Saturday, 7 July 2012

What a week...

So, most of you already know about the Penalty Crime Notice I received. Apparently, this is me, in London, performing an illegal turn. 

I can say yes, that's my bike, but no, that's not me. I was at my doctor's (several hundred miles away from London) and I haven't seen my bike since the 6th of December when it was stolen, recovered and removed by the police. And then the insurers paid out on the 9th of May.

Interestingly, the breakers screwed up. They have repaired and sold on my bike without notifying my insurers or the DVLA - but we're getting that sorted. This involves digging up lots of reasons why it's not me, and it's a bit tiresome for a starters.

Next up was a letter from the Benefits Agency going "Hey, you stopped getting Jobseekers on the 22nd February." Well... yes. I went back to work and notified you all. It turns out whomever originally processed our joint application  alsoscrewed up. Despite the fact that we can't rent out, live in, sell or do anything with the property down South until the probate is sorted, it still counts as an asset.

So the money they'd been giving us to help with the council tax and the fact that we were both unemployed with no income for three months now needs repaying. All I can say is Thank His Noodly Lordship that I have a savings account - having to give back over a grand and a half would wipe most people out in this town. I'm going to do it in instalments though - I may as well keep some of the interest on my savings accounts even as they take it off me.

And just to top it off, my mortgage providers really, REALLY screwed up. I was going to buy one house (as you can see previously on my blog) and then changed my mind to buy the one I liked better in the first place. The mortgage people were like, yeah, yeah, that's absolutely fine, done and we've sent out valuators and it's all fine.

So, happy, I went off to sign my contract. All polished up, all questions answered when my solicitor goes "You know, I'm sure I've seen your mortgage paperwork, but I just can't think where I've put it. Could you give them a call later and just ask them to fax me a spare?"

Sure, says I. I went back to work, rang the mortgage company and they went "What mortgage?"

I hit the roof. I have 24 hours to sort a mortgage out or lose both the house and six grand deposit. Luckily I know some very good people - my boss and one of my colleagues teamed up to help me out, find over-ride codes and access information. I can't thank them enough for rescuing me, but ain't that just the cheese on the biscuit.

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