I can’t stand liars or injustice. It really gets my goat. However the world is full of them. Apparently, he only way to unravel these liars and cheats (especially the wives) is to tie them in knots with passwords, security questions and 8 figure account numbers.
I remember passwords and I know everything about the OH so the ‘personal’ security questions are easy; but when it comes to numbers it’s all over for me.
My husband and I once had a terrible row because I’d paid a check using the wrong cheque book and the wrong account. The money wasn’t the problem. It was the fact I couldn’t recognise the accounts by the numbers.
“It’s easy,” he said, “You just remember the last 4 digits.” He couldn’t understand that was as difficult for me to do as it is for our dyslexic son to remember his spelling rules.
“Couldn’t you just write what the account is for on the cheque book for me, please?” I pleaded with him. How difficult is for him to write: ‘The Business’, ‘Yours’, ‘Mine’ and ‘Joint’ I was thinking. Of course he didn’t. He wrote coded initials instead. They personally stand for the way he describes the account, but not necessarily the way I would and – as chance would have it – one is the same as my son’s initials and now he has no money left in his account….
He does really, I’m only joking.
Last September (it was the Sunday 25th around 4pm to be precise) I was driving along a very narrow winding lane in Cornwall. I’d never driven along it before and there was some doubt that my attempted shortcut might be just leading us along a ‘no through’ road. We’d come back from a lovely river walk along the Tresillian River on a glorious sunny afternoon. My three kids, my dog and my 82-year-old father. Unfamiliar narrow road and the responsibility for my nearest and dearest, I can assure you I was proceeding with excessive caution.
We rounded a bend and then I stopped. Ahead of me, at the other end of a straight stretch another car had rounded the next bend and was coming towards me.
Normal practice, on these single track lanes is that both drivers stop. Make eye contact and then you (or the other driver) pulls into the nearest lay-by to let the other pass, or one or the other has to reverse to the last lay-by passed. I remember thinking: he doesn’t look as if he’s seen me. It was only in the last moment he began to apply his brakes. By that time I was a sitting duck staring at the whites of his eyes and screaming for him to stop before he hit me.
He stopped with that dull thump of my disabled son’s head on the forward headrest and the sickening crunch of metal and tinkling glass. I’ve only seen my father lose his temper twice in my life before. This was the third. A raging octogenarian shaking his fists at a couple of shifty-looking lads as they climbed out of the other car is actually a pretty funny sight, if you weren’t directly involved with it.
“You idiots,” he shouted, “You’re driving much too fast!”
“No, we weren’t,” came the cock-sure answer. “You can drive 60 along here because there’s no speed restriction.”
Now, call me naive, but I’ve never had a car crash before and in the 30 years since I passed my test, I’d say that’s a pretty good record. However, I don’t have my own car insurance, I’m a named driver on my husband’s.
And since I’m in the mood to spit my dissatisfaction at the way that insurance companies treated me (the wife) as the cheat and liar. I’ll name them: LV acting on my (*cough*) behalf. The Co-op who did a brilliant job in supporting the ‘it wasn’t my fault’ claim of the callow git that hit me.
Liars and Injustice (Part 2) to follow:
- Car insurance fraud: Lie study may make premiums cheaper (confused.com)