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After what feels like, and actually pretty much is, a day on the phone to the insurance company, I would rather the home invader had tied me down and shat in my face, really.
It would have been over, quickly.
As it is, it seems as if I'm limbering up for months of discussions with these f***ing idiots.
I should give up, and accept that whatever I do, I'll always be talking to a person from the wrong department -'I'll put you through, what was your name again?'
'My name is LEGION!'; it doesn't do any good.
And that, I suppose, is the whole point of these people behaving like the way they do in the first place. To put off the claimant.
What Royal Sun Alliance in Halifax don't seem to understand is that life is cheap in London; I'm not going to make the call obviously, but £75 and a McDonalds is enough to get anyone clipped in this terrible city, so I figure, property vales being what they are, that £500 might be enough to have a set of loft residences in Halifax totally incinerated.
'Put this in writing,' I would mutter, as the charges fell like little butterfiles.
Still, into every life a little rain must fall.
And it's not as if I'm going to ... hurt myself over this. People have harder times. Plus, the thing is, I would name the guy, but what if he got run over, or some such?
Would the Dibble, the Badge, be after everyone's pal? |
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