A sample text widget

Etiam pulvinar consectetur dolor sed malesuada. Ut convallis euismod dolor nec pretium. Nunc ut tristique massa.

Nam sodales mi vitae dolor ullamcorper et vulputate enim accumsan. Morbi orci magna, tincidunt vitae molestie nec, molestie at mi. Nulla nulla lorem, suscipit in posuere in, interdum non magna.

Barclays = still shite

Following on from this older post, I’ve been having even more “fun” with this crap-awful excuse for a financial organisation. No, not organisation. “Organisation” implies organisation i.e. that they’re organised. And they sure as fuck aren’t.

Before I left the UK I rang them up to change my address to that of my folks. Same as everyone else. Only Barclays decided to be different from every other place I got in touch with and ignore my request. Just to be really different they ignored it twice.

Originally, I rang them up to change it. The guy on the phone said he didn’t think it could be done on the telephone without my Phone Banking Passcode. Which I’d not been issued as I’d not signed up for phone banking. But, no, it was OK – it’s only an address change so he can do it (and did – apparently). However, he did tell me to follow this up with a written request as well, which as I didn’t trust him or the bank, I duly did.

To no fucking avail.

I got an inkling after I emailed them regarding another inconsistency in my account about 6 weeks later. A reply came back telling me that, due to the confidential nature of the reply, it had to be sent by mail and to expect a letter in due course. 3 weeks later, and my folks hadn’t received anything. Getting Kim to check I found out why – said letter had gone to Bradford.

Then my internet banking got locked out again. This time I’m 100% positive the details I was entering were correct as I had a flipping record of them that I’d used before.

No worries, thinks I. Get the mother to call them. She has a power of attorney over all my financial dealings.

Tough shit, said Barclays when she called. We don’t care. We need to speak to the man himself who, at that time, was in Hanoi and unable to get a working telephone to ring internationally. Either way, I couldn’t ring the 0845 number required. I needed a genuine, proper, regional phone number.

Currently in New Zealand and I’m in the same boat. I managed to get hold of the “lost and stolen card” number and used that as it’s the only non-08** number they publish. The woman at the end of the phone was nicely useless, but put me though to someone marginally more useful but a fuck of a lot less sympathetic.

End result – unless my mother can attend a branch of Barclays to register her Power of Attorney (round trip – 60 miles) and then wait up to a month for it to be accepted and then attend in person again to access my funds and move them elsewhere… the quickest way is to write them a letter. How fucking great is that?

They go on and on about their internet banking. But to fix that I have to ring them on a number I can’t access as I’m abroad – which is when people are quite likely to need internet banking. Even if I could get to them they have to send me a new access code. Which would go to my old address which I can’t access. And I can’t change that address without sending them a letter or having my mother make two trips to a remote branch.

Solution: I wrote them a letter. Both changing my address and asking them to transfer all the funds to another account, then close the account forthwith, retrieving all their records, mulching them with razor blades and shoving the whole lot up their collective fucking arses.

OK, maybe not the last few bits but that’s only as I didn’t have room on the letter to squeeze it into a P.S. Once I have my cash safely into an account I can access, I’ll let them know what they can do with their shoddy account.

Fucking wankers.

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]

Copyright © 2006 Mosher'sUnimaginativelyEntitledBlog. All Rights Reserved.