I went into the shop, fuming, and feeling guilty.
So, I shopped. Two bottles of bleach, one for the stockpile upstairs and one for the stockpile downstairs, tick. Two bottles of Olive Oil, not on the shopping list (I see that they are on sale half price, and so two bottles will go into the stock pile even though the stock pile of Olive Oil does not need restocking. I am thrifty, see), tick. Dead-food cabinet: two slabs of rump steak sold at half price, to join the other dozen in the freezer, tick. Etc. When I found the shelves from which I could select cane sugar (tick), I relented and bought a bag of caster sugar, and then, thinking they were nutritious, and sourced locally, I bought a sack of potatoes and a bag of parsnips for the food bank people.
I stood by the cashier, trying to figure out what was making me so angry now that my guilt was assuaged. As I went out, I handed another food-bank ambusher, also a man in his fifties, my bag of goods.
"Oh, we can't take those," he said. "They're not dried goods. We only want dried goods. We can't take the parsnips. They'll go off."
"Then give them away tonight," I said.
"Oh, I'll see what we can do," he said, after some wibbling, and took me over to the stall where a gentle old lady was collecting dried goods and giving people stickers. She tried to ambush me with a sticker.
"I don't want a sticker," I said. They looked at me with concern. I must have been sounding a little mad. After all, who wouldn't want a sticker to show that they'd spent a little of their weekly shopping budget buying something appropriate to give to the deserving poor?
"Can I just ask you," I said, "who you voted for in the last election?"
The ambusher opened his mouth. He knew exactly where I was coming from.
"Because," I said, "if you voted Liberal or Tory, then you caused* this. You caused people to have to need food banks."
The man interrupted. "It's nothing to do with the government," he said, and then, contradictorily, he said "and anyway, don't all governments do this?"
Oh, I wish I could think faster. I was shaking with, with ... something. Anger that people have to go to food banks in Cambridge in the second decade of the 21st century, anger that this tosser, who probably went to church and voted Tory in the name of liberalism and freedom of choice, felt that it was appropriate that middle class people could get their kicks by handing out food to people who can't afford food because of government policy.
"It's everything to do with government," I said. "The Tories have cut benefits. They've taken money away from disabled people. And then there's the rent. They've cut rent allowances and child benefit allowances and taken money away from people. It's a basic human right, to be able to eat, and have housing, and it shouldn't depend on the good will of the patronising classes. The Tories have removed human rights. That there has to be a food bank in Cambridge makes me very angry."
He started on. I am FED UP with men talking over me, always talking, assuming that if they are talking I will stop talking and listen, although they never stop talking and listen when I am talking. I am FED UP with healthy, pink and shiny middle class TOSSERS showing their teeth and their assumption of privilege when faced with anything outside their shiny little bubbles of assumed privilege and assumed reasonableness. He spoke to me in a tone of reasonableness. I continued in a tone of mounting hysteria. The little old lady who was collecting the food looked very upset.
I continued for a couple of minutes. The eejit man also continued. To end, I said. "And that's why, if you really want people to have enough to eat, you need to vote for a properly socialist government!" And then I stormed off.
Because this is political and we don't need to have food banks; what we need is a goverment that behaves responsibly to all of its citizens, not just the people who have bankrolled it into power.
I am sorry for scaring the little old lady, though. She was just doing what her generation have always done, which is get on with caring for people at the behest of curly-haired patronising middle class men.
later edit: Please read this excellent article from the Guardian on the growth of food banks within the UK
*with apologies to anyone who did, actually, vote specifically for Julian Huppert, because he is one of the few MPs in government who have actually been sort-of fighting this sort of thing.
So, I went to Tesco today. I do it automatically on a Saturday but, as I am now restocking the restock piles, and am shortly to start restocking the restocking of the restockng piles, I do wonder why I do it. I probably go because I can handwrite shopping lists on my new Android smart phone, and then rub the items out by hand as I find them, and this rocks and makes me feel as if I have joined the twenty first century; handwriting shopping lists! They'll be inventing somethign that doesn't use batteries next, and calling it, oh, I don't know, paper.
Anyway, when I got to Tesco, a sad faced man in his mid-fifties stopped in front of me as I was going through the doorway. I mean, really intrusively. I couldn't go forward without talking to him. He was in the way. I couldn't shake my head and carry on because social convention says that you are not supposed to use your shopping trolley to run someone over. He was using social convention to hijack my time.
"Are you going to buy any of these items today?" he asked, handing me a list.
I checked out his bib, the heading of the leaflet, etc., without taking the leaflet. It was a food bank. This made me angry (see below).
"I can't read the list," I said.
"I can read it out to you," he said.
"I just want to go shopping," I said. "I don't want to listen to the list. You are in my way."
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he said, and stepped aside. I went into the shop, fuming, and feeling guilty.
So, I shopped. Two bottles of bleach, one for the stockpile upstairs and one for the stockpile downstairs, tick. Two bottles of Olive Oil, not on the shopping list (I see that they are on sale half price, and so two bottles will go into the stock pile even though the stock pile of Olive Oil does not need restocking. I am thrifty, see), tick. Dead-food cabinet: two slabs of rump steak sold at half price, to join the other dozen in the freezer, tick. Etc. When I found the shelves from which I could select cane sugar (tick), I relented and bought a bag of caster sugar, and then, thinking they were nutritious, and sourced locally, I bought a sack of potatoes and a bag of parsnips for the food bank people.
I stood by the cashier, trying to figure out what was making me so angry now that my guilt was assuaged. As I went out, I handed another food-bank ambusher, also a man in his fifties, my bag of goods.
"Oh, we can't take those," he said. "They're not dried goods. We only want dried goods. We can't take the parsnips. They'll go off."
"Then give them away tonight," I said.
"Oh, I'll see what we can do," he said, after some wibbling, and took me over to the stall where a gentle old lady was collecting dried goods and giving people stickers. She tried to ambush me with a sticker.
"I don't want a sticker," I said. They looked at me with concern. I must have been sounding a little mad. After all, who wouldn't want a sticker to show that they'd spent a little of their weekly shopping budget buying something appropriate to give to the deserving poor?
"Can I just ask you," I said, "who you voted for in the last election?"
The ambusher opened his mouth. He knew exactly where I was coming from.
"Because," I said, "if you voted Liberal or Tory, then you caused* this. You caused people to have to need food banks."
The man interrupted. "It's nothing to do with the government," he said, and then, contradictorily, he said "and anyway, don't all governments do this?"
Oh, I wish I could think faster. I was shaking with, with ... something. Anger that people have to go to food banks in Cambridge in the second decade of the 21st century, anger that this tosser, who probably went to church and voted Tory in the name of liberalism and freedom of choice, felt that it was appropriate that middle class people could get their kicks by handing out food to people who can't afford food because of government policy.
"It's everything to do with government," I said. "The Tories have cut benefits. They've taken money away from disabled people. And then there's the rent. They've cut rent allowances and child benefit allowances and taken money away from people. It's a basic human right, to be able to eat, and have housing, and it shouldn't depend on the good will of the patronising classes. The Tories have removed human rights. That there has to be a food bank in Cambridge makes me very angry."
He started on. I am FED UP with men talking over me, always talking, assuming that if they are talking I will stop talking and listen, although they never stop talking and listen when I am talking. I am FED UP with healthy, pink and shiny middle class TOSSERS showing their teeth and their assumption of privilege when faced with anything outside their shiny little bubbles of assumed privilege and assumed reasonableness. He spoke to me in a tone of reasonableness. I continued in a tone of mounting hysteria. The little old lady who was collecting the food looked very upset.
I continued for a couple of minutes. The eejit man also continued. To end, I said. "And that's why, if you really want people to have enough to eat, you need to vote for a properly socialist government!" And then I stormed off.
Because this is political and we don't need to have food banks; what we need is a goverment that behaves responsibly to all of its citizens, not just the people who have bankrolled it into power.
I am sorry for scaring the little old lady, though. She was just doing what her generation have always done, which is get on with caring for people at the behest of curly-haired patronising middle class men.
later edit: Please read this excellent article from the Guardian on the growth of food banks within the UK
*with apologies to anyone who did, actually, vote specifically for Julian Huppert, because he is one of the few MPs in government who have actually been sort-of fighting this sort of thing.
Friday, 28 September 2012
Deep reservations about Dunelm
The laundry basket looked just right. It’s hard to get excited about a laundry basket, but this one ticked all the boxes: portable, collapsible, the right size, made of canvas. (I didn’t want a plastic one because I don’t like the thought of my laundry basket lying in landfill thousands of years after my death.)
So when I saw a suitable laundry basket on the Dunelm website, I tried to buy it straight away. I clicked “Add to basket” and got a reassuring green tick telling me that the item was in my (metaphorical, online) basket. But when I went to the (metaphorical, online) checkout, I spotted that delivery wasn’t available for this item. (It had said so on the previous page, but I was blinded by laundry-lust and didn’t notice.)
The only option available, if I wanted this item, was Reserve & Collect. Clicking the orange Reserve button lets you “check stock, reserve online, collect & pay in-store”. The only Dunelm stores I knew about were in Cardiff and Lancashire, nowhere near my home, but I formulated a cunning plan: I would buy the item online, then get my Cardiff-dwelling mum to collect it from the Cardiff store and give it to me when we next met up. So I pressed the Reserve button, then checked the stock in the Cardiff store. It was definitely available. So I went ahead with reserving it, first checking that my mum would be able to collect it for me during the three-day period they allow for collection.
Within hours Dunelm emailed me to say that my item was ready for collection. They gave me a numerical code to quote on collection. I duly passed this code on to my mum, who went to the store. They didn’t ask for the code, but they gave her a laundry basket.
It all seemed to have gone swimmingly until I arrived in Cardiff two days later for a family get-together and found they’d given my mum a completely different laundry basket. This one was also canvas and confusingly also called the Cairo, but it was rectangular rather than round and striped rather than plain.
My mum drove us to the Dunelm store and we explained the issue. We tried to give them the collection code, but again they weren’t interested. The woman on the customer service desk suggested we get the correct laundry basket from the shop floor and bring it back for swapping. We searched the shop. There were lots of ugly baskets, but the nice basket I’d seen online was nowhere to be seen.
We returned to the customer service desk. I was furious. What’s the point of reserving something if you have to visit the shop and search for it yourself, only to find it’s not there? A nice man from the customer service desk did his own search of the shop but found nothing. The nice lady checked the stock lists on her computer – while I hopefully but fruitlessly tried to give her the item code again – but found nothing.
It turns out that Dunelm’s “Reserve & Collect” system is the most misleadingly-named thing since Oxford’s “London Airport”. You can’t really reserve anything, which means you can’t be sure you’ll be able to collect it. Reservation of items is “available subject to stock”, which is a fancy-pants way of saying: “If we run out, that’s your problem, pal.” “Reserved” items aren’t taken off the shop floor into a different area, or marked as reserved; they’re just left on the shop floor, and if someone else buys your item before you collect it... tough. My mum made the point that this is not actually what the word “reserve” means.
In the case of my laundry basket, the customer service lady speculated that whoever did the stock check probably noticed that the item I’d ordered wasn’t there, but had decided to substitute a similar one of equal value. But, I said, the website asked for my contact details when I ordered, purely so that Dunelm would be able to give me information about my order. What was the point of my handing over my personal info if they couldn’t tell me something important like “We’re going to give you a completely different item”? And what was the point of giving me that wretched collection code if it isn’t used for anything?
Dunelm’s Reserve & Collect service falls into the category of “worse than useless”. Reserving an item makes absolutely no difference to your chances of buying said item. You still have to go to the shop and take your chances on whether or not it’s in stock, just as you would if you’d turned up to the shop on a whim. That’s the “useless” bit. But you also have to jump through hoops: providing your personal details, ensuring you visit the shop within three days of “reserving”, writing down a pointless “collection code”, queueing up at the customer service counter. Deliberately wasting all that time and energy is the bit that makes it worse than useless.
The staff at the Cardiff store were excellent, but they were no match for a system that ensured they couldn’t help however much they wanted to. Tellingly, the woman behind the desk actually asked me to complain to head office. She said that the failing Reserve & Collect system has been causing lots of problems and that it might help to get it fixed if more customers complained. She gave me a card with the number of the complaints line. I won’t be ringing it, though – it’s an 0845 number, which means that many phone providers will charge you to ring it. (Using an 0845 number for complaints is a sure sign that you don’t really want to listen to any.)
Naturally, when my husband slagged them off on Twitter they were quick to respond. But that’s just boring old Twitterwashing, trying to get complaints out of the public domain and into a nice private DM chat, or maybe a phone call where the customer can be ignored and pay for the privilege.
Of course, attempts to get complaints out of the public domain are like a red rag to a bull for me. That’s why I’ve written the full story here for the world to read.
So when I saw a suitable laundry basket on the Dunelm website, I tried to buy it straight away. I clicked “Add to basket” and got a reassuring green tick telling me that the item was in my (metaphorical, online) basket. But when I went to the (metaphorical, online) checkout, I spotted that delivery wasn’t available for this item. (It had said so on the previous page, but I was blinded by laundry-lust and didn’t notice.)
The only option available, if I wanted this item, was Reserve & Collect. Clicking the orange Reserve button lets you “check stock, reserve online, collect & pay in-store”. The only Dunelm stores I knew about were in Cardiff and Lancashire, nowhere near my home, but I formulated a cunning plan: I would buy the item online, then get my Cardiff-dwelling mum to collect it from the Cardiff store and give it to me when we next met up. So I pressed the Reserve button, then checked the stock in the Cardiff store. It was definitely available. So I went ahead with reserving it, first checking that my mum would be able to collect it for me during the three-day period they allow for collection.
Within hours Dunelm emailed me to say that my item was ready for collection. They gave me a numerical code to quote on collection. I duly passed this code on to my mum, who went to the store. They didn’t ask for the code, but they gave her a laundry basket.
It all seemed to have gone swimmingly until I arrived in Cardiff two days later for a family get-together and found they’d given my mum a completely different laundry basket. This one was also canvas and confusingly also called the Cairo, but it was rectangular rather than round and striped rather than plain.
My mum drove us to the Dunelm store and we explained the issue. We tried to give them the collection code, but again they weren’t interested. The woman on the customer service desk suggested we get the correct laundry basket from the shop floor and bring it back for swapping. We searched the shop. There were lots of ugly baskets, but the nice basket I’d seen online was nowhere to be seen.
We returned to the customer service desk. I was furious. What’s the point of reserving something if you have to visit the shop and search for it yourself, only to find it’s not there? A nice man from the customer service desk did his own search of the shop but found nothing. The nice lady checked the stock lists on her computer – while I hopefully but fruitlessly tried to give her the item code again – but found nothing.
It turns out that Dunelm’s “Reserve & Collect” system is the most misleadingly-named thing since Oxford’s “London Airport”. You can’t really reserve anything, which means you can’t be sure you’ll be able to collect it. Reservation of items is “available subject to stock”, which is a fancy-pants way of saying: “If we run out, that’s your problem, pal.” “Reserved” items aren’t taken off the shop floor into a different area, or marked as reserved; they’re just left on the shop floor, and if someone else buys your item before you collect it... tough. My mum made the point that this is not actually what the word “reserve” means.
In the case of my laundry basket, the customer service lady speculated that whoever did the stock check probably noticed that the item I’d ordered wasn’t there, but had decided to substitute a similar one of equal value. But, I said, the website asked for my contact details when I ordered, purely so that Dunelm would be able to give me information about my order. What was the point of my handing over my personal info if they couldn’t tell me something important like “We’re going to give you a completely different item”? And what was the point of giving me that wretched collection code if it isn’t used for anything?
Dunelm’s Reserve & Collect service falls into the category of “worse than useless”. Reserving an item makes absolutely no difference to your chances of buying said item. You still have to go to the shop and take your chances on whether or not it’s in stock, just as you would if you’d turned up to the shop on a whim. That’s the “useless” bit. But you also have to jump through hoops: providing your personal details, ensuring you visit the shop within three days of “reserving”, writing down a pointless “collection code”, queueing up at the customer service counter. Deliberately wasting all that time and energy is the bit that makes it worse than useless.
The staff at the Cardiff store were excellent, but they were no match for a system that ensured they couldn’t help however much they wanted to. Tellingly, the woman behind the desk actually asked me to complain to head office. She said that the failing Reserve & Collect system has been causing lots of problems and that it might help to get it fixed if more customers complained. She gave me a card with the number of the complaints line. I won’t be ringing it, though – it’s an 0845 number, which means that many phone providers will charge you to ring it. (Using an 0845 number for complaints is a sure sign that you don’t really want to listen to any.)
Naturally, when my husband slagged them off on Twitter they were quick to respond. But that’s just boring old Twitterwashing, trying to get complaints out of the public domain and into a nice private DM chat, or maybe a phone call where the customer can be ignored and pay for the privilege.
Of course, attempts to get complaints out of the public domain are like a red rag to a bull for me. That’s why I’ve written the full story here for the world to read.
Sunday, 19 August 2012
The Post Office returned my money
It’s occurred to me that some people might be wondering if the Post Office really did refund the money I paid them for home and contents insurance. In my most recent post, I said that they promised to reimburse me most of the money I’d paid, provided that I sent them the schedule of home and contents insurance by post.
They insisted on the original document, which worried me: if it got “lost in the post”, would I have any redress? I decided to send it by regular post anyway, but get it photocopied first so that I would have a record that it once existed. This meant that the task ahead of me – if I wanted my money back, that is – involved writing and printing a covering letter, getting a document photocopied and then posting it. Unsurprisingly, I put it off for a week or so.
Before I’d got round to the job of doing all the things the Post Office said were necessary to get my money back, I spotted that they’d paid the money back into my account anyway. I was obviously very glad I didn’t have to jump through those hoops after all, but annoyed that yet again, someone in the call centre had given me information that was at variance with reality as I perceive it.
They insisted on the original document, which worried me: if it got “lost in the post”, would I have any redress? I decided to send it by regular post anyway, but get it photocopied first so that I would have a record that it once existed. This meant that the task ahead of me – if I wanted my money back, that is – involved writing and printing a covering letter, getting a document photocopied and then posting it. Unsurprisingly, I put it off for a week or so.
Before I’d got round to the job of doing all the things the Post Office said were necessary to get my money back, I spotted that they’d paid the money back into my account anyway. I was obviously very glad I didn’t have to jump through those hoops after all, but annoyed that yet again, someone in the call centre had given me information that was at variance with reality as I perceive it.
Friday, 13 July 2012
More on Post Office home and contents insurance
This is a follow-up to an earlier post about my awful experience with Post Office home and contents insurance.
The Post Office said they were sending me a leaflet with instructions for how to claim the lower premium offered. If I don’t follow the steps to claim that lower premium, I’m stuck with paying nearly £200 more for my home & contents insurance. It was supposed to be sent out “with your policy documents” and the covering letter I got with the policy documents said it was enclosed. But it wasn’t.
So I rang to ask where it was, and sat through the 1 minute 45 seconds of babble. But this time, I actually listened, because I wanted to see if I’d missed a bit about how paying monthly is effectively taking out a loan agreement, because someone in the call centre had previously claimed that the babble should have made me fully aware of the loan agreement I didn’t know I was taking out. But I still couldn’t hear any mention of loans or credit.
Anyway, I got through to a human and asked where my leaflet was. The man said it would be sent out separately.
“But the covering letter says it’s enclosed.”
“No, it’ll be sent out separately.”
Right. Whatever. I also had a minor amend to the policy, and the small print said I could do this without charge, provided it was within 14 days of receiving the documents. The minor amend was to do with how close my house was to the nearest watercourse. When I got the quote, I said I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was just over a quarter of a mile away. Then I got my husband to check and it turned out that the nearest bit of the River Windrush is actually bang on a quarter of a mile away. I didn’t want to invalidate my cover with false information, so could they just amend my details to say it was pretty much exactly a quarter of a mile away?
Much fetching-of-supervisors ensued and then the nice man returned to say that the Post Office can’t offer me insurance any more.
Why not?
“Because your house is right by the sea.”
“It’s not the sea, it’s just a river.”
“Right. Well, we can’t offer you insurance. You’re too high-risk.”
That was it. After going through all this crap with the Post Office, I had to find another insurer anyway. (And quickly, because my previous insurance policy lapsed today.) I said I wished I’d never had anything to do with the Post Office, because it’s been a nightmare from start to finish. He apologised.
Then I asked if I’ll get my money back. (I’ve already paid £64.14.) More fetching-of-supervisors.
The upshot is that I will get cover for the next ten days (until 23rd July) and only have to pay about £9 for this. The rest of the money I’ve paid will be returned, provided I send back the certificate. What certificate? A game of Twenty Questions established that they needed the schedule of home and contents insurance (although he originally demanded “the certificate of motor insurance” before I pointed out that this policy has nothing to do with cars). They will not accept a copy. It has to be the original. But once it’s returned, I get almost all my money back. The bit of money they’re keeping is to pay for the ten days’ cover which I now need as breathing space to put a new policy in place. Which would all be quite reasonable if I hadn’t already been through so much hassle.
To recap:
1. To take out Post Office home & contents insurance, or even get a quote for it, you need to have an occupation that’s already on their list, or pretend you have – but remember, any false information provided may invalidate your cover!
2. Any joint policyholders will also have to have an occupation that’s already on their list. But you may find out after giving all the other person’s details and having a big wrangle about their job that the policy doesn’t allow joint policyholders anyway.
3. The Post Office promises to “beat your renewal quote by £50”. But if they can’t actually beat it by £50, you’ll only get the renewal-beating price once you’ve taken out more expensive insurance, paid a chunk of money up-front and jumped through a bunch of bureaucratic hoops. There’s also a wait of up to 60 days. (Because I was eventually refused insurance, I’ve been robbed of the chance to find out how long the wait really is and how difficult the hoops really are to jump through. I would love to hear from anybody who got further than me.)
4. Paying monthly involves taking out a credit agreement with a company you’ve never heard of. You will only realise this if you are smarter and more observant than I am. If you’re as dim as me, you will take the question “Would you like to pay monthly?” at face value and say “Yes, please.”
5. The name of the company you have the credit agreement with will be spelled in two different ways on your surprise credit agreement, not improving your confidence with the whole affair.
6. The leaflet explaining how to claim your lower, renewal-beating premium will be enclosed with your policy documents, according to the people you speak to and the covering letter of the policy documents. But it won’t really be enclosed at all, and when you ring back you’ll be told it’s arriving separately.
7. If you ring up to correct what you think is a minor detail on the policy, you may suddenly and unexpectedly be denied the cover you thought you had in place. You will then be forced to sort out insurance with an alternative provider anyway, after wasting hours of your life jumping through Post Office hoops.
8. If the Post Office unexpectedly denies you the cover you thought you had in place, there are more hoops to jump through before they will refund the money you've already paid.
9. Every call you make to try to sort out the mess will begin with a recorded message that lasts 1 minute 45 seconds. By proceeding with your call after this message you are supposedly giving your consent to various things mentioned on the recording. If you, like me, tune out as soon as you hear a recorded voice, you could be giving your consent to the Vogons building a new intergalactic superhighway and you’d be none the wiser.
To recap the recap: Please don’t go with the Post Office for your home & contents insurance, however good the deal looks.
The Post Office said they were sending me a leaflet with instructions for how to claim the lower premium offered. If I don’t follow the steps to claim that lower premium, I’m stuck with paying nearly £200 more for my home & contents insurance. It was supposed to be sent out “with your policy documents” and the covering letter I got with the policy documents said it was enclosed. But it wasn’t.
So I rang to ask where it was, and sat through the 1 minute 45 seconds of babble. But this time, I actually listened, because I wanted to see if I’d missed a bit about how paying monthly is effectively taking out a loan agreement, because someone in the call centre had previously claimed that the babble should have made me fully aware of the loan agreement I didn’t know I was taking out. But I still couldn’t hear any mention of loans or credit.
Anyway, I got through to a human and asked where my leaflet was. The man said it would be sent out separately.
“But the covering letter says it’s enclosed.”
“No, it’ll be sent out separately.”
Right. Whatever. I also had a minor amend to the policy, and the small print said I could do this without charge, provided it was within 14 days of receiving the documents. The minor amend was to do with how close my house was to the nearest watercourse. When I got the quote, I said I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was just over a quarter of a mile away. Then I got my husband to check and it turned out that the nearest bit of the River Windrush is actually bang on a quarter of a mile away. I didn’t want to invalidate my cover with false information, so could they just amend my details to say it was pretty much exactly a quarter of a mile away?
Much fetching-of-supervisors ensued and then the nice man returned to say that the Post Office can’t offer me insurance any more.
Why not?
“Because your house is right by the sea.”
“It’s not the sea, it’s just a river.”
“Right. Well, we can’t offer you insurance. You’re too high-risk.”
That was it. After going through all this crap with the Post Office, I had to find another insurer anyway. (And quickly, because my previous insurance policy lapsed today.) I said I wished I’d never had anything to do with the Post Office, because it’s been a nightmare from start to finish. He apologised.
Then I asked if I’ll get my money back. (I’ve already paid £64.14.) More fetching-of-supervisors.
The upshot is that I will get cover for the next ten days (until 23rd July) and only have to pay about £9 for this. The rest of the money I’ve paid will be returned, provided I send back the certificate. What certificate? A game of Twenty Questions established that they needed the schedule of home and contents insurance (although he originally demanded “the certificate of motor insurance” before I pointed out that this policy has nothing to do with cars). They will not accept a copy. It has to be the original. But once it’s returned, I get almost all my money back. The bit of money they’re keeping is to pay for the ten days’ cover which I now need as breathing space to put a new policy in place. Which would all be quite reasonable if I hadn’t already been through so much hassle.
To recap:
1. To take out Post Office home & contents insurance, or even get a quote for it, you need to have an occupation that’s already on their list, or pretend you have – but remember, any false information provided may invalidate your cover!
2. Any joint policyholders will also have to have an occupation that’s already on their list. But you may find out after giving all the other person’s details and having a big wrangle about their job that the policy doesn’t allow joint policyholders anyway.
3. The Post Office promises to “beat your renewal quote by £50”. But if they can’t actually beat it by £50, you’ll only get the renewal-beating price once you’ve taken out more expensive insurance, paid a chunk of money up-front and jumped through a bunch of bureaucratic hoops. There’s also a wait of up to 60 days. (Because I was eventually refused insurance, I’ve been robbed of the chance to find out how long the wait really is and how difficult the hoops really are to jump through. I would love to hear from anybody who got further than me.)
4. Paying monthly involves taking out a credit agreement with a company you’ve never heard of. You will only realise this if you are smarter and more observant than I am. If you’re as dim as me, you will take the question “Would you like to pay monthly?” at face value and say “Yes, please.”
5. The name of the company you have the credit agreement with will be spelled in two different ways on your surprise credit agreement, not improving your confidence with the whole affair.
6. The leaflet explaining how to claim your lower, renewal-beating premium will be enclosed with your policy documents, according to the people you speak to and the covering letter of the policy documents. But it won’t really be enclosed at all, and when you ring back you’ll be told it’s arriving separately.
7. If you ring up to correct what you think is a minor detail on the policy, you may suddenly and unexpectedly be denied the cover you thought you had in place. You will then be forced to sort out insurance with an alternative provider anyway, after wasting hours of your life jumping through Post Office hoops.
8. If the Post Office unexpectedly denies you the cover you thought you had in place, there are more hoops to jump through before they will refund the money you've already paid.
9. Every call you make to try to sort out the mess will begin with a recorded message that lasts 1 minute 45 seconds. By proceeding with your call after this message you are supposedly giving your consent to various things mentioned on the recording. If you, like me, tune out as soon as you hear a recorded voice, you could be giving your consent to the Vogons building a new intergalactic superhighway and you’d be none the wiser.
To recap the recap: Please don’t go with the Post Office for your home & contents insurance, however good the deal looks.
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