I'm not quite sure how this version works, but I want to consign to Hell the forms I get asking me to rate everything I've done. Very often my reaction is, "I was perfectly happy with your service - until you started pestering me like this!"
I'm not quite sure how this version works, but I want to consign to Hell the forms I get asking me to rate everything I've done. Very often my reaction is, "I was perfectly happy with your service - until you started pestering me like this!"
I'm not quite sure how this version works, but I want to consign to Hell the forms I get asking me to rate everything I've done. Very often my reaction is, "I was perfectly happy with your service - until you started pestering me like this!"
You might like this - a three and a half minute listen. (Scottish comedian Moray Hunter as Calum Gilhooley.)
I'm not quite sure how this version works, but I want to consign to Hell the forms I get asking me to rate everything I've done. Very often my reaction is, "I was perfectly happy with your service - until you started pestering me like this!"
Why don't you tell them this.
We do, over and over, but companies continue to do it.
I'm not quite sure how this version works, but I want to consign to Hell the forms I get asking me to rate everything I've done. Very often my reaction is, "I was perfectly happy with your service - until you started pestering me like this!"
If I have the time, and can be ar*ed, I fill in their wretched form but say I'm deducting a half-star for being solicited for a review.
I worked for a company that had to meet certain standards to be certified by some organization (I don't remember what it was called) in order to be considered for some jobs in the private sector and government jobs. One of the requirements was to get a specified percentage of feedback forms from customers, and of course a specified percentage of positive responses. So I usually fill those things out if it can be done in just a few minutes on-line.
I'm not quite sure how this version works, but I want to consign to Hell the forms I get asking me to rate everything I've done. Very often my reaction is, "I was perfectly happy with your service - until you started pestering me like this!"
Why don't you tell them this.
The latest was a form from my hospital about my cancer treatment. This was sent THREE times. Finally I wrote across it in red, "I am not well. In fact I have cancer. Please stop persecuting me with your demands," and sent that back. I hope they won't ask again.
Back in 2000 I got a letter from the hospital, which I thought was going to tell me that my stillborn son's post-mortem results were available and to make an appointment to discuss them.
I made a coffee, took a deep breath, opened the envelope.
It was a survey asking, inter alia, if I had breast fed my son ("no, he was dead"), if no, had I been offered support to breastfeed him ("thank God, no"), what would have encouraged me to breastfeed him ("a pulse") and so on.
The covering letter explained that the survey had been anonymised, so that my identity would remain secret, so I didn't expect an apology. I hope my answers gave them pause for thought before sending any other breastfeeding surveys.
I've heard of this sort of thing before. Either people in the same department don't talk to each other, or different departments don't talk to each other. Whatever. The result is the same - Misery...
Many, many years ago, in the throes of searching for my first job after graduating, and laboriously filling in masses of application forms by hand, I received one more form from some government department asking how I was employed. I informed them that I was working for a women's lib organization in Aberdeen as a eunuch (to be honest, I wasn't). I still haven't heard back from them.
The postperson entrusted with an A4 envelope labelled to be signed for - they didn't know it contained a death certificate, posted carefully and separately from other mail from the council that was in a smaller envelope, and described as "secure post". Though, yesterday, it was inside the house, it had not been signed for by the intended recipient, and had clearly been outside in the heavy rain on Sunday. It was distressing for the recipient to find it in that state. Lucky that it had not been blown away.
TICTH the excess Water with which we are currently afflicted.
I know you hate us, but please, O Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, and Belgium, keep at least some of it on your side of whatever you now call the stretch of water between you and us, marooned here on Boris Island...
O quite - but there are times when the excess Water means that I can't embark, or disembark, which latter is OK (there is always sustenance on board), unless I need to be Somewhere Else.
TICTH food poisoning and the soup eaten at Dunelm which must have caused it. Driving in the snow is made more adventurous, but not more fun, when you have to stop to vomit!
TICTH HM Revenue and Customs. I filled in an online form for sending my belongings back to Scotland, and it's been refused because they need my sister to confirm that I'm going to be staying with her.
I'm a British citizen, was born there and paid tax there for over 20 years - how bl**dy dare they?
I suppose this is part of Priti Awful Patel's "hostile environment" ...
Suggest you pop an email to her MP and MSP. Mention, if you can bear to, that you are a bereaved widow returning to your native country of which you are a full citizen and ask why in heaven’s name it’s any business where in the U.K. you are staying.
Sorry for the direness of British officialdom. I agree flagging this up to your sister's MP and MSP seems a good idea. In the meantime I hope you can jump through this hoop and get your stuff actually moved.
Take a deep breath, jump through the hoop, but still let your sister's MP/MSP know, in the manner suggested by @BroJames.
Keep copies to send to the press, if necessary.
TICTH the potholes in our local roads (which are more pothole than road in some places), and which (so my Mechanical Man tells me) are probably responsible for the Episcopal Chariot's broken spring. The repairs have cost me over £350, as some other remedial work was necessary.
Suggest you pop an email to her MP and MSP. Mention, if you can bear to, that you are a bereaved widow returning to your native country of which you are a full citizen and ask why in heaven’s name it’s any business where in the U.K. you are staying.
I suspect it would be better if your sister wrote and sent the emails. Otherwise you might just get a reply saying, "As someone who does not (yet) reside in my Constituency, I regret that I cxannot reply to your concerns".
I doubt if a missive from Piglet herself would even be acknowledged...though these matters may be dealt with more politely in Blessed Alba than in Boris Rumpland.
On a theme, the immigration policy that Revokes a British man's passport with no warning and only dubious reason, leaving him stateless and homeless in another country.
Piglet, may I suggest, if you don’t already have one, that you get a U.K. bank account asap, register with a GP, join a library, and do as much as you can as soon as you can to provide evidence that you intend to resettle here.
Hmm. Worth a try, but can you do those things whilst still in Parts Foreign, Where There Be Dragons?
(Yes, I know Piglet is in Canada, not Wales...)
Meanwhile, TICTH my vacuum cleaner, which doesn't. On removing the little brushy thingy from the sucky-uppy nozzle, after working over the galley floor, the dratted Engine of Satan deposited a load of Small Particles on the said floor.
TBTG for the ever-faithful dustpan and brush, though bending down to use those instruments means actually kneeling on the floor. Which is OK, until I need to get up again...
It really is the Little Things in life that p*ss one off, isn't it?
I had an e-mail this morning from HMRC informing me that my application was now successful (thanks to my sister!), and giving me the Unique Reference Number needed by the shipping agent.
My Stuff (including some very important bears) will soon be heading eastward.
In fairness to HMRC, once they'd decided they had enough information from me, they didn't hang about.
@Puzzler - indeed, I'll be doing most of that as soon as I get there.
[...] get a U.K. bank account asap, register with a GP, join a library, and do as much as you can as soon as you can to provide evidence that you intend to resettle here.
Join a Morris Dancing Club. In Scotland. Good luck there. At least you will have tried.
I think you have to be resident to register with a GP.
We tried to do that before the purchase of our house completed, as Mr RoS had a health issue that was going to need a hospital referral as soon as we moved. No luck with that.
I think the same applied to the library - needed to supply proof of address.
Scotland may have different rules.
No idea about the bank situation, as that did not apply since we were already resident in the UK. My bank sort code is still that of my old bank account, even though that branch closed a couple of years before we moved.
Next weekend (as we seem to be getting them on a weekly basis now) I shall probably CTH bl**dy Storm Edith, or whatever stupid name TPTB call the thing.
The weekend after that, it'll be bl**dy Storm Ferdinand...
It is The Curse of Tru*p which keepeth the Wetness so High in the Firmament, and then letteth it down to pour upon the Hapless Earth.
Yea, verily, the Wind and Tempest are also His gifts to Men.
The LORD hath reveal'd this Truth to me in a Dream, whilst I walk'd through the Wilderness of this World, and laid me down for a time, in a Den, to rest...
TICTH energy companies and the ridiculous system which is supposed to introduce competition, but fails miserably. The company I was with hiked up the price as soon as the term was up. I went on a comparison site, to find that the same company is offering a good deal. I rang them. They said I must go through the comparison site, they couldn't give me this tariff directly. I had to fill in an application. Now they are messing me about. Grrrr!
Comments
Why don't you tell them this.
That's the way to do it....
We do, over and over, but companies continue to do it.
If I have the time, and can be ar*ed, I fill in their wretched form but say I'm deducting a half-star for being solicited for a review.
The latest was a form from my hospital about my cancer treatment. This was sent THREE times. Finally I wrote across it in red, "I am not well. In fact I have cancer. Please stop persecuting me with your demands," and sent that back. I hope they won't ask again.
I made a coffee, took a deep breath, opened the envelope.
It was a survey asking, inter alia, if I had breast fed my son ("no, he was dead"), if no, had I been offered support to breastfeed him ("thank God, no"), what would have encouraged me to breastfeed him ("a pulse") and so on.
The covering letter explained that the survey had been anonymised, so that my identity would remain secret, so I didn't expect an apology. I hope my answers gave them pause for thought before sending any other breastfeeding surveys.
I've heard of this sort of thing before. Either people in the same department don't talk to each other, or different departments don't talk to each other. Whatever. The result is the same - Misery...
I know you hate us, but please, O Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, and Belgium, keep at least some of it on your side of whatever you now call the stretch of water between you and us, marooned here on Boris Island...
But hey - Nothing Really Matters...
{{{{{{{Everybody}}}}}}}
I'm a British citizen, was born there and paid tax there for over 20 years - how bl**dy dare they?
I suppose this is part of Priti Awful Patel's "hostile environment" ...
Take a deep breath, jump through the hoop, but still let your sister's MP/MSP know, in the manner suggested by @BroJames.
Keep copies to send to the press, if necessary.
TICTH the potholes in our local roads (which are more pothole than road in some places), and which (so my Mechanical Man tells me) are probably responsible for the Episcopal Chariot's broken spring. The repairs have cost me over £350, as some other remedial work was necessary.
I doubt if a missive from Piglet herself would even be acknowledged...though these matters may be dealt with more politely in Blessed Alba than in Boris Rumpland.
I read about that case, A-in-E - I doubt that the UK would have the nerve to revoke my passport, as they did with that poor bloke.
There's always someone worse off than me ...
(Yes, I know Piglet is in Canada, not Wales...)
Meanwhile, TICTH my vacuum cleaner, which doesn't. On removing the little brushy thingy from the sucky-uppy nozzle, after working over the galley floor, the dratted Engine of Satan deposited a load of Small Particles on the said floor.
TBTG for the ever-faithful dustpan and brush, though bending down to use those instruments means actually kneeling on the floor. Which is OK, until I need to get up again...
It really is the Little Things in life that p*ss one off, isn't it?
I had an e-mail this morning from HMRC informing me that my application was now successful (thanks to my sister!), and giving me the Unique Reference Number needed by the shipping agent.
My Stuff (including some very important bears) will soon be heading eastward.
In fairness to HMRC, once they'd decided they had enough information from me, they didn't hang about.
@Puzzler - indeed, I'll be doing most of that as soon as I get there.
We tried to do that before the purchase of our house completed, as Mr RoS had a health issue that was going to need a hospital referral as soon as we moved. No luck with that.
I think the same applied to the library - needed to supply proof of address.
Scotland may have different rules.
No idea about the bank situation, as that did not apply since we were already resident in the UK. My bank sort code is still that of my old bank account, even though that branch closed a couple of years before we moved.
Next weekend (as we seem to be getting them on a weekly basis now) I shall probably CTH bl**dy Storm Edith, or whatever stupid name TPTB call the thing.
The weekend after that, it'll be bl**dy Storm Ferdinand...
Yea, verily, the Wind and Tempest are also His gifts to Men.
The LORD hath reveal'd this Truth to me in a Dream, whilst I walk'd through the Wilderness of this World, and laid me down for a time, in a Den, to rest...
Nay, Sir, but yet I am an Humble Pilgrim, as are we all, making an oft-times Painful Progress, please God...