Last month, the bank that I had been banking with in jolly old Scotchland, the one that's patronised by the British Royal Family (you can probably guess which one through the breaking of my very clever code there), the bank I've been with for over four great years, and to whom I had up until recently been handing over my monthly pay cheque, and been donating to them the interest charged on my mounting debt filled credit card and over draft - that very bank that I felt I'd built up a relationship with (a mutually abusive, co-dependent relationship, it has to be admitted, but a relationship nonetheless) - that there very bank only turned around and threatened to send debt collectors after me.
Now, I wouldn't mind, but I've been busy and ill and also busy, and they didn't have the grace to ask after me once, you know, just pop their heads around the door and see how I'm doing. They had my address. They had my phone number. They have my mother's maiden name and my social security numbers, both here and for the UK. But no, they couldn't be arsed. They didn't send me a card at my birthday, they didn't pop round at Christmas with a mince pie and some non denominational carols. What they did do was threaten me with legal action.
The only mistake I'd made in our relationship was that I'd stopped giving them money. I'd cut them off from my payslip, for the one simple reason that I don't get a payslip any more. Simple as that. If I was still getting a payslip, they'd be the fourth or fifth people to know, after Amazon and HMV and Schuh and eBay. If they had made the effort to get to know me at all, they'd've realised. But no. Only six short months after the last credit transaction had been made to my account, and they were after me, baying for my blood and/or the £450 sterling cash that I owed them.
Well, ladies, gents, davemum, I didn't stand for it for long. No. I did the only thing I could do in that situation: I asked my mummy to pay it off for me.
So, now I've learned my lesson. No trusting banks that make promises of overdrafts, bank loans, romantic weekend breaks, red roses or unlimited credit allowance. They'll only hurt you in the end. I swore that there would be no more reckless spending, that all would be kept in check, that I would be firmly in the black come Edinburgh time and that all my purchases for the month of August would be seriously thought through before carrying through the transaction.
And then last week I accidentally ordered series 4 and 5 of Buffy on DVD, along with Firefly.