Agent Double OMG - Licensed to Sell

We’ve had the dubious pleasure recently of having a lot to do with Estate Agents.  That much-maligned species of our socio-economic playground, because don’t they get a bad press (esp. from me, I have to say).

Bless them.  Bless them from their sculpted wet-look-gelled hair, through their Linx-saturated pin-stripe suit to the MeMeMe garish novelty tie which is purely for the ‘rememberMeMeMe’ factor.  (“Oh you HAVE to use Justin from Blethers Estate Agents, he was so stylish - SUCH fun!”).

(Not) Agent Such

One (such) Agent had clearly not been present the day the Estate Agent Owner had handed out the requisite brain cell, as he turned up late for an appointment because he hadn’t known where the property was (good start).  When he did finally arrive (we let him in) my immediate thought was that he’d come via the Debenhams perfume counter and some poor gal had tripped over his Porsche-style shiny pointed slip-ons with a bottle of Agent Provocateur (see what I did there?). 

He excitedly and breathlessly asked us if we’d like a tour of the property (already done by the owner in the absence of (such) Agent) and then started saying “Excellent” a lot,  followed by clapping his hands together and rubbing in a ‘let’s get this show on the road’ type of style.   He also managed to fit in a bit of shoulder-bouncing too.  Eager Lurcher  fresh from Poodle Parlour and desperate to be let off the leash sprang to mind. He asked if we had any questions.  

‘Yes’ we said, ‘How much is this property on the market for again?’.  Agent Such (for this is how he has now become) did the whole shoulder-clap’n’hand-rub routine again and I wondered if he might have a touch of Tourettes.  ‘Ah now, you’ve got me there,’ he said completely unabashed, staring mad-eyed around the room.  

‘But do you have the details of the property on you?’ I smiled.  I couldn’t look at my husband at this point because I KNEW we’d dissolve into a fit of giggles.

Agent Such did his whole clap-rub-shoulder bounce performance again.  ‘Ah, now, you won’t believe this but in my rush I completely forgot to bring them with me.’

‘So you won’t have details for the next property either then?’

We were delivered a sparkling set of dentures. (Imagine the love-child of Frank Spencer and Lee Evans)

‘Ah, no.’  

 ‘Okay then, shall we?’ I indicated the front door.

‘Um… I’ll follow you, I’m new to the area and I’m not entirely sure where the next one is.’

I can still taste the blood where I bit my tongue in an effort NOT to say ‘If you’d spent less time grooming in the flippin’ bathroom and picked up some DETAILS in a professional manner before you left, you’d have been able to put the bloody postcode into your SATNAV, now wouldn’t you?’

And when husband and I got back into our car we were actually …. Actually proper SPEECHLESS.  I turned to him and said “REALLY?  Is this person REAL?  Are we on camera or something?  People like this surely don’t REALLY exist!”

They did.  They do.  They showed us around another house which was totally NOT what we wanted but he was so excitable and eager that we didn’t have the heart to tell him.  Like I said, bless.

Mr Branson, you need to read this...

VIRGIN ON THE UNBELIEVABLE

We’ve been Virgin customers since Virgin was NTL. We’ve always had the 3-deal package with them (TV, Phone, Internet) and 2 years ago I rather fancied having a Blackberry phone to keep up with the rest of the world. And the deal was great – even cheaper at £15.00 per month than I was paying for my trusty old top-up and go machine. 2 years with something you love isn’t time wasted and the only hiccough I’ve had with it was about a month ago when my ‘alt’ key stuck which meant I could do nothing with it whatsoever.  The nice lady we spoke to told us she’d post us a prepaid envelope to return it and if it couldn’t be mended then I’d get a replacement. 

All of this happened.  And happened efficiently.

So the other week, when we got a flyer through the door about the latest Virgin delicacies, my husband was pleased to see that there was a great deal involving the HTC Invincible (or whatever it’s called) mobile at £20/month.  His current contract with ‘Three’ was a mere 6 weeks away from ending anyway and as my daughter has this very phone (at £30.00 with another supplier) he was understandably hot on the phone asking Virgin Sales if he could have one.

My husband, who is a self-employed carpenter,  was advised that they’d ‘run out’ of this particular phone (even though it couldn’t have been more than 24 hours since we got the leaflet through our door) but suggested he might like to try the Samsung Galaxy at £25.00/month.  He listened to the sales pitch, said it sounded just what he needed and details were taken.  Amongst which was the overriding proviso that he could transfer his existing mobile number which he had on contract with ‘Three’ as this is his business number. He was told, yes, this could happen; all he had to do was get the PAC number from ‘Three’, tell them he was ending his contract with them and within 48 hours of receiving his new phone, his existing number would be transferred.

At the same time he enquired as to my own mobile phone contract, which we’d been told was due for upgrading (when we’d called with the ‘alt’ key technical problem) and was told that yes, I was due a new phone and so husband asked them if it could be moved to the £9.99/month tariff as this was also on a special deal at the moment.   Not a problem – my phone would be in the post tomorrow and my husband’s would be delivered 3 days hence.

Lovely.

My phone arrived in all its beautiful glory and I stroked it half to death.  I love my Blackberry.  I love it even more now it’s £5 cheaper a month than my original contract. We have felt the pinch of the recession quite badly and are selling our house to downsize and hopefully free up enough capital to help with daughter’s university fees.

On the Saturday my husband’s Galaxy arrived and, with daughter’s help, he downloaded all sorts of apps that he’d never had before and found it perfect for his use.  He couldn’t wait to get everything finalised so he could use his existing number and he’d already contacted Three to get the PAC number and cancel his contract with them, paying an early settlement fee.

On the Monday he telephoned Virgin to say thanks, he’d got the new phone, could he now have his number transferred please?  He gave his PAC number and was told it would be another 48 hours before this was working, and that he would be contacted when everything was ready to switch over.

Nobody called.

So on the Wednesday, my husband rang Virgin to ask what was happening as his existing number wasn’t working (just a dead-tone when dialled) and did this mean the transfer was happening?

He was asked to hold.

He spoke to somebody else and repeated the same thing to them.  He was told there was ‘an issue’ and to please hold.

He held.

When he spoke to somebody else they told my husband that his existing (Three) mobile number had been transferred to the mobile number ending 890.  This is MY number.  My husband explained that, no, this number was mine (his wife’s) mobile number and nothing to do with his new phone or his existing number, but he was told, well this was what was happening.  The new Galaxy phone would retain the new number issued with it and my Blackberry would be taking his business number.

WHY?

WTF?

Obviously my husband was not pleased.  He asked the adviser what his name was and he was told ‘Ken Smoke’.  He asked Mr Smoke if he could speak to somebody else, a Manager, somebody in a higher Authority and Mr Smoke said that he could pass him to somebody else but he would only repeat what he’d just said to him.

He was passed to another guy who gave his name as ‘John’ and said he wasn’t allowed to give out his surname.  Clearly Mr Smoke was a bit of a Maverick.

John, as advised, repeated everything Mr Smoke had just told us.  My husband’s new phone had the number attached with it and his business number would be transferred to my Blackberry.

We told them that No, we did not want this to happen, and could they please sort it out but they said that it was too late, my old number had been transferred and it was an irreversible process.

We asked where exactly my number had been transferred and they said ‘deleted’.

We couldn’t believe it.  We told them that this was ridiculous, that at no time did we instruct Virgin to carry out this; after all, my husband’s business relies on this phone number – why would he want to transfer it to me and have a new one?

We asked them to please find the recording of the telephone conversation he’d had to the sales team when he requested his existing number be transferred to his new phone and it went quiet for a while.  When ‘John’ returned he apologised and said if we had a complaint that we should follow the correct complaints procedure detailed on the internet and that we would be given 2 months’ free services for our mobiles.  We said that this was not nearly good enough and that they had messed up.  

We asked them if they were going to pay to have all the numbers changed on the business stationery, the 1,000+ business cards, and the signwriting on my husband’s van – not to mention contacting all his existing customers and we were told to again, we had to follow the correct complaints procedure.

We don’t often sit in stunned silence of an evening, but that night was different.

Eventually we decided that although we’d been treated appallingly and had every right to seek legal action and sue Virgin for wrongdoing, we’d have to suck it up for the meantime and contact all my husband’s customers to let them know his new number.

So we spent the rest of the evening doing just this. 

However, we noticed my phone was still using my normal number.  I hadn’t got my husband’s old number, so we assumed this would either happen the next day, or else it was just another cock-up on Virgin’s part and they’d got that wrong too.

I wrote and posted two letters to Mr Branson c/o Virgin at 2 different addresses informing him of this circus of catastrophe and asking him what he intended to do about compensation for my husband’s business (reprinting business cards, stationery, details on his van re-painted etc) and sent two e-mails to Virgin via their ‘official complaints procedure’ on their website.  I also tracked Mr Branson down on Facebook and informed him I had an urgent complaint.  To which somebody called ‘Vicky Angel’ replied with an e-mail address asking me to revert to her and she would make sure somebody dealt with our complaint.

Unsurprisingly I heard nothing from back from her after I’d e-mailed her.

We did, however, receive a lovely ‘welcome’ letter from Mark Davidson – Executive Director of Customer Care at Virgin a day or so later, saying that congratulations, everything had been transferred.  The phone with the number 890 had taken my husband’s business number and his new phone had a new one, just as planned. As who had planned, please?

We especially enjoyed the last line of this letter which stated “We’re looking forward to looking after you”.  Oh how we laughed.

Needless to say, I wrote an equally nice letter back to Mr Davidson, informing him of the massive mistake on Virgin’s part and asking him what he intended to do about it.

Then, last night, nearly 8 days later, I started getting text messages and phone calls from people I didn’t know.  We worked out that, lo and behold, my husband’s number had, indeed, as foretold, been transferred to my own phone.  So then I had to go through the rigmarole of contacting all my own contacts and telling them I had a new number as well.

We are totally disgusted with what has happened to us.  It’s unprofessional, unforgiveable and will cost my husband many hundreds of pounds to put right. We, quite rightly, believe we are entitled to at least compensation to cover the costs of having his business number changed on everything it’s written on aren’t we?

Book Reviews...

Here's three of the best (I'll never put up any 'bad' ones.  I don't finish them, so what could I possibly say about them anyway?)

'FLIP' by Martyn Bedford

If I wasn't already seduced by the brilliant cover of this book then the premise would've done it:
"One morning fifteen year old Alex wakes up to find himself in the wrong bedroom, in an unfamilar house, in a different part of the country.  The family at the breakfast table are total strangers.  And when he looks in the mirror he gets the shock of his life!
How is it possible that Alex has become another boy - a boy called Phillip - or Flip - but more importantly, how will he switch back to become himself again?"

I *heart* books like this.  Anything time-travelly, extra-sensory or downright para-normal (excluding vampires, werewolves etc unless it's 'Being Human' of course... so ONLY British fantasy-type scenarios). And the story didn't fail to deliver.  I read it in about three sittings and I still stroke the cover - it's phenomenally lovely and when my first book is published I want it to feel and be bound like this one.  Get it, you'll see why.

'The Two Week Wait' by Sarah Rayner
My lovely friend Keris sent me this as it's not really her cup of tea (see what I did there?) and I'd already read and enjoyed Sarah Rayner's first book, 'One Moment, One Morning'.
Two women who, for completely different reasons need to undergo IVF treatment in order to conceive. Both of whom I couldn't really identify with and didn't entirely sympathise with, but that's probably just me; I am dead inside at times.
I have to admit to finding it all slightly 'This is going to happen, and then this will happen and then something else will also happen and then... guess what IT DOES!' and I thought "Hmmm... really?  This is the story?" But I'm glad I stuck with it because it was an easy read and the ending was properly delightful and made me well up a bit (I'm not a weller, ordinarily).

'The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight' by Jennifer E Smith

Another 'what's NOT to love about this gorgeous book cover?' moment.  And the story's just lovely too.  If you believe in serendipity and fate and (obviously) love at first sight, then THIS book will have your toes curling up with delight.

I am currently reading 'Somebody Else's Life' by Katie Dale which was signed by the author herself at the very FIRST book launch I've ever been to last week in Cambridge.  I even got touched by an Agent.  I know!  (Okay, so she touched my shoulder to move me out of her way, but still...)

Meet my latest baby!

I'm not even sure this book would be termed Young Adult or Teenage because it's mainly set in 1979 which is where today's Middle Agers started out.
Anyway, if the book wasn't an E-book and had been printed on proper paper and bound and stuff, the blurb on the back would read something like this:

"Although she hasn't thought it through comprehensively, Casey Summerfield has had enough of her fiercely independent mother and her cheating boyfriend so she  decides to run away.  The one thing she hasn't factored into her plan is being knocked unconscious by a bus and waking up in her teenaged mother's bedroom in 1979.

And she's seen enough episodes of 'Life on Mars' to know that there must be a perfectly rational explanation for her being 'here' , so all she has to do is ride it out until David Bowie dressed as a clown comes to take her back to 2012.  Isn't it?"

And for 24 hours - from midnight tonight - it's FREE!So if you feel like being transported back to the days of vinyl 45's, Pink and Jackie Annuals, first-time flares and John Travolta overload, then THIS is the book for you!

(I'm such a marketing slut, me!)

50! 50? FFS! Cue Time Travel *please*!

Anyway, let's not dwell on how completely 'wrong' it is for me to have reached a half century (there must be a typo on my birth certificate or something, this is NOT right at all)  and whoever just mumbled the word 'denial' can go straight to the back of the line.  NOW!

So, Dear Reader, for your delight and delectation, here is a nice little showing of 'Debs through the Decades' and we'll have no sniggering at how mad the hair's always been please :)

Me aged 0.  Maybe about 4 months or something. 
I don't have any memories of being this young.  All my proper memories begin 3 years later when my brother is born.  They say that traumatic times herald a greater recollection, don't they?  And it don't get more traumatic than finding a pink bundle of stinking dampness inside a blanket when you were told you'd be getting a new playmate and you expected it to be a white rabbit in checked dungarees (don't ask).


Me aged 10.  With Mum and Dad (I can't believe they'd have been aged 36 and 38 respectively - they already seemed ANCIENT from where I was standing... next to my - NOT WHITE RABBIT brother).  Yes I did feel completely foolish with that bridesmaid dress on.  yes, it was handmade and yes that stupid flowery hat was made of polyester and made my head itch like mad all day. Oh and yes, coloured photographs HAD been invented then but a wedding isn't a wedding if you don't get a bit arty with the photos, right?

Aged 20.  Looking every inch the Publicity and PR Co-ordinator that I was back then, for a well-known Packaging company. Note the high perm, the dark kohlled eyes, the princess Diana court shoes and the ridiculous excuse for a word-processor machine on my desk.  I loved my job and I think you'll agree that in this photo, my delight shines from within *snort*.


Aged 30, and very recently married, attending the wedding of another couple we were friends with back then.  I remember it was blisteringly hot that day and the bright orange (ORANGE!) suit I was wearing not only gaped at the buttons down the front of the skirt, but was made of linen and so looked like a concertina around the hips every time I stood up.  I also remember refusing to take the jacket off because I afeared displaying my bingo wings (hereditary).

FFS 40!  And if it looks like I'm a little squizzy round the gills it would be because I WAS! And with good reason; in the decade between the previous photograph and this one I was divorced, became a single mother with (at one stage) 3 part-time jobs and lost my mother to cancer.  The only light at the end of this particular tunnel was that at the time of turning 40 I was dating a 29 year old.  Proving that life DOES begin at 40!



Me at 50.  With the greatest person I've ever met or given birth to.  I can't believe she's my soul mate, the sister I always wanted and the best friend a gal could ask for.  If I do nothing else of worth for the rest of my life I am proud beyond measure that I will always be a part of hers.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR ME, Happy Birthday Dear Me, Happy Biiiirrrthday Dear Me-eeeee, Happy Biiiiirrrthday Deeeeeaaaaaarrrrrr Me!
*dear me* :(

Oh, and just to prove how much I have decided to embrace my advancing years, not only shall I be wearing purple for the day and paying endless trips to the toilet because my plumbing's going, I am also delighted to offer you my book, 'Re: Becca' FREE for the day...

here: 
enjoy!

much love, Debs xxx

Me - In Interview!

Strictly Writing, the other site I write for, is stuffed full of fabulous people.  Not least the other members of the Strictly Team, without whom the dark writing days would seem bleaker.  But by far the best people on the Strictly site are our gamut of lovely followers.

And after I'd announced my recent foray into self-publication, one loyal follower, Derek, invited me to guest post on his blog, here: 'Along The Write Lines' .

And so, *clears throat* I give you.... ME.  being interviewed (I know - mental, isn't it?!).

If I had the technical know-how, I'd print it off and frame it.  Oh hang on..... *prtscrn* *copy* *paste*...... 

Bucking Hell!

Ah puns, you make me giggle.  (*post title).

Some things never change.  Not only have I NOT done anything I vowed on my New Years' Resolutions List, but I have done things in the space of 30 days I didn't even know I was considering.  Even though they might have been on the back-burner of my mind.

So... let's get to the 'bucking' point, shall we?

Even though I knew full well at the age of 15 what the term 'vanity publishing' was, and even though I went straight on through my 20's and 30's and (eeep, almost all my 40's now) denouncing every 'self-publishing' advertisement that screamed at me from the pages of various writing magazines, I have gone and done it.

I'm just so contrary, me. But you can rely on me to buck a trend - even (actually especially) if the trend is self-imposed.

I'm the same with housework (that's a 'trend', right?)  It's there; it screams and expands and demands attention, so I do my level best to ignore it.  How dare it demand of me - don't I have better things to do with my life? Damn right!

So, Vanity Publishing.  It's always had a bad press (ha) and in a similar fashion to the very misunderstood microwave, I think it's now about time we started to embrace it. *ANALOGY ALERT*  In true Cooper-fashion, I have had enough of spending my precious time standing over a pan into which I've carefully and blended and chopped; added to, stirred, folded, creamed, and pureed to a pulp - watching expectantly as  little bubbles begin to surface, the aroma intensifying and embracing the kitchen (of my mind, keep up, keep up) only for the gas to turn off right at the crucial moment. It's upsetting.  It's demoralising.  It's soul-destroying, frankly. And as I've been standing at this metaphorical 'cooker' for the past 10 years, watching my lovely little dishes simmer and just reach boiling point before... well, you know... the gas... I've decided to soddit and just stick it in the microwave instead.  It pretty much does the same job in a hundredth of the time, does NOT melt the brain and if anything comes out tasting weird, then I've only got myself to blame.

I don't feel desperate. Even though I've published under a pseudonym (D A Cooper) which is more in case of any future representation problems.  I don't feel like I've let myself down; but I do feel oddly liberated. Like a mother Starling having just eased her little fledglings out of the stale nest they've been cooped up in for far too long, and I'm just excited to see how far they can fly now. 

Technology is a wonderful thing.  I usually embrace all things technical, after all, if it's been invented why the heck not use it?  And although I shall continue to buy proper, published, printed books in ink on paper, I shall also be downloading the occasional e-book once I have my shiny new tablet-thingy (oh I'm all up with the latest jargon, me) and relishing in how far we've come since Dickens' day.

Things are looking bucking good for the first month of the New Year - I now resolve they shall stay that way!