I'm working

It's been a while hasn't it. I'm stressed you know. I'm working for a large manufacturer of telecommunications equipment in South Wales from today. It's just a 10 week contract. The money is quite good, but that doesn't stop me wondering what will happen next.

The house was relatively OK when we returned to it. The tennents have somehow ruined the downstairs carpet and smashed a lamp. The kitchen also seems to be in a bit of a state. One lavatory was leaking, and there was some serious porn left in the filing cabinet.

The porn consisted largely of magazines for those interested in domination fetishes. There were also a number of contact magazines with page corners turned down at places were local people were advertising. Perhaps the most interesting items however were the ky jelly, rubber glove, and silver vibrator. I don't make this stuff up people. You'd really think they'd be too embarrassed to leave stuff like that behind wouldn't you.

But I digress. My stress is caused largely by the fact that the full horror of the responsibility of fatherhood has just hit me. We're only about 10 weeks away from start of baby condition. The house is a mess, I don't have a permanent job, and, and, well that's about it really, but that's enough isn't it? I think I'll try and get a simple job locally for a while when this contract finishes.

The house is actually coming together. We don't have anything to sit on, but today we get internet, tv, and phone connected. That's a start. In fact I called the dragon just now and the internet man already came, and it wasn't a man, it was a woman. So, if you're reading this, it probably came from my home.

People aren't making my transition from Asia to the West easy. I already mentioned that the computer got broken in shipment, and a glass dolphin, but actually we are getting compensated for that. Do you know what the most difficult thing has been? Let me tell you - it was getting the dragon a bank account. It took 4, yes 4 visits to the branch, a letter of complaint, and a massive row in Barnstaple branch before I actually solved this seemingly simple problem. I'll take you through it.

The first visit to a branch resulted in me being told that my wife couldn't have a bank account or access to mine because she couldn't provide any documentation to verify her address. I pointed out the folly of this policy bearing in mind that my wife has never had an address in this country but it did no good. That's when I wrote to the complaints department. I actually got a reply from the comnplaints department, and despite the fact that they ignored every one of the questions I asked, they did come up with a solution. My wife could have access to my account if I sent them a letter confirming that she is my wife and lives with me. Before the reply came I actually made a second branch visit (different branch) to see if the policy differed from place to place. The second branch also said I could write a letter.

On my third branch visit I came bearing the required letter. I was however turned away because it was addressed to "The Manager" and not the manager of a specific branch. It also didn't list enough bank details. I was annoyed at this because I believe I had provided what was asked for on the previous visit. However, I went away to correct the letter (they wouldn't let me update it with a pen in the branch).

The fourth visit I came bearing the new letter. This time everything was perfect, we even filled in the forms and signed them in four-plicate. Just as the rubber stamp was falling I was asked, "Does your wife have a foreign bank account?" I should have said no, or at least asked why they wanted to kow, but I didn't, I said yes. And the rubber stamp stopped in mid air. They told me they couldn't do it because they needed a statement from her Taiwanese bank account to verify her address. How a Taiwanese bank account statement, in Chinese, with her Grndfather's address on it, would have helped them, is beyond me. That's when it happened, I shouted, loudly and in animated fashion. The young lady assisting us (I use the term loosely) ran away scared and fetched her manager and I never saw her again. There were pointy fingers, angry gestures and a refusal to "leave this premises until my wife has acccess to a bank account". And eventually, it was done. The rubber stamp finally fell.

We still don't have an ATM card or cheque book, but I have hope. I'll be writing once more to the complaints people. I may start the e-mail "Dear Filth".