Those inclined to be judgmental might remember that 2012 was our Aunnus Horribilis.
By August we’d had: health scares; the house upside down due to a loft extension; Fester’s Littlebrother’s sudden intestate death; the death of my first but cherished father-in-law; their two funerals within a fortnight; and hoarding relations’ home and estate to sort out.
With the end of my tether was well in sight this bureaucratic bollocks was the sort of thing up with which I could not put.
From Facebook Archives…
According to the Newcastle Building Society Ferretfingers' National Insurance number card still attached to the sheet of paper it was sent on, with the person's name and address on it and the National Insurance logo at the top is not “proof of residence”; but a Disabled Living Allowance letter written to me referring to him is.
"Couldn't you phone Inland Revenue and ask for proof of tax code?"
No I effin couldn't.
They blame the Financial Conduct Authority.
I blame backside covering jobsworths.
Tits.
Believe me I shall go through my paperwork this afternoon and find so many proofs of residence it's going to take some poor counter clerk a considerable amount of time to put it all on their computer; which is a waste of their time but they have no problem wasting mine!
Some time later that day …
So, after further phonecalls from NBS, I phone Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs and (eventually after pressing my way through half a dozen menus and messages about how helpful their webpage would be) get through to a nice lady and explain it all to her.
Apparently all the Child Benefit, Disability Living Allowance, social service report, Statement of Special Educational Needs report and my letter of authority from the Pensions people to act on his behalf, all of which bear his name, address and/or NI number, are unacceptable.
Menopausal housewives and autistic teenagers from Benton are, of course, infamous for laundering drug money....
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