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Thursday 9 January 2014

Banks. Don’t you love em.

If only they knew what they had sold and then could deal with a simple enquiry.

Three and a half years ago, myself and Mrs FE, decided we would help our eldest daughter and her soon to be husband, to mount the first rung of the property owning ladder.

One product that caught our eye was named a “helping hand mortgage”, where we as parents would lock away a sum equal to 20% of the value of the property as surety, in return for interest on the sum. This bond was to remain in force for three and a half years after which we would have the money returned to us.

However you try getting the money back when most of the cretins at the bank (Black prancing equine) don’t even seem to know that such a product ever existed.

In October last year Mrs FE phoned them up and after being given the usual “Press 1 if you want to pay us more money”, “Press 2 if you think that we care”, ………….”Press 666 if you think that you might have a chance of speaking to anyone at all”, she was informed that we would receive a letter in due course.

Quick as a flash of light from the reflection off the blade of a wind turbine, nothing, Nada, zilch.

Mrs FE phoned them again on Tuesday only to find that the staff knew even less about this product than in October. She spoke to five different members of staff, before she actually managed to find someone that knew something about the deal. Even then he had to phone three other people before coming back with a definitive answer.

We are told to expect a letter before the weekend.

OMG. I’ve just seen a whole squadron of flying pigs doing aerobatics.