I made a spur of the moment decision yesterday.
Frankly I was a bit pissed off with those damned solicitors and their tight arsed rules and requests. I just don’t like being thwarted.
As it happens, I was rooting around during the week, and what should I find but a Public Services Card belonging to Herself. I have no idea where it came from and have no memory of her even having got one but there it was, complete with a crappy foggy unfocused monochrome photograph.
So I phoned the solicitor and said I was calling over to collect my papers. He remembered me [what a surprise?] and said he couldn’t part with my papers until he had the correct documentation. So I listed off what I had – a letter to me from Revenue stating my name and address, a letter to Herself from her bank with her name and address and two Public Service Cards. There was a pause and he grudgingly admitted that they were sufficient. He didn’t sound too happy.
I trollied over through the usual heavy traffic, road works and other obstructions. I was in a mixed mood when I arrived. I rang the doorbell. The same bloke I had dealt with last week opened the door.
“You don’t have a mask on!” says he. He obviously doesn’t believe in formalities or polite protocol.
“I’m outside, outdoors” I replied.
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t deal with you unless you have a mask on.” I could see the little cunt was delighted to get one over on me again. He closed the door.
I strolled back to the car. I found a mask. It was in the glove compartment underneath the sweet wrappers and pipe ash and all the other shit that accumulates in a car. It was manky but it was a mask [of sorts]. It must be a good year since I last wore it. I put it on and went back to the doorbell.
Little Cunt answered the door again and his face fell. He knew he was bet.
You see, solicitors don’t get paid for holding papers. They make their dosh through making wills, conveyancing, probates and stuff like that. Holding papers means retaining the business, so they don’t like parting with them.
So I showed him the documentation he had specified and he grudgingly agreed it was sufficient. I signed a few papers to say I was in receipt of the stuff and he handed the file over. It was quite a large wodge of papers about two inches thick, with all the deeds, maps and transfers and stuff like that covering the last couple of hundred years. There was a hell of a lot of history there.
So I drove home happy.
Even the traffic snarls and roadworks didn’t bother me.
Please, please, give us his business address. He obviously needs the business and he needs all the good reviews.
Is there a Trapadvisor for his line of work?
I think if it were me collecting those documents I would be inclined to rip off the mask and cough all over the little shit.
(After checking to be sure they were all there of course.)
A moment of triumph!
I remember being in possession of house deeds for a short time before a bank took a charge over them. They made fascinating reading.
I once had dealings with a nosy Personnel Office,(I think it is called HR now ) who were demanding to see my Birth Certificate.It wasn’t the producing that annoyed me as the way in which it was being demanded. I happen to have two Certificates, one that was issued immediately when my father notified the Registrar that I had been born and the other issued when the NHS started . The first carries no mention of name of child or parents,simply that a male child had been born and the date of birth.the second has all the gory details with full names of child and parents.I took pleasure in showing them the first and they had to agree to accept it as that is what it said on the form in capital letters, BIRTH CERTIFICATE.
I hope you presented it with an extremely smug look on your face.