Saturday, 27 September 2008

What else can possibly go wrong?

Current mood:  stressed

David went out on his own today, announcing he was going to the bank.  We figured he was just going around the corner, but it would appear he went all the way to Ealing Broadway.  If I'd known that, I would have gone with him.  That isn't the problem though.
He went to withdraw some money so that he could give Mum and I our cash for the last two weeks.  But he couldn't get any out - we are severely overdrawn.  The only good thing to be said about this is that it finally prompted David to ring the agency about his backpay.
But they're "too busy to talk to him until next Friday".  In the meantime, we either have nothing to live on, or start living off of this loan which we have only been given by mistake.  Either way, Mum and I really are broke now.  I'm not sure there's any point me going to the Ponycon now.  I can't even afford to buy any of the ponies that are in the shops at the moment, and I want so many things once we move.  At this rate, I'll end up selling my ponies to make up the money for an education.
David also rang Chris Picton, who tells us it will cost £2300 to change the doors, and didn't even get us a price for changing the back door the way Mum wants it.  That's the price for changing it to a non-opening window, so that the only way out to the garden is via a sliding patio door.
This afternoon, we went to Woodberry.  There was a plumber there, changing the 1st floor bathroom around, but no builders doing anything whatsoever (surprise, surprise ).  The colour boards were there, and are really tiny.  But not just that - the colours are grotesque!  Well, I can't really say colourS plural.  We couldn't even tell which board was for which room!  They're all just a strange off-white colour.  I'm sure Picton's fuzzy-haired wife (now unofficially nicknamed "Wig Woman", because her hair looks like a wig, even if it isn't!) has ordered even lighter shades than she discussed with us.  The only rooms with any colour at all are our bedrooms - David and his pillar box red (which he actually LIKES!!!), me with a very strange pink colour, which is nothing like the purple I wanted (Wig Woman didn't want to help me with shades once she couldn't give me off-white vomit, did she? ), and Mum with a very bright pink which looks nothing like the dusky pink Wig Woman promised.  Mum hated all the colours so much, that she threw them down in a big puddle that had formed in the extension, and jumped up and down on them!  She even tried to tear one into pieces, but when she couldn't she had to make do with creasing it.   I'm the mad, immature one though, aren't I?
On top of that, the orange fungus on the hobby room wall is back.  Picton or one of the builders has obviously wiped it off today, but it was actually GROWING BACK AS WE WATCHED.  The wall was noticably more orange when we left, and the mould is definitely spreading.  Picton still claims it isn't mould though.
We have wiring for three lights in the back garden which we didn't ask for, and Mum doesn't want, so no doubt we'll now have to wait for that to be removed too.  There are THREE lights in the hall, when we only want one, so that Mum can put the old lantern back that was there before all this work began.  However, up on the landing in the loft, there's no light at all!  What the heck is Picton playing at?
Oh, and now we have the doors to the toilet and cupboard under the stairs.  The old ones had a pretty "tongue and groove" pattern, but these ones are just flat.  It would seem Picton just wants to remove everything that bears even the slightest resemblance to the old house.
Oh, and just to make our day complete...
We picked up the mail on the way out of the door, and found a strange official-looking envelope.  Upon opening the mail when we got back to Grottsville, Mum found it came from ScS, the shop where David ordered that ugly sofa that Mum and I finally got him to cancel six days later.  Remember how we were worried we wouldn't be allowed to cancel, but the weird salesman, Wayne, didn't kick up a fuss at all?  Well, I thought it was suspicious.  So here's the letter.
"Dear Mr Alder,
Following your recent vist to the store on 16 September 2008, I have now had an opportunity to look at all the facts and documentation relating to your order and would like to confirm the position as far as ScS is concerned.
A firm order was placed by yourself on the 10 September 2008, when it was agreed that you would confirm the colour combination by 28 September 2008.
You have entered into a legally binding agreement and your copy of this clearly states that cancellations cannot be accepted.
I do want to confirm that we are proceeding with our side of this contract and while we cannot force you to accept delivery of this furniture, we are entitled to recover the loss of profit on the order, and this we will do.
I look forward to receiving your confirmation that this course of action will not be necessary.
Assuring you our best of attention at all times.
For and on behalf of
ScS Upholstery PLC
Wayne Fitzgerald
Sales Manager"
Yeah, no wonder he was so calm about everything.  I guess he had this up his sleeve the whole time.  The contract does state (in very small text, may I add!) cancellations are not accepted - "Please not we do not accept cancellations of orders, although you may amend your order up to 7 days after placing it with us." - but, while giving us a seemingly endless lecture on why we should buy their ugly sofa, this creep Wayne clearly told us we could cancel.  His accent was annoying me, so I made a recording, and actually have him saying it, as can be heard at this link ~ Lies of a Sofa Salesman.
Listen at 00.40.  "If you want to cancel, as you're doing it with no deposit, if you want to cancel for seven days, you can do so.  I can do that for you."  Hear the evil laugh that follows a couple of seconds afterwards, when my parents are talking quietly about the whole business.
So I actually have a RECORDING of this (Insert random unsuitable-for-Myspace word here) blatantly LYING to us.  Surely we can do something about all of this?  Well, no.  English law states that we cannot use a recording of a conversation unless both parties knew that they were being recorded.  I think this country is set up to put criminals first really.
So here we are, totally broke, no sign of David getting a job, and yet labelled as "self-employed" so he can't even get any benefits, and stuck with paying for a sofa we won't even receive, and wouldn't want to use even if we did.  David says he'd rather go to prison than pay, and even if he probably is talking complete nonsense as ever, it's set my nerves even more on edge than they were already.  
I don't know what's going to happen.  Really, I don't.  I have a wheezing cough, and am finding it hard to breathe at times now.  My left knee is playing up now too, like I've got rheumatism or something.  I guess my trousers were still slightly damp when I put them on yesterday morning, but it seemed to happen when I was climbing the stairs at Woodberry.  Probably, like my bad back, it stems from sitting on the floor all the time.  I wish I could just leave all this stress behind for a couple of days.  Instead of that, the prison sentence has been extended for a further eight weeks from whenever my parents decide what doors they want. *Sighs*  Can some miracle show up now, pretty please?
Once again, my apologies for moaning and moaning on here.  I've got to shut up in real life though - Mum had an awful nightmare about me the last two nights.  Apparently, she and I went to the London Palladium to see Les Miserables, which was really The Sound Of Music, but we missed the show, so I decided to go and visit a friend at a flat there instead.  She thought I was a long time, so she went to check up on me, and found me in a self-destructing room, with a whole load of my Myspace friends, and one particular person (I won't mention names for fear of upsetting anyone) having total control over the rest of us, and instructing us all to commit mass suicide.  I find this all pretty hilarious, considering she's never even seen a photo of the person in question, and imagined them as looking like somebody in Coronation Street, which nobody in this household watches!   Anyways, I think I'd better shut up about all of my worries, otherwise she'll get a real fixation that I'm off to kill myself along with the rest of you.
Now I'm off to write to Caroline and Elisabeth, and get to bed.  I'm hoping I'll get up early enough to actually see the advertisements, and hear Tabitha in "Captain Flamingo" this weekend.  But I won't do that unless I go to bed, will I?
Bye for now,
Desirée Skylark  xxx

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