Correspondence #10: Hitachi Personal Finance

Mrs Tomlinson

Mrs Tomlinson starring Justin Hoffman and Jan Bancroft.

 

Ages and ages and ages ago I apparently took out a loan to pay for some sort of expensive item that, to this day, still has me completely baffled as to what it was. You can’t buy drugs with a loan, nor can you order the assassination of someone, therefore my guess is as good as yours as to what it could have been as there’s nothing much else that really piques my interest.

Today I was contacted by the company who loaned me the money and they asked why I hadn’t paid anything towards it for a couple of hundred months. Usually my stock response would be ‘because I don’t want to’ and then leave it to the bailiffs but fortunately the lady who I was corresponding with politely addressed herself as Mrs Tomlinson which I thought was reassuringly novel to be so archaically formal in such a brutally modern world.

So we exchanged emails and she resolved the matter at hand. Unfortunately she bluntly refused to refer to me as my preferred moniker (as you’ll see below) on future correspondence so despite the positive outcome of the exchange it did leave something of a bitter taste in my mouth. 

 

Message from HCCF EA Queries
10:49 AM

to me

Mr Peet

Please call Hitachi on 0344 375 5488 quoting ref 026%£&^91

Thank you

Hitachi Capital UK Ltd
2 Apex View
Leeds
LS11 9BH

Registered in Cardiff no. 1630491
Registered Office: Hitachi Capital House, Thorpe Road, Staines-upon-Thames, Surrey, TW18 3HP

Chris James Peet

11:07 AM
to HCCF

Dear Hititchy,

Many thanks for your friendly email.

Unfortunately I do not have an active telephone communication device due to the impending rise of the machines and subsequent enslavement by our AI superiors. I’ve seen Terminator 3 twice and I appreciated its message so this is just me being extra careful and staying off the grid like Jim Connor, future leader of the French resistance.

Please advise what it was you would like me to talk to you about. I enjoy sleeping, dancing around the living room to pop music and chatting on my telephone so my tastes are broad and varied.

Kind regards,

Chris

HCCF EA Queries

12:14 PM
to me

Mr Chris Peet,

Thank you for your email.

Please be advised your account is currently overdue for £214.16.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Regards,

Mrs Tomlinson
Senior Collections Agent

Chris James Peet

1:57 PM
to HCCF
Dear Mrs Tomlinson,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

Unfortunately, due to a breach in the Skynet mainframe towards the back end of last year, my bank account details were put in jeopardy and my entire life savings of -£33.50 were left exposed to potential hackers. I was then advised by the Resistance hierarchy to cancel and remove all standing orders and direct debits until such time it was safe to presume I had money in the account and they could be reactivated.

I explained all this to one of your T-600 model customer service advisers but due to their below par programming, poor Neuronet processor and penchant for playing Angry Birds instead of listening to what I was saying, the particular model I was corresponding with informed me to just restart the direct debit at my earliest convenience then hung up. Unfortunately I thought I was on hold and stayed holding the handpiece to my ear for the next three hours.

When I finally realised no-one was there and my ear had stopped tingling, I discovered much to my dismay upon doing my banking that this defective model had taken my bank account details, set up the direct debit himself and withdrew a payment from my account, knocking the account overdrawn and incurring charges to it totaling £60. Due to this malfunctioning system, I spent the following few days incurring additional telephone charges and tingling ears attempting to get the bank charges refunded to me. Sadly, my mission failed and I was left in severe debt due to the poor customer service skills, breach of data protection and borderline fraud that I experienced at the hands of your faulty T-600 CSA.

With this in mind, and by way of recompense, please accept my acceptance of your future offer to void the £214 still left to pay on the account. I used Skynet’s Time Displacement Equipment to check you were going to do this.

I trust this settles the matter.

Chris

HCCF EA Queries

4:25 PM (1 hour ago)
to me

Mr Chris Peet,

Thank you for your prompt reply.

I have looked into the matter and can confirm on 14 October 2016 you did provide us with a new address however, unfortunately, the agent you spoke with did not update this on your file. Please note, I have now amended our records to show your address as 1 F******** ****, D*****, D** ***.’ Please can you clarify this is correct.

Taking the above into consideration, I have removed all charges totalling £125. Please accept my sincere apology for any inconvenience this has caused and by way of compensating you,  I have issued your account with a credit for £50. With this in mind, the left outstanding is £39.16.

In relation to your comments regarding the customer service,  please advise by return if you would like me to open a complaint on your behalf.

Regards,Mrs Tomlinson
Senior Collections Agent

Chris James Peet

5:12 PM
to HCCF

Dear Mrs Tomlinson,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

I appreciate you looking into this matter, especially under such circumstances of having to deal with a faulty T-600 unit who not only failed to update my account with the relevant information, but presumably also gave you the false information regarding my address as the house number is completely incorrect. I suspect he is a double agent like Agent Sanderson out of that Keanu Reeves movie, The Scalextrix.

Though you have the street name and town correct, my house number is actually 75. Or should I say WAS 75. I don’t live at that residence any more as it’s been taken over by dark forces the likes of which you couldn’t even imagine. But I won’t bore you with my own personal drama as I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it. As it is, my address is now ** R*** ****, D*****, *** ***. Please forward all correspondence to this address marked for the attention of Batman.

Please allow me 21 days to clear the outstanding debt of £39.16 as I that’s when I’m due a lottery win or my wage manages to make it into my account, whichever comes first. Probably the former.

Kind regards,

Chris

 

HCCF EA Queries

5:25 PM
to me

Mr Chris Peet,

Thank you for your response and your understanding in this matter.

I can confirm I have updated your address and have sent confirmation of this in writing. Please be advised, all correspondence will be address to ‘Mr Chris Peet’, and not ‘Batman’.

As requested, I will put your account on hold until 31 January 2017 to allow you sufficient time for you to pay the outstanding balance of £39.16. Please note, you can make payments online by visiting us at my.hpf.co.uk or by calling us on 0344 375 5488 and making payment over the phone using a credit / debit card.  I trust this is satisfactory however please do not hesitate to contact me if I can be of further assistance.

Regards,

Mrs Tomlinson
Senior Collections Agent

Chris Peet

6.01PM
to HCCF

Here’s to you, Mrs Tomlinson…

To infinity and beyond!

To infinity and beyond!

Correspondence #9: Sky Bet

Addicted to penalty bets...

Addicted to penalty bets…

Everyone loves a bet. There aren’t many things that illicit such a heart-shitting thrill than risking all of your girlfriend’s life savings on a Gareth Bale hat-trick without her knowing then spunking the lot on drink and drugs.

This season my gambling success has been off the scale which is something of a relief because ever since my offspring arrived it’s been my sole source of income. Apart from benefit fraud and scratchcards. What really bothers me, however, is how long it takes a betting win to transfer from your betting account and into your bank account. According to the company I bet with – Skynet – it’s my bank’s fault that it takes a full working week for my winnings to fly through the air and nestle snugly into my extensive overdraft. This comes as something as a shock to be honest because when I transfer money from my bank into my Skynet account it switches instantaneously. I suspect Mafia involvement.

Anyway, the other day I transferred a massive £9 into my Skynet account and was dismayed to discover that £18 had instead been sent across, potentially decimating my overdraft and incurring the wrath of the bank charge. (Note: Incurring The Wrath of the Bank Charge is probably going to be the title of the autobiography that I plan to write when I die). I tweeted Skynet to find out what had gone wrong and apparently it was all my fault because everything is always my fault. I wanted some form of apology payment – perhaps a hot tip or a £500 complimentary top up to my betting funds – but they were having none of it.

To be honest, this correspondence isn’t even that interesting. I just want to brag about how well I’m doing when I spend my money – stolen or otherwise – on gambling, and win handsomely.

 

Overdrawerers

My mother’s actually called Ann, and she disapproves of my existence.

 

skynet-love-2

A learning computer…

 

skynet-love-3

Hillary Clinton FTW

 

Winner, winner, chicken fucking dinner, Arnie.

Winner, winner, chicken fucking dinner, Arnie.

 

I’d post more self-aggrandising images of betting wins but Skynet has apparently put a block on me using anymore bandwidth. Still, chippy teas all round…

 

The Truth About Parenting

Fatherhood: easy.

Fatherhood: easy.

I’ve been the parent of small offspring – a boy named Finn – for nearly 3 months now, and here’s a little titbit of advice and information for all human beings who have ruined their lives, or will end up ruining their lives – accidentally or otherwise – in the near future: parenting is fucking easy. At this stage at least. There isn’t a sodding thing about looking after a new-born baby in the first few months that should cause a functioning, fully-evolved homosapien to whinge to their mates that being a parent is hard work. It fucking isn’t. It’s piss easy.

Allow me to explain: there’s a myriad of issues to contend with where a newborn is concerned, all involving your offspring screaming at you. Where Laura sometimes finds Finn’s high pitched yodelling utterly oppressive, I find myself feeling quietly proud that our boy can sing a bit. The problem, of course, is figuring out why he’s crying, and how to remedy it. That’s the upsetting part: knowing he’s not happy about something. But, fuck, it isn’t difficult. Apart from a problem that may require medical attention, there’s basically a standard list of reasons why your offspring is whinging. Is he windy? Burp him. Does he need his nappy changed? Clean that shit up. Is he hungry? Get your tits out. Once you’ve figured out what it is, more often than not the little sod will shut his gob. Unless he has reflux or can’t have a shit for some reason. Both of these things our son has. At the minute he chokes himself out when he’s trying to back one out. It’s a harrowing scene. I know how I get when I can’t shit so Christ knows how this little blighter is feeling given that he doesn’t have a sodding clue what’s going on. I just let him squeeze my finger and pull that face the Incredible Hulk pulls when he turns into the Incredible Hulk.

Of course, this parenting lark can be frustrating and utterly bewildering. But so is going for a shit and realising there’s no bog roll left. Ultimately you just get on with it and fashion some shit wipes out of a flannel, the cardboard inner from the toilet roll, or your hand. You muddle through and deal with it. You can call parenting a great many things: loud, tiring, smelly, annoying, completely shit. But it isn’t difficult. What’s difficult is waking up in the morning and realising you’ve woken up. What’s difficult is learning to drive when you’re thick as pig shit. What’s difficult is going into work every day doing your utmost to not end up as one of those, ‘and then he turned the gun on himself’ kind of people. What’s not difficult is feeding, changing and entertaining your new born son or daughter. Granted, it kind of exhausts you which makes you moan a bit. But so does skulling nine pints while watching your beloved football team ship four goals every week. It tires you the fuck out but you do it anyway because you have to.

 

Father 2

I used to love getting pissed with my dad when I was 10

Which brings me on to the first of the two truths to this article –

Truth #1: parenting is easy. That’s been established. What isn’t easy – what’s excruciatingly difficult – is other. fucking. people. Don’t get me wrong, people mean well: they want to help, they want to visit, they want to buy your offspring clothes, they want to hold him for half an hour so you can go for a shit. Which is all great. The difficulty is trying to appease everyone’s sense of entitlement. While it’s wonderful having visitors in the hugely exhausting aftermath of the birth of your child, sometimes people forget that all you want after a night swimming in human faeces with a soundtrack that resembles a human torture chamber is not have another human being knock at your door with a pitying smile on their face and gifts that aren’t for you. Sure, you can ask them to come another time owing to the fact you can’t be fucking bothered with the small talk after a night on the shit but be prepared for a fully grown adult to spit their dummy when it should really be your kid doing all the dummy hoying.

It’s very apparent to me that the main problem is the actions or reactions of other people when you have offspring, not the baby itself. As I’ve mentioned, a baby does stuff it’s meant to do and you deal with it. Easy. What’s difficult and wildly disconcerting is adult human beings doing stuff that would be extremely uncomfortable or offensive if it was in a normal social context. I’ve had random strangers approach me on the street, perversely touching my arm and stroking my son’s head as if he was a dog while making cooing noises and saying how much he looks like me. I’m 6’4”. My son’s mere inches in length. I don’t wear babygros. My son doesn’t have size 12 feet. I have green eyes. My son has blue eyes. We look nowt like each other. Basically the only thing we have in common is that we both can’t grow a beard. I don’t need human beings – whom I dislike at the best of times – greeting me in the street as if we’re long lost pals, having completely forgotten what a social boundary is.

If my son completes any sort of normal human function such as crying, smiling, farting, shitting, grumbling, making a cup of tea, having a pint or doing the dishes, the knock-on effect and consequent overreaction of other adults is astounding. The level of unfettered fawning is just cloying. My son – as handsome as he is – looks like pulped mincemeat when he’s trying to push out a shit and no amount of sickly sweet-nothings will convince me otherwise. Trying to keep a fixed grin on your face while human beings spout shite about your offspring is utterly debilitating.

All this while trying to ensure everyone’s had enough cuddles with him, everyone’s chipped in their two cents with the parental advice, and they all know when they’re next going to see him. Christ on a crystal meth binge. At least with a baby there’s only one human to look after.

So let me be clear: looking after a baby – easy. Looking after grown ups – not easy.

Father & Son goals...

Father and son goals…

Truth #2: all of the above (with the exception of other people ruining things – this rings true for both parents) only applies to the father. For the father, parenting is a fucking doddle. This is because the father barely has to lift a frigging finger. Of course, there are standard parenting duties that all parents must adhere to: changing nappies, feeding, hearing it scream in the night, telling it to shut the fuck up etc etc. But mainly, the dad pretty much gets off Scott free.

If the bairn is crying to be fed countless times during the night it sure as fuck isn’t going to be the father who gets his flabby tits out to feed it. He’s going to slumber like the saggy ape he is and leave all the difficult work to the mother. If the baby is crying its arse off, there’s only so much a dad can do to placate the thing before he hands it over to the mother to sort out with her boobs or the TLC that the father hasn’t evolved enough to acquire. Basically, any excessive drama with their offspring and all dads know that the baby is going to end up in the mam’s arms until it’s fed or calmed. Spoiler alert: this is an intrinsic knowledge that all fathers have and know about. They’ll ultimately know that there’s going to be no final burden on them because it’ll always fall to the mother to sort things out. And they can go off for a shit, a beer, a sneaky tug in the bathroom, whatever.

With Laura breastfeeding, we’ve fallen into a routine where I get to do all the sleeping during the night while Laura has to stay up feeding, burping, changing and rocking Finn to sleep. Of course, I hear him shouting and squirming but I have the luxury of turning over and snoozing while she puts the graft in. So I get at least five hours sleep a night while she gets barely any. I suspect this is the case for most fathers with a breastfeeding partner. And if you’re a dad reading these past couple of paragraphs and deny these facts then you’re a liar and your penis is going to come loose.

If the stress of the 9 month pregnancy, the mood swings, the hormonal changes, the actual birth itself and the emotional days post-pregnancy weren’t enough for the mother, then the following months of unadulterated horror are truly excruciating while the main problems for the dads are moaning about only having six hours sleep, and missing the football on a Sunday afternoon because they have to spend it pulling faces at their offspring while covered in shit.

So there you have it, dads. Be thankful you have a (small) penis, and a deep voice. You’ve drawn the long straw. Now stop being a whinging piss-pot and rub her back more.

Love you.

 

 

Correspondence #8: British Gas

'Transfer me the moneyyyy! - a quote for all ages.

‘Transfer me the moneyyyy! – a quote for all ages.

Roger Moore is a towel thief. I’m quoting the great Alan Partridge here but for the purpose of this article it’s important to substitute the words ‘Roger Moore’ with ‘British Gas’, and ‘towel thief’ with ‘fucking thieving bastard’.

Apparently Laura has spent her entire adult life – that’s 50 years – trying to claim back the money she’s overpaid to British Gas for her household electric. Laura is quite the environmental crusader so has some of those shiny solar panels on the roof of our house which I always thought were just for show, or to convince people you cared about the environment when really you quite enjoy littering, and are vaguely impressed by huge oil spills that decimate the entire sea life in the North Atlantic. Amazingly, however, they actually work (my laptop is currently being powered by the Sun-God, Ra) and this caused all sorts of confusion to the top brass at British Gas who couldn’t understand the concept, and were baffled as to why our electricity usage was lower than they’d predicted.

Eventually, I decided to take on the case and politely asked them to give Laura her fucking money back because for months they just refused to hand it over. Given the robotic responses of each individual I spoke to, I’m convinced I was corresponding with an artifical intelligence of some sort. Perhaps a T-1000, but ideally Johnny-5.

N.B. As an added titbit of information, during this saga a British Gas meter reader came round to our house to read the meters, used our toilet and clogged it.

 

British Gas Customer Service <customer.service@contactus.britishgas.co.uk>
Jun 2
to me

Dear Miss Corrigan,

Thank you for letting us know that you wish to have a refund.

I’m sorry that you unable request refund form your online account.

I understand that the current balance on your electricity account is £1052.22 in credit. I do understand you should be able to request this refund without any error.

However, I would like to let you know, whenever we calculate your payment plan, we also consider available balance on the account.  This means, that your current credit balance is included in your payment plan.  This is the reason, when you request for refund system inform you that your payment amount will be incase.

Just to let you know, If you have a credit on your account at your annual review which is in mid October 2016 of £5.00 or more, we’ll automatically refund this back to you.

Please reply to my email, if you still wish to have a refund and I’ll be glad to assist you further. If you decide to have a refund then your payment plan will be re-started and payment amount can be increase or decrease.

I’m sorry that you have been unhappy with our service and have found it necessary to raise the complaint.  We appreciate all customer feedback as it enables us to continually improve the level of service that we provide to our customers.

Please get in touch by 16 June 2016 on the details above, so we can progress this for you.

If  you don’t need us to help or you’re happy that this is now resolved, you don’t need to do anything and I’ll make the arrangements to close your complaint on 16 June 2016.

If you’d like information about our complaints handling procedure you can view a copy by either going online at britishgas.co.uk/energycomplaints, or by getting in touch and one of our advisors will arrange to send you a copy free of charge.

Thank you for contacting British Gas.

Kind regards

Sunil Kshirsagar

Customer Service Advisor

 

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>
Jun 3
to British Gas

Dear Sunil,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

While I appreciate you taking the time to cut and paste large swathes of generic text from your ‘banal and pointless responses to irritating customers’ file into an email and clicking ‘send’, unfortunately the majority of your reply made no sense at all, and the bits that did make sense were irrelevant to the enquiry that I was making.

Call me unkind, but basing an electricity payment plan on the amount of available balance in the account is not only ridiculous but also vacuously stupid. I can’t even think of what it’s like being a new customer to British Gas what with not having any accrued credit at all. I should imagine the monthly payment should run into the millions. Similar to the way in which you treat your customers, I expect people revert to being Neanderthals, lighting small fires in their homes for warmth and murdering their neighbours for food. Given the excessive noise that our neighbours make, it’s quite possible that this could happen sooner rather than later.

In response to your information that come our annual review in October that any account credit over £5 will automatically be refunded to us, it makes sense to just cut out the waiting around time and pay us back the £1052.22 that you currently owe us straight away.

Please confirm this via email at your earliest convenience.

Kind regards,

‘Mr Corrigan’

 

British Gas Customer Service
Jun 4
to me

Dear Mr Corrigan

Thank you for your email about the Direct Debit payment plan.

I’m sorry that you aren’t happy with the previous reply.  I do understand that there should have been actual credit on your account which you able to request easily.

Upon checking your electricity account, I see that the payment plan is set up incorrectly.   Please don’t worry, I’ve now cancelled the payment plan. However, I see that we haven’t billed your gas account in last 28 days.  In order to send the refund, it’s necessary to bring your account up to date.

It would be great, if you’ll reply to my email with the current readings for both gas and electricity. Once I receive the readings, I’ll first bill the account then set up payment plan and send you refund.

I’ll give you calculation about how the credit balance adjusted against payment plan. I’ll also let you know, if I’ll be able to send you the refund. I’m sorry that this information wasn’t given to you in ealier email. It was never our intension to make our customers unhappy with our reply.

Mr Corrigan, I really want to help you and I assure you that I’ll set everything right for you. I also understand your annual review will be done by mid October 2016 which will be longer period to have a refund.

Furthermore, I see that you aren’t named on Miss Corrigan’s account. It would be great, if you’ll reply to my email with the scan copy of Letter of Authority duly singed by her. Once I have it, I’ll add you as a representative on the account so that you can contact us on behalf of her.

I’m sorry I’ve not been able to fully resolve your enquiry today. I’ll contact you again on 5 June 2016 to give you an update on my progress.

If you would like to review our Complaint Handling Procedure please visit our website or alternatively, reply to my email and I will arrange to send you a copy free of charge through the post. If you have any questions in the meantime, please don’t hesitate to reply to my email.

Thank you for contacting British Gas.

Kind regards

Sunil Kshirsagar
Customer Service Advisor

 

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>
Jun 6
to British Gas

Dear Sunil,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

Additional thanks for noticing that the payment plan has been set up incorrectly. Given my recent experience with British Gas in order to secure this long overdue refund which has included telephoning you 34 times, live-chatting on your website 12 times, chatting for an hour to a man who came to take our meter readings about what the best way to open a cupboard door is, and currently corresponding with you via email, it doesn’t surprise me that our account is in something of a mess. I suspect incompetence is just standard operating procedure at British Gas.

I’m intrigued to know exactly how the credit balance will adjust against the new payment plan. As I understand it, there’s £1052.22 in our account that we’ve overpaid and as I presume you’ll estimate what our electricity consumption will be over the next 12 months, I suspect a large portion of this money will magically disappear in order to reflect this hypothetical scenario. In 2014 I estimated that England would win the World Cup and gambled approximately four months wages to reflect my confidence in this hoping that the winnings would allow me to set up my own science lab like Walter Bright out of Breaking Brad, and perhaps one day come up with an alternative fuel source in order to bring the fossil fuel industry to its knees. Unfortunately England went out in the first round, as did a third of my annual salary from my SkyNet account, leaving me completely destitute and realising that clairvoyancy probably wouldn’t be a good career choice. Given that we’ve overpaid over £1000 to British Gas, I suspect your skills at predicting the future should amount to something similar.

With this in mind, once again I would like to request the full refund of £1052.22 that is in our account, along with any interest that British Gas has accrued on this money. Although the internet exists and I am currently on it, I couldn’t figure out what the current interest rates are so I asked the angry builders who are currently putting in a new downstairs toilet in our home. They said we’re due back another £500 on top of this and I for one won’t argue with them as they seem to be perpetually annoyed, and have poor taste in music and questionable views on the EU referendum. I would also assert that this additional interest payment we’re probably due will include the emotional distress of having to repeatedly correspond with a company that clearly doesn’t like us.

As requested, here are the latest gas and electricity readings, taken by the aforementioned gas and electricity meter reading man who visited our home earlier this month. He enjoys cupboards, using our toilet and taking gas and electricity meter readings.

Electricity: 91147

Gas: 1121

I hope this matter will be resolved and our full refund will be forthcoming because we’re running out of food.

Kind regards,

‘Mr Corrigan’

 

British Gas Customer Service
Jun 8
to me

Dear Chris

Thank you for your email about refund.

I’m sorry to know about your financial issues and you’ve not yet received the refund. I’m also sorry as you’ve to contact us numerous times to receive the refund. I regret that your impression of British Gas is not good at present and would like to assure you that this is not typical of the level of service we strive to provide.

Last we’ve annually reviewed the electricity account in mid of November 2015. At your annual review if your account is in credit by over £5.00, and the bill is to an actual meter reading, we’ll automatically refund the credit to you. As the account was not billed to an actual meter reading the refund was not sent automatically by our system.

Just to let you know, your payment plan runs for a year and we split your expected usage over equal instalments.  This means that in the summer you’ll usually pay more than you use to cover your higher winter usage.  It’s normal for you to build up credit or debit balances from time to time, these even themselves out over the course of your payment year. Our aim is for you to have a zero balance at the end of your payment year.

The reading confirmed by you of 91147(electricity) and 1121(gas) are same as confirmed on 1st June 2016. Please reconfirm your meter readings.

Also having checked the account details further, I see that the energy account for your address is solely registered in the name of Miss Laura Corrigan. Due to Data Protection Act I’m unable to discuss the account details with you and proceed with your request to send refund.

We’ll be happy to add you as nominee on the account holder’s energy account to make sure that we can discuss all  the account details with you in future.  Please reply to my email with the Letter Of Authority signed by the account holder so that we can add you as a nominee on the account.

I wish to resolve this matter as quickly as possible for you. Please get in touch by 22 June 2016 with the details above, so I can progress this for you.

If however, you don’t need us to help or you’re happy that this is now resolved, you don’t need to do anything and I’ll make the arrangements to close your complaint on 22 June 2016.

If you would like to review our Complaint Handling Procedure please visit our website or alternatively, reply to my email and I will arrange to send you a copy free of charge through the post.

We look forward to hearing from you.Thank you for contacting British Gas.

Kind regards

Kiran Jawale
Customer Service Advisor

 

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>
Jun 8
to British Gas

Dear Kiran,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

While I understand your insistence on repeating what has already been discussed in great detail via email, telephone, web chat and with a real life human being, I fear the circles we appear to be going in in order to get this resolved are becoming all too reminiscent of my current failings at learning to drive, specifically the many times I drive for whole hours in circles on the inside lane of a roundabout and being completely unable to exit at any point unless I drive into another car and run it off the road. Did you know if you crash into another car and cause extensive damage and injury you can’t just drive off into the sunset? I had no idea.

I’ve also taken the time – at no extra cost to you – to ask my girlfriend to add me as a VIP on the account in order to enable me to comprehensively meddle in her affairs. It should be noted here that she is 36 months pregnant therefore some of her communication with me was somewhat erratic and I was forced to place her in an arm-bar like the ones you see in UFC so I could get her to acquiesce to me being on the account. The below correspondence is a letter of authority discussion between me and my beloved with regards adding me to the energy account:

Me: ‘Hi, baby.’
LC: ‘Hi, baby. You are so handsome and sweet and wonderful. Thank you for spending 6 weeks of your life speaking to the British Gas people in order to get back the money that they stole from us.’
Me: ‘Thanks, baby. I’ll do anything for you. Will you give me access to your energy account so I can discuss it in more detail with Kiran and Sunil? I could really use £1000.’
LC: ‘What? Excuse me while I’m sick into the toilet.’
*waits*
Me:
‘Are you okay, baby?’
LC: ‘Not really. It’s tough being 36 months pregnant, you know.’
Me: ‘Enough about that. Where are we at with me having direct access to this £1000?’
LC: ‘What?’
Me: ‘Hey, baby. Have you ever watched the UFC?’
LC: ‘What’s that?’

I, Miss Laura Corrigan, hereby allow my beloved fiancé Chris James Peet, aka ‘Mr Corrigan’, full access to my British Gas & Electricity account.
Sincerely… Miss Laura Corrigan.

Finally, given your obvious displeasure at having to pay us back the money that we’re so obviously owed, would it be pertinent in this instance to simply cancel our account with you, pay off our final bill and reclaim the money that way? We’ve decided to revert to the ways of the Neanderthal man as per my original email and will be setting fire to all of our earthly possessions in order to keep us warm during the lonely nights, cook our pet fish as food, and perform naked ceremonial Pagan rituals to the Goddess of Gas & Electricity around a homemade bonfire in our living room in order for us to have a blessed summer.

Therefore, as we are going to be leaving British Crass then we’d like the full refund of £1052.22 to deposited into our account along with any accrued interest on this. I will send updated meter readings when I learn how to count.

I look forward to your Speedy Gonzales response.

Kind regards,

‘Mr Corrigan’

 

British Gas Customer Service
Jun 8
to me

Dear Mr Corrigan

Thank you for your email about the refund.

I’m sorry you’ve not yet received the refund and for the repeat contact this has caused.

I’m sorry for your driving concerns.

I’m sorry to know about Miss Corrigan’s health and for repeat contact this has caused.

I regret to inform you that, due to Data Protection Act we need the account holder to contact us or you can reply with the Letter Of Authority signed by Miss Laura Corrigan (account holder) so that, we can process your request for refund.

Also the reading confirmed by you of 91147(electricity) and 1121(gas) are same as confirmed on 1 June 2016. Please reconfirm your current meter readings.

I wish to resolve this matter as quickly as possible for you. Please get in touch by 22 June 2016 with the details above, so I can progress this for you.

If however, you don’t need us to help or you’re happy that this is now resolved, you don’t need to do anything and I’ll make the arrangements to close your complaint on 22 June 2016.

If you would like to review our Complaint Handling Procedureplease visit our website or alternatively, reply to my email and I will arrange to send you a copy free of charge through the post.

We look forward to hearing from you.

Thank you for contacting British Gas.

Kind regards

Kiran Jawale
Customer Service Advisor

 

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>
June 18
to British Gas

Dear Kiran,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

After taking your advice and once again contacted British Gas in order to secure this refund, I have now managed – via 14 customer service advisers, a lot of swearing and a mild heart attack – to be added to Miss Laura Corrigan’s energy account. It only took 7 hours being transferred between telephone operators and extensively clueless human beings in order to arrange this.

Once, when I was about 9, I was forced to watch a film entitled, ‘The Never Ending Story’, which was about a drunk flying goat who transported a small boy around space while reading a large dusty book that he would punch a lot. For a child, it was entertaining in a way that watching someone fall over in public and hurt themselves would be for an adult. Eye-opening, exhilarating and potentially bloody. It didn’t escape me, however, that the story did actually end after about an hour and a half which, looking back, was the biggest example of false advertising I’ve ever seen, and it scarred me for life.

Thankfully, due to the protracted nature of this correspondence with you, I am a believer once again in ‘The Never Ending Story’ saga only this time it’s called ‘The Never Ending Story Continues To Never End: The British Gas Years’. I think it’s a catchy title.

With contemporary film being the theme of this email, allow me to quote from another recent film in order for us to secure the £1052.22 that you’ve stolen from us. It’s from a movie entitled ‘Jenny Maguire’  which stars Tommy Cruise as a secret agent who steals money from one of his clients, Tuba Goody Jnrs.

‘Please transfer me the money! Please transfer me the money! TRANSFER ME THE MONEY! TRANSFER ME THE MONEEYYYY!’

It’s an excellent quote and food for thought too.

I expect a full refund will now be transferred into our bank account in due course.

Kind regards,

Chris ‘Mr Corrigan’ Peet

 

British Gas Customer Service
Jun 20
to me

Dear James Peet

Thank you for the enquiry you sent regarding a refund, I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you.

Unfortunately I am unable to help for the time being, as you are currently not named on the account, and as such I am unable to disclose any information regarding the account.

This is due to the Data Protection Act.

If you would like to be named on the account, please call us on 0800 048 0202* when you are with the account holder, so we can get permission to either speak to yourself, or add your name to the account.

Alternatively, you can send in a signed power of attorney letter from the account holder, with the account number and details, authorising you to be added to the account. This can be posted, or attached to an email. Our mailing address is:

British Gas, PO Box 227, Rotherham, S98 1PD.

Once you have been added to the account, or we have verbal permission from the account holder to discuss the account with yourself, we will be able to disclose any information you require.

I apologise for any inconvenience this may cause.

Please contact us should you need any help in the future and thank you for contacting British Gas.

Kind regards

Christopher Smith

 

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>
Jun 30
to British Gas

Dear Topher Smit,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

I apologise in turn for my tardy response but after receiving your latest email regarding not being named on the account after previously being added to the account by a dozen customer service advisers, I’ve spent the previous couple of weeks in a secure mental health facility.

While it must rank as one of the most satisfying aspects of your job, telling people to frack off in the most roundabout way possible doesn’t naturally appeal to me. I prefer to do it directly, especially if I’m doped up on all those drugs that I stole from the mental hospital.

With this in mind, it greatly pleases me to inform you that this is a sentiment that very much rings true as given the ongoing saga of securing the refund, a quality of customer service that ranks up there with having one’s head slowly crushed in a vice, and a quite astounding level of stupidity as standard operating procedure, I have no other alternative but to abandon ship and move to another energy supplier.

Thankfully, and via another four telephone calls to your helpline which included being hung up on three times, we have managed to secure the refund. I did this all by myself on the telephone despite not being on the account. When the adviser asked to speak the account holder I simply affected a voice similar to that of Marilyn Monroe when she serenaded JFK on his birthday, way back during the first world war. To be fair, anyone hearing that voice would be putty in their hands so I was able to close the account and acquire the funds that were due to us. As a watertight security measure, handing a phone over to the account holder to okay someone else to meddle with it is on a par with those watertight doors on the Titanic: fucking pointless. The ship sank, you know. I saw it once in a documentary with her out of that film she was in with Leonardo the Caprio. I hope this explains the reference of me abandoning ship. I own my own lifejacket.

Anyway, as much as it upsets me to finally end this correspondence, I am now ending this correspondence.

Frack the frack off.

Kind regards,

James ‘Mr Corrigan’ Peet

A Wrong’un On The Road: The Final Journey

'Tree-folk person'

‘Tree-folk person’

 

‘You’ve given it a go but maybe driving just isn’t for you?’ – my mother.

‘How can’t you do it!?’ – my brother, Anthony.

‘I don’t understand! You’re not usually this thick. How can’t you drive?!’ – my mate, Emma.

‘Driving’s fucking easy. What’s wrong with you?’ – my best mate, Phil.

‘Slow, turn, TURN, STOP, STOP! STOPPPP! STOP NOW! BRAKE! BRAKE! JESUS!’ – my loving fiancée, Laura.

These are just a handful of comments I’ve received from some of my nearest and dearest in relation to my overblown, protracted and quite ridiculously inept attempts at learning to drive. In all honesty I thought I’d have killed myself on the road by now, and by that I mean in a fit of bug-eyed frustration whereby I’ve flipped and high-tailed the car at 80mph off the side of a bridge – the irony being that I wouldn’t know what sodding gear it was meant to be in in order to reach 80mph. As it is I’ve struggled through with only a few minor scrapes, just the two crashes, a handful of deranged looking drivers throwing various hand signals at me, a hopeful confidence that has been well and truly crushed, and a bank account that spits bile at me whenever I attempt to withdraw money from it to pay for a lesson.

Those above quotes are pretty representative of just how bewildered I am at my inability to learn the basics of driving. It’s utterly infuriating that I don’t have a sodding clue what I’m doing especially when I see some of the half-evolved fuckwits that currently patrol the roads in their souped up little shitwagons. I hate to spaff on my own ego here but how come some post-pubescent pisspot with a face so smug you’d happily punch it every day until the end of time can whizz around in their pimp-mobile with one finger on the steering wheel and fly into a parking space with perfect precision at 65mph while I spend about 15 minutes attempting to adjust my seat, start the car and move away before stalling at the first junction? It’s a desperately infuriating state of affairs that my brain just refuses to engage with the concept of driving.

Imagine driving with just one hand on the wheel. Fucking cartoon show off fuck.

Imagine driving with just one hand on the wheel. Fucking cartoon show off fuck.

The way I’m braying on about it, anyone stumbling across this post would understandably presume I’ve only had about a half-dozen lessons and that I’ll eventually get the hang of it so it’s probably pertinent to leave a reminder here that I’m 36 lessons in. Thirty-six. That equates to about 60 hours worth of tuition with various instructors, all of whom are baffled, shocked or a combination of both that I can only pull away at junctions 50% of the time, repeatedly drive through red lights because I’m too busy staring at my feet wondering how my left foot has ended up on the accelerator, or constantly swerve across lanes as if I’ve spent the preceding few hours mainlining whisky into my basilic vein. In all seriousness, it depresses me that I’m completely unable to grasp the fundamentals of manoeuvring a car especially when I’m a fabulous passenger driver. I can see idiocy and dangerous driving a mile off yet when I decide to drive a car I’m the epitome of it. It’s like I undergo a small but vicious lobotomy the minute I put the key in the ignition.

After 60 hours of driving tuition I still struggle to put the car into the correct gear resulting in it spewing out a noise similar to what I can only presume is the automobile equivalent of hocking up a massive pile of phlegm and regurgitating it onto the road; whenever I approach a junction or roundabout I’m unable to prevent the car going into what I call ‘judder mode’ whereby the car shakes relentlessly as I’ve no idea what gear it’s meant to be in, and suggests I’d be much more at home driving a car on the dodgems at the funfair; parking has become an exercise in absolute embarrassment as I have zero spatial awareness, and it’s still absolutely mesmerising to me that humans can manoeuvre a car into a small rectangular shape without slamming it into an adjoining parked vehicle – my parking attempts consist of eight to ten manoeuvres, three stalls which include knocking the wipers on and off multiple times, and several bumps of the kerb and anyone who happens to be walking near it, spread out over two parking spaces. It’s ritual humiliation and I’m actually paying hard cash for it.

The most recent indignity involved a roundabout, a tractor, my instructor grabbing the wheel shouting ‘fuck!’ at the top of his lungs, a lot of screaming on my part, and the car thumping into the huge tractor wheels before we spluttered to the side of the road whereby I ended the lesson early and returned home to empty the drinks cabinet. I don’t think driving was meant to be this cumbersome.

One of the more annoying aspects of being this far into failing at learning to drive is the relentless positivity from other human beings about my progress, or lack thereof. It’s quite impressive the level at which people dismiss my concerns and overall fears when even thinking about actually getting inside a vehicle, let alone attempting to drive the bastard. If one more person suggests I’m better than I think I am, that it’ll all just click into place, that I should just stick with it, that I’ll get there eventually, or that it’ll all be worth it in the end, then I’m quite happy to go all Michael Douglas in Falling Down and unload on them with a hastily made sawn-off and a lot of sweating and pontificating about how bad the burgers are in my local fast food restaurant. What these bad prats don’t realise is that I’ve developed such a fear of cars that I now develop nausea whenever a car pulls up outside of my house lest I panic and think someone will knock on the door and ask me to drive it for some reason. I’m actually hypothesising imaginary scenarios involving having to move a car from A to B. That’s not good. The last driving lesson I had I politely asked my instructor if I could just sit in the passenger seat, watch him drive and learn that way instead of actually driving. He looked at me as if I’d just been sick on his lap, and bundled me into the driving seat as if I was being kidnapped.

Of course, the upsetting thing about all of this is that I actually want to drive. I want to be able to get around town without having to rely on public transport and the consequent guarantee that I’ll be accompanied on the bus journey by a 15 stone human sasquatch who slams his globulous frame right next to me, smells of wet dog and keeps inadvertently touching me with his fat arse each time the bus goes round a roundabout. I can do without all that malarkey.

This is something of a serious and sobering blog post as it’s the end of an era for me. An era that’s cost me my dignity, my finances, my patience, temperament and sanity, any semblance of confidence I once had, and a highly attuned hatred of anything that’s able to drive a car. Obviously I’m not bitter at all. Obviously. That would just be silly. Silly and immature. Silly and immature and pathetic. But fuck you, you petrolhead fucks.

As a postscript, I’ll leave you with this quote and clip from the existential genius, Mark Corrigan of Peep Show:

‘That’s it. I resign. I give up. No more lessons. The machines have won. I shall take to the hills and live with the tree-folk people’.

Correspondence #7: BPO Collections

The 'show me the money!' scene from Jerry Maguire.

The ‘show me the money!’ scene from Jerry Maguire.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been hounded by angry collection agencies or bailiffs. Once, after repeatedly forgetting to pay my drug dealer for a large stash of illegal drugs, he sent what I could only presume to be a bailiff round to my house to collect the debt that way. I’d read that you should never open the door if a bailiff comes calling but thankfully I was on the toilet and in some distress when he arrived so I couldn’t make it to the door anyway. There was a lot of knocking and he tried the handle a few times but I literally couldn’t budge from the toilet without fainting so he got bored and left after about an hour. I later learned he was a psychotic and heavily armed thug and was attempting to remove the door from its hinges in order to get me but was scared off by the little old lady next door turning on her telly at 10,000 decibels. That’s all definitely a true story.

The below correspondence is a obviously an equivalent digital version of the above anecdote.

 

Our Client: British Telecom
BPO Reference No: 110033010
Principal Sum: £38.06
Administrative Fee: £7.61

29/03/2016

Dear Mr Chris Peet

We refer to the above and are writing to advise that our client has instructed BPO Collections Ltd (“BPO”) to recover the outstanding amount of £38.06 owed to them. Please be aware that British Telecom has passed the account to BPO to collect the full outstanding balance and request that all payments be made directly to BPO.

Whilst this account remains unpaid, details are being registered with one or more Credit Reference Agencies. Failure to settle your account or enter into a repayment plan may significantly affect your chances of obtaining credit in the future.

Payment may be made by

  • Calling BPO and speak to one of our trained advisors where you can pay by Card or set up a Direct Debit
  • Calling our 24hr Automated Payment Line
  • Pay by Card online at www.bpopay.co.uk
  • Online Banking / Bank Transfer, Royal Bank of Scotland, Sort Code ********, Account Number ******** quoting your BPO reference number
  • Please send Cheques / Bankers Draft / Postal Orders to our address

If you are experiencing difficulty in making these repayments please see below for useful websites and contact details that provide free advice.

If you wish to speak to one of our trained advisors please contact our office on 0141 375 0900.

Citizens Advice Bureau
0844 111 444,
www.citizensadvice.org.uk

StepChange
0800 138 1111 FREE, www.stepchange.org

National Debtline
0808 808 4000 FREE, www.nationaldebtline.co.uk

Yours Sincerely

Graham Rankin
Managing Director
BPO Collections Ltd

—–

From: Chris James Peet
Sent: 31 March 2016 09:34
To: BPO Collections (BT)
Subject: Re: Important Information regarding your British Telecom Account – Please Do Not Ignore

Dear C3P0 Connections Ltd,

Many thanks for your friendly email.

With reference to an angryface email I’ve received from British Telecom regarding an unpaid debt of £38.06 I’m apparently liable for, I was actually advised to contact you to discuss my financial circumstances until you kindly contacted me yourselves with lots of bold words, digital signatures and love. Given my general hatred of human beings and telephones as well as my inability to count to anything higher than the number of fingers I have on my hands, I much prefer to use email correspondence as opposed to dialling and then speaking to someone on the blower. Due to years of recreational drug abuse, my slightly slurred speech would simply be annoying to whoever I was speaking to.

According to the ubergruppenfuhrers at BT HQ, several reminders about the above debt were sent to me, although the aforementioned head honchos neglected to inform me what type of reminders these were. I should only presume they were letter reminders which may be something of a problem as I no longer live at the address at which my BT account was active which means they’ll be sitting unopened and unloved on the floor of my former residence, perhaps wondering what they’ve done to deserve this neglect. The new tenant there certainly hasn’t forwarded them to me which is understandable as I never forward post that is addressed to previous residents. Usually they go straight in the bin or used as emergency toilet paper unless they were birthday cards in which case I’d open them, pocket any money that was inside then blue tack the cards to the wall to make it look as though it was my 5th birthday.

I apologise for not receiving the reminders but now that I know I am in debt I will endeavour to make payment at the earliest opportunity. While my financial circumstances don’t currently stretch to £38.06 I would be happy to discuss other ways in which to clear this. At present I am funding my drug habit by pilfering money from the petty cash at work and given how lax the security is at the office coupled with my questionable moral compass, I am more than willing to take an additional few notes if it will help resolve this debt. Please let me know if this would be acceptable.

I’ve also added an administrative fee of £19.80 to cover the cost of sending this email and should expect this to be deducted from the total debt.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Kind regards,

Chris

—–

On Thu, Apr 14, 2016 at 10:28 AM, BPO Collections (BT) wrote:

Good Morning

Thank you for your email. We are glad to hear that you are looking to get this resolved with us.

However the £19.80 administration fee you mentioned does not alter the balance as this charge is not mutually agreed in a court of law. Furthermore, theft is not an advisable way to clear the balance.

Can I please ask you to fill out the attached income and expenditure form and return it to myself via email. This is just to ensure that this payment is financially suitable for yourself and is not going to cause financial hardship. Can you please also advise if all priority bills are up to date at the moment.

Once this is received I will review your incomings and outgoings and put your repayment arrangement in place. I will send you an email with confirmation of your arrangement.

In the meantime I have placed your account on hold for 7 days to allow you time to fill in and resend the attached form.

Please be aware failure to contact ourselves after 7 days will result in your account going in to default and further contact will be made either by email\letter. telephone call or text.

If you have any queries, please do not hesitate to contact myself.

Yours Sincerely,

Jordan Millington
Administration Assistant
BPO Collections Limited

—–

From: Chris James Peet
Sent: 14 April 2016 15:58
To: BPO Collections (BT)
Subject: Re: Important Information regarding your British Telecom Account – Please Do Not Ignore

Dear Jordy,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

I am glad to hear that you are glad to hear that I am looking to get this resolved with you. I appreciate you reducing the balance by £19.80 but if you could round it up to £20 to simplify things for me when it comes to figuring out the final debt owed that would be much appreciated. I feel my arithmetic skills are sharp because I regularly play darts but just to be clear that with the £20 reduction the current £38.06 debt will now be £12.50? Many thanks for confirming this as it will be a lot easier to pay off.

As requested I have printed out and filled in the expenditure form that you attached. I have sent it via Royal Mail, and, because I’ve seen the Back To The Future trilogy at least once and have a poster of Doc Emmett Brown on my bedroom wall despite how much this upsets my girlfriend, I have ensured that it will be delivered by the DeLorean time machine as seen on TV. I will post it tomorrow at 88mph so you should receive it last week and this will cut out a lot of the waiting around time. This is all at no extra cost to you apart from the aforementioned £20.00 which you have agreed to waive.

I extend additional thanks for placing my account on hold for 7 days while I endeavour to resolve this. According to Craig David’s seminal 2000 chart hit ‘7 Days’, during this period of time he met a girl on the Monday, took her for a drink on Tuesday, made love on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday then chilled on the Sunday. I expect he wasn’t worrying about an unpaid BT bill either as this might have affected his performance. I won’t hold out much hope for a week like that so the best that I am expecting is the agreed reduction of the debt to £12.50, and I hope to pay this in due course.

I trust this will settle the matter.

Kind regards,

Chris

—–

On Fri, May 6, 2016 at 10:47 AM, BPO Collections (BT) wrote:

Good Morning,

Thank you for your recent correspondence.

I can confirm that we have not agreed to lower the balance and the full total outstanding is £38.06.

Just in-case my previous email was misunderstood, I have sent out the income and expenditure form to establish affordability on any payments you make.

Due to the terms and conditions of your BT contract the full balance is fully outstanding and you are legally liable for £38.06.

We are keen to see how you are looking to resolve this balance. Your account is currently on hold to await your response till the 21/4/16.

After this time the account will go back to on-going and further contact will be made either by call/letter/text/email.

Any further queries don’t hesitate to contact me.

Yours Sincerely,

Jordan Millington
Administration Assistant
BPO Collections Limited

—–

From: Chris James Peet
Sent: 6 May 2016 11:33
To: BPO Collections (BT)
Subject: Re: Important Information regarding your British Telecom Account – Please Do Not Ignore

Dear J-Mill,

Many thanks for your friendly reply which has taken a month to arrive. I can only presume there was a disruption in the space time continuum for it to have taken this long to arrive. When I sent my expenditure form via the DeLorean time machine it ended up in 1955 at Lorraine Bain McFly’s house and not in your inbox as previously confirmed. Many apologies for this.

Once again I extend my thanks for you agreeing to reduce the outstanding balance to £10 as per my previous email. This is a big help. With regard your keenness to see how I’m looking to resolve this balance, I have spent three days with my hand down the back of the settee searching for spare change and although I’ve only discovered 12p I did find the remote control for the television which had been missing for two months. This came as a huge relief to my girlfriend as she was sick of having to stand up and walk to the TV every time I wanted the channel changed which is about fifty times an hour due to my extremely low attention span. Plus she’s nearly eight months pregnant so the repeated effort of standing up and sitting down was causing her breathing difficulties. One night she said she was too tired to make my tea because of it which is just plain selfish.

Thanks also for holding the account balance until 21st April 2016 when you will once again set it loose on me. As your email arrived on 6th May I can only presume the email delays in the space time continuum are currently prolonged and extensive. I have emailed Dr Emmett Brown at Tech Support to see if he can help us out.

In the meantime, I am close to being able to clear the balance. If I add the sofa 12p to my current savings it means I will have approximately £2.50 which is only another £2.50 away from having the full amount.

Would you like me to pay this half of the balance now? I have my own chequebook, pen and signature.

Kind regards,

Chris

—–

On Tue, May 17, 2016 at 11:18 AM, BPO Collections (BT) wrote:

Good Morning,

Thank you for your email.

I would advise that you take this situation seriously. Failure to clear the outstanding balance could result in a negative credit rating and additional charges so it is in your best interest to make a payment as soon as possible.

We cannot accept ‘spare change from the back of the settee’ as a payment plan, nor has the balance been reduced to £5. You are still liable for the full amount of £38.06.

If you are having trouble paying the balance then please don’t hesitate to contact me as I will be able to help you set up a payment plan.

Yours sincerely,

Ben Kibble
Admin. Supervisor
BPO Collections Limited

—–

From: Chris James Peet
Sent: 17 May 2016 11:33
To: BPO Collections (BT)
Subject: Re: Important Information regarding your British Telecom Account – Please Do Not Ignore

Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope…

—–

On Fri, May 20, 2016 at 13:06 AM, BPO Collections (BT) wrote:

Dear Mr Peet,

With reference to the ongoing correspondence with BPO Collections regarding your outstanding balance of £38.06, please be aware that your account will remain on hold until such time that you are able to comfortably make payment in line with your current financial circumstances.

Please do not hesitate to contact us with regards this payment at your earliest convenience.

Yours sincerely,

Ben Kibble
Admin. Supervisor
BPO Collections Limited

—–

From: Chris James Peet
Sent: 20 May 2016 15:22
To: BPO Collections (BT)
Subject: Re: Important Information regarding your British Telecom Account – Please Do Not Ignore

Dear Obi Wan Kenobi,

Many thanks for your friendly reply.

By the time I have acquired enough funds to pay the balance, apes will have taken over the planet so I will send a monkey foot soldier with a bag of bartered gold to pay the bill.

I trust this will finally settle the matter.

Hail Caesar!

Kind regards,

Chris

 

 

5 Ways Children Change Your Life… For The Worse

As you’re no doubt unaware, it’s gone completely unnoticed that I’d decided to take a few weeks off writing and updating this blog, mainly because I fucking hate every aspect of maintaining one and there are far more pressing concerns to attend to such as crashing my instructor’s car into random tractors during my driving lessons, and achieving my dream of quitting my job without another one lined up. Added to this is the fact that time as we know it is currently very much the same therefore it’s getting closer and closer to Laura squeezing a small baby out of her hoo-ha that I’m told I might well have to look after, and that one day, I fear, may grow to kill me.

So, as you can imagine, my intermittent life at present doesn’t leave much time for such things as writing shit for the internet. Thankfully, all is not lost as there is a human being who is very much on a par with me in regard to hating the world, everyone in it and society’s disappointing lack of enthusiasm to embrace the apocalypse in whatever form. His name is Jonjo and we became firm friends many years ago because of drugs. Which is how most true friendships start because who else wants to interact with another human being while sober? Fuck that.

Jonjo has very kindly agreed to write a guest post about parenting because, as a parent of at least one child that we’re aware of, he knows what’s what when it comes to navigating the terrifying waters of parenthood, the disturbing human beings that new parents encounter and the general gist of realising that all children are vicious little bastards.

My gracious thanks go to Jonjo, his facial hair and all those nights when we took our tops off and hugged.

CJP

______________________________________________________________________________________________

5 Ways Children Change Your Life… For The Worse

Words: Jonjo McNeill

Who told you you could eat my cookies?

Who told you you could eat my cookies?

One thing I noticed when reading this blog is that the author is expecting a child to claw its way out of his other half’s vagina in the near future. This is understandably distressing news for any human as it means certain lifestyle changes need to be implemented. For me it was going from smoking crack every evening after work to smoking crack every morning on the way to work. One must adapt. If I was expecting a child the last thing I’d want to do is read the millions of articles and books intended to prepare you for the most seismic change you’ll know in your life. They’re all the same – start off with a bit about how you’ve read the books, decorated the bedroom, blah blah blah, followed by some terrifying statistics and concluded with a sickly sweet monologue extolling the virtues of fatherhood/motherhood, all designed to project some sort of bullshit persona that doesn’t exist anywhere in the world.

If you’re up the duff, or dealing with a housemate who is, read this article, which is designed specifically to scare the living shit out of anybody with a soon-to-be-living mini-shit by telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the fucking truth.

Here are five ways children change your life…FOR THE WORSE.

 

5. People Insist On Coming To Your House

Don't answer the door...

Don’t answer the door…

The first thing on your mind when bringing your child home for the first time is how to fill the rooms, and time you savour, with as many people as possible. Day one might be okay – siblings, parents, your dealer – but after this it’s an unending procession of unwanted box-tickers going through the motions, repeating words like “eyes” and “nappies”. They all bring presents as well – but not good presents. They bring something they picked up on the way, like clothes for a 4 year old of the opposite sex. Or the same book three other people brought you BECAUSE THEY LOVED IT AS A CHILD. What you really want is some hard liquor, cigarettes or a hilarious baby-sized t-shirt from somethingvicious.com.

When not under siege from what some people call ‘friends and family’, you find yourself doorstepped by do-gooders from the authorities, who will come in your house, strip your child naked and force them to sit on a cold metal platform to check their weight. They call them ‘health visitors’ but really they’re undercover police bastards, there to determine who deserves to have a child and who should be thrown in the river with the other junkies.

It’s bad enough that the youngling is invading your privacy.

 

4. An Alien Comes Out Of A Woman (And Turns You Into A Cannibal)

Breakfast

Breakfast

I’m not talking about the baby, although yes. Rather I refer to the placenta – a big lump of body-matter that slops out of the torn genitalia moments after the child, growling and trying to attach itself to the nearest human face in order to doom mankind to a future ruled by acid-spitting space bastards. Nobody prepares you for the sight of that thing. Also, it stinks. Some lunatics actually eat this foreign body, claiming it is full of nutrients (much like a hilarious seasonal jumper from somethingvicious.com). The fact of the matter is, you’re eating human matter. You’re a cannibal.

 

3. Something The Size Of A Baby Takes Up An Entire House

Weapons. Always with the weapons.

Murderous little sods

Here are a list of just some of the things you are led to believe you need to raise a child in your home:
▪       A wooden prison cell
▪       A plastic bathtub to put inside your perfectly usable regular bathtub
▪       A machine that boils water and steams bottles
▪       A suction cup to remove breast milk
▪       A bottle to store removed breast milk
▪       A machine to clean the bottles and breast pumps
▪       Carton upon carton of powdered milk substitute for when the breasts and/or breast pump don’t do the trick
▪       All of the nappies
▪       A lock for your stash tin
▪       An attractive hoodie from somethingvicious.com
▪       High shelves to put everything that could be broken on (everything can be broken BTW. Get big shelves)
▪       A car seat
▪       A pushchair
▪       A smaller pushchair
▪       Child proof lighters
▪       Shitloads of something called ‘muslin’
▪       Arse cream
▪       Scented shit-bags
▪       Talcum powder
▪       A special set of drawers with a crap-proof mat on top
▪       Enough tiny clothes for circa nine changes a day

That’s what you’ll need for the first ten minutes. After that you’re on your own.

Fortunately, you can make space by selling your own bed, as you’ll be sleeping in a bus seat, in the office toilets or in your own back garden for the next six months.

 

2. You’re Suddenly Responsible For Another Person’s Finances

Little shits...

Some folk give your bairn money as a present. Don’t make the mistake I made and spend it on witty mugs from somethingvicious.com, as the giver will in all likelihood take offence. Apparently, any money given to new parents is to be placed in a trust fund to help the child out in the future. Now, call me a nit-picker, but surely the child must actually make it into the future for that money to be any use whatsoever? How can that child be expected to live up to 18 years if I can’t spend his child trust fund on lottery tickets, jazz mags and exotic European lagers? A happy dad is a happy child. Remember those words.

 

1. JUDGE, JUDGE, JUDGE, JUDGE.

Fuck. The. Fuck. Off.

Fuck. The. Fuck. Off.

The worst thing about having a child – worse than the constant smell of shit, worse than the average 12 minute sleep per night, worse than the hormones and the hunger and the exhaustion and the absolutely crippling withdrawal symptoms – is the feeling of eyes burning holes into you at every opportunity. YOU’RE HOLDING HIM WRONG. YOU SHOULDN’T TICKLE HIS FEET. YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE HE SLEEPS ON HIS SIDE. OR BACK. OR FRONT. OR SUSPENDED FROM THE CEILING. BREAST IS BEST! BREAST IS WORST! EITHER IS FINE! LOOK AT THAT POOR BOY’S SHOES. WHAT’S THE RASH ON HIS FACE? HOW COME YOU HAVEN’T CLEANED THAT SICK OUT OF HIS HAIR? IT’S FREEZING, WHY ISN’T HE WEARING A SOMETHINGVICIOUS.COM SWEATER? It goes on, and on, and on. Eventually you’ll stop caring, but it’s a shit feeling when you’re waiting for someone to send that intrusive nanny bastard off the telly round to take your son away and set fire to your hair.

So there you are. A little island of truth in a vast sea of positive-thinking bollocks. Having a kid is great, but not for the first 6-12 months when basically you’re looking after the shittest puppy in the world. Enjoy your pregnancies and your 24 hour labours because that little fucker’s main goal until its first birthday is to make you unlearn everything you know about how to enjoy life successfully.

See you in 18 years, chump.

 

In grateful thanks to comrade Jonjo.

You might not know this but Jonjo runs a spectacular online t-shirt empire at www.somethingvicious.com. He’s like the Walter White of t-shirt cartels except he has more hair and hasn’t killed as many people.

5 Fears I Have About Fatherhood

Father and Son

Since learning that my fiancee Laura is definitely, thoroughly, 100% wazzed up with a small, developing foetus whose sole hobby at present appears to be to make Laura as uncomfortable, ill and exhausted as possible, I’ve found that the impending fatherhood that’s hurtling towards me faster than when Laura’s little boy Max sprints at me with his lightsaber drawn and teeth bared is starting to stir up latent fears that I never even knew existed. Fears, I suspect, that only (would-be) parents are able to understand. As this is the first time I’ve ever experienced the unmerciful worry of expecting a child and all that it entails, it’s slowly starting to dawn on me that this unmerciful worry might not be buggering off and leaving me alone any time soon, and, in fact, is only just getting started.

As a misanthropic human being who finds the majority of human beings, myself included, irrationally stupid and irritating, you can imagine my slack-jawed surprise at discovering I’ve inadvertently created one of my own owing to our over-reliance on the rhythm method. That’s probably far too much information but the point I want to make is that impending fatherhood has caused me to conjure up anxieties that can emphatically remove one’s ability to think in a rational or cohesive manner. The slow but unremitting descent into parental madness has already begun, mostly when I’m sitting at my desk at work, scoffing crisps I’ve half-inched from the vending machine, and staring into the middle distance while the words ‘parent’, ‘dad’, and ‘what. the. actual. fuck’ do a tormenting dance of doom round my head.

Fear. All of the fear. All of it.

Fear. All of the fear. All of it.

Fortunately, I’m currently in the middle of an extensive training programme with Max and I’m quickly learning the ins and outs of upcoming dadhood. I’ve discovered with some aplomb that discussions with a small child don’t necessarily have to involve a conversation as such; more a frenetic rap of improvised words and half sentences spoken at 400mph and usually referencing a toy weapon, a heavily-sugared treat or an assiduous analysis of a favourite Ninjago character. Another startling revelation is how the space-time continuum dramatically alters whenever I’m dragged into the living room by way of a tight fist around my thumb in order to play some elaborately imagined game. Spending whole hours of your time breathlessly staggering around a room in the throes of a Star Wars Lego battle, while under strict rules that forbid you to use any Lego model other than that with which you’ve been carefully assigned, is immensely dispiriting when you realise that the whole hours you think you’ve been doing this actually amount to a grand total of about twelve minutes. It’s mind-blowing.

I’ve made peace with the unavoidable fact that whenever I’m in the bathroom it’s going to be accompanied by a symphony of relentless knocks on the door with cries of, ‘can you come and play yet?’ I’ve come to terms with being used as a climbing frame when I’m minding my own business on the settee and Max is in a playful mood, clambering all about my person simply because he can. I absolutely adore the sound of his laughter and the spontaneous hugs he bestows upon me. Thanks to his tutoring I’d like to think that I’m well on my way to completing my apprenticeship in modern parenting.

Unfortunately, this valuable training course doesn’t provide skills on how to cope with fear, worry and anxiety when faced with the undiluted terrors of pregnancy, childbirth and the resulting lifetime of ‘what the fuck do I do now?’ In fact it exacerbates them. Spending time with Max is telling me all I need to know about just how frigging terrifying this is all going to be, not only from the obvious natural concern that he’s going to be okay every single day of his life, and if he’s safe, happy and healthy, but other stuff too such as, ‘am I playing this game with him correctly?’, or ‘is he having fun with me today?’, or ‘does he hate me for refusing to allow him to tip the entire tub of fish food into the tank because he thinks the fish look particularly hungry?’ Traversing this minefield of anxiety is overwhelming. Of course these may sound like trivial concerns but until you’ve experienced the fallout from providing a small child with the incorrect plate at dinner then you have no base from which to judge.

General fears and worries about actually being a parent are slowly but viciously beginning to take over my life so I’ve put together a list of the ones I think are the most shit-my-pants inducing:

 

The Health Of Mother & Baby

Just healthy.

Just healthy.

Given what Laura’s currently going through with this pregnancy there isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not scrolling through horror stories on the interweb about the worst case scenarios of pregnancy and childbirth. It’s chilling reading. I spend at least a whole day a week at work trawling through articles about what to look out for, what to do, how often to check this, that and the other when reading about some awful ailment that can befall a mother and her unborn child.

In fact, about a month ago, after discovering how to dispense free espresso from the coffee machine at work and helping myself to about 19 cups, I began reading a terrifying article about a woman who gave birth to a 400lb baby sideways that killed her, and I suddenly developed severe palpitations, a thick sweat that ran down my back like a layer of frost, and extremely worrying breathing difficulties. Thankfully I was calmed down by my workmates who dismantled the coffee machine and installed parental controls to Google that blocked all internet searches that included the words ‘pregnancy’, ‘fatherhood’ and ‘complications’, as well as the words ‘Brad’ and ‘Pitt’ given what they found in my internet history.

When it comes to Laura giving birth, the only thing I care about is the health of Laura and the baby. Boy, girl, hairless, hairy, screaming, laughing, covered in ectoplasm, not covered in ectoplasm, I don’t care. The only words I want to hear are, ‘mother and baby are doing well’.

 

Financial Fears

This is just part and parcel of being a parent I reckon.

This is just part and parcel of being a parent I reckon.

Presently, I work almost full time in a job that only pays when the overweight HR lady decides to log out of Facebook for long enough to run my hours through the payroll system. Consequently I spend a large amount of work time opening the vending machine cash boxes, taking large handfuls and replacing it with Monopoly money or doodles I do of the Queen when I should be doing more productive work like applying for jobs on the reception laptop or hiding in the disabled toilet when it’s busy. Despite how much fun it is, I can’t help but worry there’s an immoral if not criminal undertone to me helping myself to Mars Bars, Skittles and large amounts of currency but needs must.

As much as this so obviously appears to be a sound financial plan, I do have a niggling doubt that providing for my offspring in this way won’t quite offer it a secure or healthy platform for a rosy future. Just the other day I had a mild panic attack when I attempted to purchase a small Peter Rabbit-themed outfit from Mothercare. It cost nineteen sodding quid, it was smaller than my hand, and I had the depressing thought that one day I’d be using it to wash the dishes with.

As everyone is painfully aware, offspring cost money and my plan to mastermind a Point Break-style bank heist is the only way I can realistically see myself becoming financially solvent.

 

Responsibility/Readiness For Parenthood

Good parenting...

Good parenting…

What a difference a year makes. Twelve months ago I was drinking all night, sleeping for up to 12 hours a day and waking up chewing off my own tongue while threatening to kill anyone who ventured within four miles of my bedroom.

Nowadays I’m awoken any time between 12am and 6am by a child who enjoys shouting at the top of his voice for his mummy the minute his eyes open and realises it’s pitch black in his bedroom. Then when he eventually rouses himself and gives Laura and me a treat by climbing into our bed without one of us having to fetch him, he’ll spend another hour giving us a synopsis of the latest episode of Power Rangers as we loll about in a kind of drug-addled fuzz before he does his level best to clamber over or stand upright on various limbs while repeatedly making punching gestures and lightsaber noises in the general direction of my head.

I’m trying to consider whether being able to withstand this daily trauma counts as a huge accomplishment and a potential step forward towards my readiness as a father because, basically, I’m shit scared of whether I’ll be able to cope with every sodding aspect of parenthood. I should probably enrol on one of those mother and baby classes, buy a doll to practice on to see what my reaction is when I accidentally drop it on a hardwood floor, and start listening to Laura a bit more than I do when it comes to parenting. In the meantime, if anyone can offer any tips and advice please do so in monetary form via PayPal to the email address at the top of this page.

 

I’ll Become The Scourge Of Social Media

Aww! Look at my kids! Look! LOOK! LOOK AT MY KIDS! FUCKING LOOK AT KIDS NOW! FUCK YOU!

Aww! Look at my kids! Look! LOOK! LOOK AT MY KIDS! FUCKING LOOK AT MY KIDS NOW! FUCK YOU!

Few things are more galling than a parent who posts nothing but images, statuses and links about their kid or parenting to social media, specifically Facebook. Apart from those vacuous fuckwits who repeatedly post links to their tedious blog imploring their digital acquaintances to read it in order to appease their sense of self-importance, a human who throws every single aspect of their developing child onto the world wide web genuinely needs to get their priorities right. The internet is for annoying people, buying shit you don’t need and being a bigot, not for ruining your mates’ timelines with pictures of a pink alien looking bewildered.

More often than not the baby pictures tend to be the exact same image of the child with a shocked look on its face except dressed in a different outfit that presumably cost more than the parent’s weekly grocery shop. If I upload my future son or daughter’s entire life onto the internet before it can walk, talk, wipe its own arse or grow to an age where it can tell me to fuck off and mind my own business then you can happily report me to social services.

 

My Offspring Will Grow Up To Kill Me

Please, son, don't! Put the gun away! I bought you a Playstation when you were 8!

Please, son, don’t! Put the gun away! I bought you a Playstation when you were 8!

This is one of my biggest fears. How annoying would it be to raise a child as best you can only for it to turn on you the minute you ask it for a bit of rent once it turns 18? My best mate, Phil, a father of two, told me the other day that this was something that never crossed his mind at all but that the likelihood of it happening to me is extremely high which makes me wonder whether he himself thinks about killing me, and how often.

A similar fear is being the parent of a kid who ends up being a despotic lunatic with a penchant for genocide, a Sunderland fan, or one of those little spelks who can’t differentiate between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’. Genuine concerns.

 

To be honest, I had another few hundred thousand fears and worries about fatherhood that I could have added to this list but at the risk of this turning into a cloying parenting blog I thought I’d better stop here.

My friends and family have insisted I’ll be able to just fall into it and be a fine father. Even people I don’t speak to or even like have contacted me to congratulate me and reassure me I’ll be a good dad which I find rather unsettling. Why I’m all of a sudden their best mate just because some of my semen can swim a few lengths without dying is beyond me.

But I digress. I should expect I’ll update the current status of my impending fatherhood over the coming months which I’m sure all both of you will be overjoyed to hear. In the meantime I’ll go back to sending irritating email to dimwitted strangers on the internet.

Bye!

Correspondence #6: BT

Bee Tee

 

I’ve briefly touched on this in a previous post but one of the more annoying things about living as a human being is the depressing reality that almost everything that’s ever been conceived by man doesn’t really work. Bus timetabling, Newcastle United Football Club and dysfunctional penises are just a few examples of how every sodding thing on this planet simply refuses to work properly. Even making toast for breakfast in the morning has become an exercise in flamboyant swearing, closed eyes and gentle whispers to oneself to not throw the toaster through the kitchen window when it eviscerates the bread despite being on the lowest setting. Also, why doesn’t bread fit in the toaster? You would think toasters would be manufactured to comfortably accommodate a slice but instead the top sticks out like a crown of untoasted evil, glaring at you with yeastful spite. Bread is a bastard.

What I’m getting at is whenever you want something to work, it just doesn’t. Case in point being all broadband services on earth. For reasons only known to General Robert E. Lee – the bloke who invented the internet for you ignoramuses who don’t have any common knowledge – whenever a human being sits down to watch a Netflix, that little buffer circle thing is guaranteed to appear and exasperate you to the point of wanting to smash your own teeth in with the hammer you’re using to bludgeon the home-hub with. 

Our broadband connection goes mental roughly 400 times a week so the other day, after Laura texted me the below image, I finally snapped and decided to get in touch with India in order to try and ascertain why. I was at work at the time so naturally I was placed last in a queue of twelve million people so abandoned the idea of phoning Delhi in favour of the online chat feature. Eventually, after seventeen failed attempts to resolve the problem with twelve different chat advisors via repeatedly impaling my head off the corner of my desk, I was connected to an advisor named Kanwarjeet who immediately sussed out that nothing was wrong with the connection despite our Wi-Fi being as extinct as all the dinosaurs that never made it to Jurassic Park.

 

BT in a coma, I know, I know, it's serious...

BT in a coma, I know, I know, it’s serious…

 

 

Kanwarjeet Part 1

Kanwarjeet Part 2

 

 

 

Dr. Bloglovin’ (Or How I Learned To Hate U.K. Bloggers & Love The Blog)

Presumably what the admins of U.K. Bloggers look like in human form.

Presumably what the admins of U.K. Bloggers look like in human form.

I quite like writing a blog. It’s very enjoyable because getting to write frivolous bullshit about any topic I fancy is more entertaining than the time I tripped on a chair in a pub while carrying two full pints before landing on them and puncturing my wrists with two-inch shards of glass, spraying blood three feet in front of me and ruining an evening’s imbibing for at least forty drinkers. That was a great day. In fact, I should think blogging is very similar to slitting one’s wrists. It can make you feel suicidal, light-headed and bloody. I suspect all bloggers know what it is I’m talking about because most bloggers are either a) emotionally redundant, 2) lacking in any mental acuity whatsoever, or d) in-bred, and thus have an emotional connection with one another that hasn’t been seen since the time E.T. telepathically invaded a small boy’s head in that alien documentary he was in and commanded all humans to submit to him as our extraterrestrial overlord. It’s that powerful.

I’ve previously mentioned how much I feel the blogosphere has helped and encouraged me to pursue all of my blogging goals despite all evidence to the contrary. What I find most helpful and supportive about the blogosphere is simply knowing that they’re there, hanging in the ether like the fallout from an atomic blast; a nuclear winter in which all who survive the initial blastwave slowly but surely die from the inside out because of the toxic atmosphere, the dog-eat-dog nature of survival, and the total and utter desperation to be heard against the scorched landscape of unadulterated shit.

If that sounds harsh, that’s because it isn’t. Granted, not every single blogger is a defiled or broken human being, clawing their way through the digital rubble in order to tell any poor sod they come across how their trip to the beach picking up dogshit with their bare hands as part of a health kick was unequivocally life-altering and every Tom, Shit and Twatty should be doing it. Unlike me whose reason for blogging is because of a deep-rooted vendetta against the living, a lot of actual bloggers have genuine reasons for running a blog. For the most part, however, the majority of blogs are written and shared by some mightily illiterate spelk who wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a dotted ‘i’ and a crossed ‘t’ if they were rammed up the shit chute with ‘it’.

With this in mind, I reserve my particular brand of love and vitriol for a U.K blogging group on Facebook that call themselves, originally enough, U.K. Bloggers, the name of which presumably came to one of its admins in a flash of inspiration after a four-hour brainstorming session involving slowly but forcefully pushing their eye onto the tip of a sharpened pencil. I originally butted heads with the fascists at U.K. Bloggers Corp not long after I began throwing shit up on the internet as part of my blogging regime, and, being new to it all along with being a blogger and therefore automatically thick as mince, immediately got things wrong by sharing my blog where it wasn’t supposed to be shared. The online equivalent of wandering into the Forbidden Zone in Planet of the Apes except with more apes. What followed was a digital slap on the wrist, a heart-tugging and sincere apology from myself, then an unprecedented online attack from the ubergruppenfuhrers at U.K. Bloggers Corp at which point I posted this aforementioned clear-as-crystal apology post for my obvious insubordination. Never having been a part of a cyber-war and fearful of a cyber-death and whatever that entails, I crawled into bed and cried for three days solid, drinking the milk from the cat’s bowl for sustenance and gently playing with myself in order to stave off boredom and cabin fever.

However, when word got back to the generals at U.K. Bloggers HQ about my olive branch and potential white flag, the fascists immediately rebuffed my efforts at peace, and another digital offensive was launched at my innocent neutrality, this time involving Twitter ground troops and fighty words. I’d never been trolled on Twitter before but found it to be wholesomely erotic, and because I was so apologetic for my actions I felt I compelled to respond via email to a handful of the humans who’d so lovingly taken the time to call me a cunt on social media.

*The following contains scenes that some readers may find disturbing, and names and dates haven’t been changed to preserve huge egos.

I was naughty and they kicked me. In the shins. P.S. hashtag irony.

I was naughty and they kicked me. In the shins. P.S. hashtag irony.

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>

12/20/15
to amymayhunt

Dear PurelyAmy,

Many thanks for your kind words on Twitter and the extra views I’ve received on my blog due to your advocating and praise of my work.

Such is the sky-rocketing nature of my viewing figures, I suspect you have quite the influence in the blogosphere. I don’t think you’re anyone I’d like to butt heads with should we ever have a disagreement about anything but I don’t ever foresee that day happening. Thanks to your fine promotional skills my blog has never been more popular which is something of a relief as the only person who ever viewed it prior to your extensive marketing campaign was me. Unfortunately I didn’t realise this as I was viewing my blog when logged out of WordPress, and pushing the viewing figures up myself. I genuinely thought I had one unique uber-fan and spent days staring out of the window with my chin resting on my hand wondering who it could be. I must confess that when I did find out it was my own doing I wasn’t overly disappointed as I feel I have many strong attributes including patience, Lego-building skills and the gift of dance.

Unfortunately, due to the excessive recreational drugs I’ve been forced to use since I started blogging, I’ve lost all sense of what #irony is. If you could explain it to me without the constant grammatical errors and poor sentence structure that you employ when writing your blog, it’d be most appreciated.

Many thanks for your Christmas ecard by the way. That was above and beyond.

Kind regards,

Chris

Thankfully I received no reply from #irony lady which is a relief because she encourages physical violence and I am a lover, not a fighter.

 

I make £0.99 a year playing the sax. What have you ever done?

I make £0.99 a year playing the sax. What have you ever done?

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>

12/20/15
to mrskatystevens

Dear KatyKicker,

Many thanks for your kind words on Twitter.

To answer your question, no, I do not think Micky Hazard is better than his 2015 equivalent Eden Hazard. However I would be more than willing to open a debate about this with you as I quite enjoy watching netball.

Just for information it’s important to never share financial information with strangers over the internet unless you’re contacted by an African prince who needs your bank details so he can deposit $3,000,000 into your account. So with that in mind I am unable to divulge what I earn from blogging. I can’t imagine it’s more than whatever you earn with your money making escapades.

I hope we can be friends.

Many thanks for your Christmas ecard by the way. That was above and beyond.

Kind regards,

Chris

Thankfully I received no reply from Eden Hazard fan lady which is a relief because I prefer Micky Hazard.

Legal threats. I am not a wise a man.

Legal threats. This truly is a testing time.

 

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>

12/20/15
to testingtimeblog

Dear Sam – A Testing Time,

Many thanks for your kind words on Twitter. It heartens me that you’re speechless at my idiocy. I think you’ll agree that what the world needs right now is less bloggers so your speechlessness is a massive step in the right direction. You’re doing the world a great service. I expect your family is very proud, as am I. I’ve put you top of my Christmas card list.

Though having said that your tweet was 21 words long which doesn’t amount to a total silence but it does give you something to work on if you’re not completely speechless. If you can aim for less than 10 words per day then you might one day become interesting and that is definitely cause for celebration. You can celebrate with the magistrates and solicitors from which you receive legal advice about rogue bloggers. I do take your ambivalent legal threat very seriously though.

When I was about 8 I wrote a viciously disparaging note on the back of my pencil case about a boy in my class who used to eat glue. It was something along the lines of ‘David Pollock eats glue and smells of poo’. While it wasn’t the best rhyming couplet I’ve ever written, the sentiment of the message did get back to him and he threatened to ‘get’ me after school. For the rest of the day I was extremely fearful, so much so that I wet myself during PE which had nothing to do with the amount of free school milk I’d guzzled during the day and everything to do with the severe threat which was hanging over me. I remember thinking ‘that was not a wise move’ and felt terrified. Thankfully, nothing ever materialised as his mother was waiting to pick him up after school like she did every day and the only thing he did was scowl at me as he was frogmarched home by his mother who was angry at the amount of glue on his face. I expect your legal inference should amount to something similar.

With that in mind I am very much looking to our showdown in court. It could be epic as I am quite the litigator. I’ve read ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ by Carly Simon twice, and watch all the glossy American legal dramas in order to gain legal experience should I ever face a legal threat for writing the word ‘blog’ an excessive amount of times.

Many thanks for the Christmas e-card by the way. That was above and beyond.

See you in court.

Chris

Thankfully I received no reply from legalities lady which is a relief because I’m not really a trained solicitor. I didn’t even pass the barre exam unlike Leo DiCaprio’s character in ‘Catch Me If You Want’ where he trained to be a lawyer via becoming a doctor, an international con-artist and a dashing slice of pie.

What makes this whole affair truly heartbreaking was that they immediately banned me from the U.K. Bloggers Corporation group, obliterating my burgeoning blogging career with one click of the mouse. What they probably don’t understand – and still don’t to this day by all accounts – is that I’m still very much a member of the group as I have at least seventy-five versions of myself on Facebook in various forms, thirty-four of which are still in the now infamous U.K. Bloggers group. So, really, you could say I was like Leo DiCaprio in ‘Catch Me If You Fancy’ but with a poorer haircut. But I digress. 

Unfortunately, the new best friend who’d started this whole U.K. Blogger controversy in the first place by complaining about my poorly developed comment-leaving skills, deleted her Twitter love-letter to me so I am unable to present it to you as a screenshot. As a replacement, I will include this screenshot of the high traffic to my pretendy website off the back of this international scandal.

Despite her initial Tweet implying that she was unable to comprehend the difference between two completely different words in the English language, we managed to send an affectionate email to each other and to this day there isn’t a day goes by when she doesn’t think about me.

Thanks U.K. Bloggers. Wuv wu.

Thanks U.K. Bloggers. Wuv wu.

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>

12/20/15
to rhian.westbury

Dear Rhian Ragefury,

Many thanks for your kind words on Twitter, and subsequent offer of friendship.

While it doesn’t interest me to write comments on blogs I have no interest in, it does interest me to correspond with new people who tweet me with high praise for my blog so I thank you wholeheartedly for that.

Despite getting something of a twitch in my eye when you confused the word ‘hypocritical’ with the word ‘hypercritical’, I am willing to overlook that fact and embrace your offer of friendship. And though I disagree with the notion that rules must be obeyed primarily because this generally removes one’s ability to think for themselves, I understand your need for conformity.  When I was your age and didn’t know any better, I used to have to conform to many rules without question. Especially during science class as the teacher there had a completely rational hatred of anything under the age of 10 and really used to let us know about it if we were insubordinate. My friends and I would cross our fingers and hope that we weren’t the ones he attacked with a Bunsen burner that day. If we didn’t conform the odds were very much on that we’d get a swift punch to the back of the head if we couldn’t figure out the chemical symbol for screaming. We’d know if we were for it because the science lab would smell like whisky when we entered.

But I digress. I expect our blossoming friendship will include many rules and regulations and I look forward to discovering what they are.

Many thanks for your Christmas ecard by the way. That was above and beyond.

Kind regards,

Chris

 

Rhian Ragefury

12/20/15

to me
Good Afternoon Chris,
Thank you so much for your lovely e-mail, it has certainly brightened up an otherwise dull Sunday morning.

I am incredibly sorry if my tweet resembled a want to be friends, I don’t think i’ve got room to cram someone like you in there so any notion of a blossoming friendship please ignore. I’m sure my retraction will cause you some upset or discomfort so i’ll give you a moment to have a little sob to yourself.

If it doesn’t interest you to write comments on blogs which you have no interest in then perhaps you did not read the thread properly that you posted on. The wonderful group of bloggers you asked to be a part of may be tricky but the clear rules showcasing specifically a comment swap which you put your blog on to shows that you did want to ‘swap comments’ incase the phrasing comment swap wasn’t clear enough. If you want comments on your blog (which evidently you did because you put your URL on there) then you have to be prepared to write a comment back on someone else’s blog. Everyone who chooses to put their URL in the thread is prepared to comment. If you merely wanted to showcase your wonderful talents of writing and degrading the blogging world which you are a part of that is what post shares are for then you can read the posts you want to and people can read yours with no commitment or agenda. Maybe you need to get your eyes tested because the wording on these threads is certainly far from hard to read.

I worry for people like you. You join groups understanding the rules of how they work and the wonderful work they do putting bloggers in touch with one another, providing advice when you just don’t know where to turn, wonderful opportunities from PR’s who want to work with us and yes sometimes things like comment swaps (which are completely optional and you don’t have to take part in!) By joining these groups you have a want to be a part of it, the group didn’t invite you because they thought ‘You know who needs to be part of this Chris Peet, he is what our group is missing’ you asked to join it yourself.

Again thank you so much for reminding me how wonderful the blogging world can be as we all joined together last night when your post went ‘live’, but of course you won’t know how many people read it because no one other than the person who found it actually wanted to give you the satisfaction of visiting your site.

Again thanks for your e-mail and I hope you now understand how little I want to be friends with you.

Rhian

Chris James Peet <chrisjpeet@googlemail.com>

12/20/15
to Rhian

Dear Rhi Rhi,

Many thanks for your friendly reply and your confirmation that you wish to be friends despite initially getting off on the wrong foot. You know what they say though: best foot forward. Mine’s my right foot as opposed to my left as my left is slightly clubbed. Which is your best foot? I’m interested to know. Perhaps you could have a think and write a blog post about it. If you do I will share it with my friends with no commitment or agenda.

Unfortunately I haven’t had time to accept your Facebook friend request as I’ve spent the majority of the day taking down the Christmas decorations now it’s almost over and done with. But I promise I will. I’ll put it on my daily to-do list which today includes taking down the Christmas decorations now it’s almost over and done with, and accepting Facebook friend requests.

I must confess I did have a little sob to myself but this was mainly because you mentioned you were worried about me, and carefully took the time to explain the rules of the U.N. Bloggers group. I have printed them out and put them on my wall next to my festive poster of Michael Caine in his career-high performance as Scrooge McDuck in ‘A Muppet’s Christmas Carol’. It was very thoughtful of you and I can’t thank you enough for spending the time crafting an email in order to encourage our nascent friendship.

In all seriousness though, I hope you’d welcome me using your reply to fuel another rant. If anything I’m sure you’d be glad to help create new content for my blog. And you’ve got to admit my emails are quite funny. I expect you did chuckle at the story 😀 However, I completely understand if you just block me. I’d never be in the mood to argue with a mindless idiot, and maybe you should do your best to refrain from replying anything further from me though. I mean, honestly, how much spare time do I have?!

Many thanks for asking your friends to visit my blog too. I’ve never had so much traffic and this is down to you. You’re like the gift that keeps on giving and I’m so glad we’re best friends.

Kind regards,

Chris

Thankfully I received no more replies from Rhian Ragefury which is a relief because I was sick of her constantly liking my Tweets on Facebook. 

Anyway, with me being such a master of disguise, I was able to covertly follow the fall out from this international incident via the comfort of my bean bag chair which I prefer to normal chairs because they have beans in them and you’re never too far away from a healthy snack should you need one. This fancy gallery below provides just a few of the loving comments about my existence from the group. And don’t be alarmed, I thanked them all personally.

 

After my viewing figures reached double figures I began to lose interest in the U.K. Bloggers Corporation mainly because they couldn’t decide whether they loved me or hated me. I would have preferred both because being unable to differentiate between love and hate is a vital skill to have in this day and age. Just look at David Cameron, Donald Trump and that pervy bloke off The Great British Bake Off. Although I’m proud to announce that one of the admins of this cyber-terrorist organisation was kind enough to email me privately to inform me that my blog was the finest thing she’d read since finally getting around to learning her ABC not long after she’d turned thirty. This came as something of a shock given the vitriol with which she attacked me within the group. I won’t betray her to her underlings though as that would be pretty U.K. Blogger-esque but suffice to say I’ve included her on the list of invitees to my circumcision operation after-party.

Anyway, parting thoughts of which I have two:

  1. If you’re a blogger, be glad you don’t know me in any way, shape or form. The fall out of this unfortunate accident caused several of my blogger friends to be booted out of the group simply by way of association. Several of these were fundraising or charity blogs, providing awareness of various causes, raising money and offering information about ways to help and share. By simply knowing who I am they were unceremoniously evicted from a group which, to be honest, didn’t help or support them in a single sodding way. But that’s not the point. The point is that the U.K. Bloggers – and I hate to be the one to invoke Godwin’s Law here – are clearly more Nazi Germany than Switzerland.

  2. I forget what parting thought number two was so I’ll just say this: if you’re a member of U.K. Bloggers, you can’t spell. There, I’ve said it.

Your move, Goebbels…