sofa rage!

Road rage is, of course, a dangerous business. Cars are fast moving, leg-breaking hunks of metal. I should know. Sofas are soft furnishings. So I don't mind admitting to a bit of sofa rage. You can have a cup of tea at the same time.

I witnessed a nasty road rage incident a few months ago. A man stepped out of a car at the lights, walked up to the driver's window of the car next door, and repeatedly punched the driver. I phoned the police, got through to a call centre in Nottingham, and was assured that the area of South London I was describing didn't appear on their computers. There were CCTV cameras there, but they were pointed in another direction, in order to catch minor infringements of the bus lane. I was caught by that camera a few weeks earlier, for straying into the end of the lane whilst turning left. I was offered no recourse unless I was prepared to pay double the fine. And I never heard about the road rage incident, despite the fact that I had given them the licence plate of the offender.

All of which brings me to my point. In today's bureaucratic spaghetti dish of existence, is it any wonder that rage sets in. And if you are sofa-bound, and thus dependent on relying on the competence of others, the rage becomes incandescent... Can you rely on the competence of others?

I could use this blog to vent my rage. Why should I though, when I have ameliorated it by reaching for the phone and word processor, and vented it on the people who deserve it. Far more satisfying. Like the people who are drying my flooded flat, and two months on, have only now decided that the plaster is wet, and that it's not a French polisher that I need. They got a letter. And the Wheelchair supplier, who can't understand why I can't bring my wheeelchair in for servicing myself, even though it's not self-propelled. A phone-call. The doctor's receptionist who repeatedly insists on suggesting that I have an appointment at the top of two flights of stairs. Repeated phone calls. (I think they've finally given in to me...!) The gas company, who cite 3 phone numbers on their bill, all leading to the same automised machine that you have to convince you have a leak before it will put you through to a human being. A phone call. And even then, I had to convince the 'operative' that I didn't want to buy any extra services...

I saved my most spleen for my bank though. Nat West. When I asked for a mortgage holiday, they suggested I contact my bank (Nat West) to borrow more money to pay my mortgage company (Nat West). I spent half an hour finding a number to complain to, was assured that I would be phoned back, and wasn't. Great work!! I'm planning to save this one up for a rainy day. I think it will be a two cup of tea phone call, possibly followed by a email requiring a piece of cake. So much better than a shouting match at a set of traffic lights. I just need a horn fitting to the arm of the sofa.