Today I looked at the list of jobs I have been keeping on the task bit of my Outlook. There were about 350 crossed out jobs, going back to March, when we decided to go. I expect if I were a different person, someone entrepreneurial, I could turn this into a product and market it to people about to move house. It feels as if it is something like this:
- Get cats their rabies jab. Go back to check antibody levels. Speak to airline about cats, book flights for cats, pick up cat passports. Go to Pets at Home to get cat carrier. Pets at Home say ask airline what is approved carrier. BMI say get approved carrier from shop. Order carrier, it is not in stock. Call back airline, they want cat weights and dimensions of carrier. Give rough ideas as cats will not stand on scale.
- Weeks later call back, carrier was not actually ordered as manager did it and ha ha he is not very reliable, just like a man! Well, please can I have one? You better come over and look at them. Go and get massive carrier, maybe it will not fit in car. Give measurements to airline who say they will have to get back with confirmation as these are different. Do I need fit to travel health certificate? ask DEFRA? DEFRA say ask vet? vet says ask DEFRA. DEFRA say ask airline. Airline say no, not sure though so book cats in. Vet calls to say I see your cats are booked for check, vet is not in that day. This is Saturday before we go and check must be 48 hours before travel. What do I do? Vet does not know, suggests I ask DEFRA. Get cat litter tray, bowls for travel.
- Invite agents round to see house to rent. Many agents come round, all very nice, your house is charming. Do a lot of paperwork, using sticky address labels. Order more sticky address labels. Nobody comes round to visit. Call round agents and chase, take photos of house and shrink to email size, email to all agents. Have anxiety attack about house not being nice enough. Put house on websites. Change price of house. Agents say get permission from HSBC to rent house. Ask permission, they send me forms, ask for £3000 for permission. Am about to swallow this when I think, hmm, it's a lot of money and ring to check this is right. Woman laughs sheepishly and says, well, how long are you renting for? I say not sure, she says, ok then, it'll only be £250. I say that's a bit bad, I nearly paid it. She giggles and says, yes, it's awful really, they try it on.
-Agent advises to get hall decorated. Hire decorator, he does estimates, says he will do it all while we are away on May half term week. Is this certain? (it is March now). order Farrow and Ball paint. Go away for half term to Spain. Decorator calls, says job is worse than he thought. I say he came in twice before hand to look at it, why is it worse now? Life is like that, you don't know what you're going to find on a project till you do. Yes, I know this from AMEC. He suggests we just cover it up with some heavy flock wall paper. I say no, I don't think so. Why not? It is not my taste. OK then, we'll talk when I get back.
Get home Sunday late pm to find lights are all off, there is no power in house. Wardrobe is in bathroom, hall is half plastered, doorbell is off, etc. Avoid hysterical call to decorator till Monday, then make it. Wait in for decorator, he says he is on another job till mid next week. Also, plaster has to dry. Argue with decorator (why is my job not priority? why did he say it would all be done last week of May?) Evntually get decorator back. Painting work starts.
Have nervous breakdown symptoms because only three weeks' viewing left and decorator says F&B paint has not stuck to wall properly, it is all patchy. He says he has never thought much of F&B, we argue about it as I have used it lots of times before. He gets his mate on the phone for advice and says loudly "Yes mate, F&B, I don't think much of it myself, either." We speak to F&B on the phone, they say plaster probably not properly dry. Decorator says this is a big problem, does not know what to do. In the end, he paints over it in F&B emulsion and it works. He finishes it all off then I ask him to hang the clock back. I explain I would rather he put the fixing in as you can't just tap nails into the wall. He says you can. He does it, and a big piece of plaster comes off. He says he will come back and fix it later.
One agent puts up board without asking. Ask about board (this is when they put it up without asking). She says it is a good marketing technique, so board stays. Neighbours all say: "I see your house is up for rent!" and "Haven't you rented it yet?" No.
Am advised by one agent that I had too many agents and this could be the death of my property. Says she once knew a house that took a YEAR to go, because it was on with too many agents. People think this means there must be something wrong with it. Ask her why she can't tell them there isn't. Ask Xtina for advice. She says this is cynical ploy, but also, maybe true. I drop agent. and some others, stay with two. Change the price again. Sandy says not to panic and he does not want to subsidise tenants, but I do it anyway. Phone them constantly, driving them mad. . ake up book with all appliance information, find appliance information, find utility information, find plumber, electrician and all other supplier numbers, find meters and stopcock, fill in book.
- HURRAH, we have tenants. I knew only non-Brits would appreciate my house; he is French. Take nice lady round, show her all appliances and how they work. Coffee machine breaks down when she is gone, call Miele, book engineer. Call tenant about taking on allotment, take her round to allotment. Fix security light, buy new bulbs for security light, SHIT light not working, call decorator, try all fuses, photo light and email to decorator to replace chase agency for rental agreement, organise cleaners, book cleaner in to do estimate, put cleaning into rental agreement. Get gifts for agents who got tenants, wrap and take round. Get weedkiller to do patio, call tree company to take out dead tree that may be Health and Safety risk. Tree people cannot come for a week, then come, will have to come back to take out tree. Cleaner does estimate - cat wee patch on carpet is big problem and needs fitter to come and replace underlay. Big job, suggests I get someone to do it. I suggest he could do it. He says he will get back to me. Agency have not yet sent rental agreement, chase it up. Call insurers to advise of new conditions.
- Pack up house, order boxes from online site, order more boxes, order bubble wrap, order tape, order more tape, SHIT next day delivery not arrived, on phone, phone does not answer, call back, call back. It is on the lorry madam, no we can't say when it will arrive. No, delivery is next day, that does not actually mean it is next day guaranteed. If you read the small print, you will see. Chase orders that have not arrived, pack, pack, pack, pack. Run out of bubble wrap, order more. Go to get Arctic root and St Johns Wort tablet stocks to take so I do not revert to unmedicated self when in Spain. There is no more Arctic Root (wonder drug) in stock, order it. Go to get cat discs engraved and collars for cats, batteries for scales to take to Spain in case they don't have these, plus bayonet fitting light bulbs for our lamps (no bayonet fittings there).
- Go through kitchen, emptying and washing about 100 jars of pickle which are past their sell by date, sometimes by about 3 years.
(I pointed out to Sandy long ago that he ought to join Pickles Anonymous: I remember him when he thought the Millenium Bug would mean no food in shops: he stockpiled about 3 cupboards of Ambrosia Cream Rice and Macedonia Fruit Salad which I said I would rather starve than eat and then after there was no Millenium Bug I had to throw all that out; even school Harvest Festival would not want it, they expect nice Twining Tea and Bonne Maman jam. I have to hope that in Spain, we will not have access to so many pickles and also that people will not take it into their heads to give them to us for Christmas. It is all down to people not knowing what to buy for a man, which has meant that for years, we have been being given small jars of pickled beetroot or chutney (which I have seen it lots of times but never eaten it; chunks of vegetable in brown sauce doesn't appeal to me). They come with a little checked cloth over them and quaint writing but the fact is they are just Branston pickle more or less and they move slowly to the back of the cupboard, where they go off. Fortunately, the Mercadona doesn't have much pickle, only olives and small white onions, which Sandy doesn't seem so compelled to collect.
I am not joking when I say Pickles Anonymous I actually think it's a psychological problem he has. Women bang on about diets and read novels about them but actually men have just as many food issues, only different ones. The way they manifest stress is different. Recently, Sandy has started behaving like a marauding bear, one of those ones that invade people's bins in Canada which are called "rogue" bears. The other day, he approached the fridge as if he were going to claw it open, and he is even looking more and more like a bear. I told him maybe he had reverse anorexia, where you look in the mirror and actually you are fat, but you think you look thin. He just laughed and said he was planning to see how big he could get.)
- Take jars to bottle bank, several trips, using a lot of petrol (plus water used to wash them out, which takes a long time, especially sticky Chinese sauce which will not come out of the bottle even if upside down in sink).
- Fill boxes of soft toys, apologising to the bears as I compress them down, plus random clothes, and about 1 million computer games. Keep telling the kids "you won't be on the computer all the time in Spain, you know." It is true, they play outside a lot more, and now Alexander thinks he can get a quad bike, I don't think we will see him for dust.
- Make Sandy get rid of many shirts left in cupboards "too gay" (ie they fit and are not baggy enough to pull up round beer belly). Go to Oxfam with bags of shirts. He has never thrown anything away in his life: the only reason we don't have more is because I have removed university rugby shirts, etc. on the sly. Run out of boxes, order more. Throw things, throw things out, pack. Order missing chess pieces from Alexander's talking chess set he has never used because of missing pieces, so we can take it with us. Go and get books because you can't buy them in Spain, pack them.
- Go on Royal Mail website to try and work out how to get post forwarded. Can't understand site - it seems only to cater for moving in the UK. Call them, listen to call centre music. They can send me a form in the post. I order it, but also get one from the post office. The one I ordered turns up about 5 weeks later, after I have had the reply from the second one. Meanwhile, go through files to find all people who send us post, make a list of them. Call them to tell them we are moving. A lot of things like phones and his credit cards are in Sandy's name because that's his domain. They say things like, due to the Data Protection Act, we cannot speak to you as your name is not on the account. Where is your husband? He is in Australia. Get irritable and say spitefully, well, you'll be the ones writing to the wrong address!
- I make a list for him. I call the numbers I have and get automated call centres. Option 1, 2 and 3 do not include moving to Spain. I use cunning ruses to get a human being, and when I do, they pass me around a bit. Someone says, "Right, give us the new address." I try to explain Spanish address on the phone. People say "What?" and "What's the postcode?" L-A-S that is LIMA, ALPHA, SIERRA... I say. "Is that LOS?" No it's LAS. I have a lot of chats with people about how super, moving to Spain, I bet the weather is lovely out there. It takes about 2 whole days to make the calls; a lot of them say, you have to put it in writing. I cannot even reach half the people who send us junk mail; they do not have phone numbers or addresses. I call some of them several times; they say we are on a number of lists which is why we keep getting more post.
- Cancel store cards. Ask for all bills to go online. Listen to "ANOTHER GIRL, ANOTHER PLANET" on Vodafone helpline about 6 times, till nearly driven mad. Girl on the other end says, yes, we are thinking about changing the music. I point out also they could tell you where you are in the queue like everyone else. She says they are thinking about that too. Cancel more cards, call Sevenoaks council re poll tax. They register I am going and am in credit with them. They say they will stop all paperwork and pay off the account. A week later they sent me a paper bill for next year.
-Call Trevor (garage man) about selling Mercedes. He gives me dealer's number, I go and see them, they make an offer, I sell the car. We now only have one, which means Sandy and I have to negotiate all the time. Call Landrover about selling the car back to them. Sandy has claimed this is not possible as we are on a 3 year contract. I am not sure; anyway, we have nowhere to park it in the UK as tenants will take both parking spaces. Landrover are great. Nice guy called Darryl says we can return it and there is enough change on the contract to hire a car. We hire a Passat and let the side down on the school run. Lose the cheque from Landrover and have to call them back to reissue it.
- Resume driving responsiblities. I now have to: leave at 7.30 to go to Alexander's busstop, then back to Lara's school. If Sandy is working in town, go to station in Chelsfield first, or afterwards. Get home, do all other stuff, then do same in reverse from 4pm, or 3pm if school has kindly decided it is school play so children can go home early for a rest before hand.
- Get big stock of fishfood for fish, arrange for fish in tank, orchids, freezer and microwave to go to Jamie and Neville, and Jan respectively. They turn up in the drive: large lady in purple (Jan),tattooed cool skinny guy in khaki fatigues (Neville) and larger guy with jewellery and cap (Jamie). Keith (policeman neighbour) is fixing his bike in the garage, we are chatting. It's the first day the sun has been out for weeks; it all feels a bit Lily Allen. There is some banter:
Me: Here comes my team.
Keith: Team of pikies, you mean.
Neville and Jamie laugh.
Jan: Anyone want some lavender?
Keith: Or Little Britain, more like.
I start to feel sad about going. I have some cool neighbours here, I really do. I tell Neville and Jamie to name the 4 fish (bred from eggs in our pond) after the family. Neville says if one dies we'll decide which one of you it is and let you know. Then they relent and say they will send me some photos of the fish. Jan takes my orchids. It is all a bit final as they wheel the stuff away.
Showing posts with label call centres. Show all posts
Showing posts with label call centres. Show all posts
Saturday, 7 July 2007
Friday, 6 July 2007
Marital tensions, call centres
Sandy acts weird around logistics
Sandy did something pretty weird when it came to this move, particularly given that he used to be in the military and is supposedly Logistics Man. When we were talking about moving, one of the questions was whether he could work from the Spanish house or not. We are, after all, in a small village which is long on goats but not much else. Working out there required two things: broadband Internet access, to allow Sandy to get onto IBM Starship Enterprise HQ - no small undertaking - and an airport which could fly him to meetings in Ankara or Munich, or wherever.
He decided it was all hunky-dory: Oliver, the previous owner, had told him there was broadband, and Almeria airport was all he needed. That was in March, when we decided to go to Spain. This is what then happened in about April:
Sandy: We have to sort out that broadband, you know. (We, in this context, means, you).
Me: I thought it was sorted out.
Sandy: No, it's not connected up. We need to get the software to connect it up.
Me; (Glazing over at thought of technology) How do we do that?
Sandy: You have to get it from Telefonica, we have to get them to come round to the house and fix it.
Me: (Heart sinking) Oh? How do you know we've got Internet?
Sandy: Oliver showed it to me. I saw it working, and there is a satellite on the side of the house, and a router. It's there, it just isn't connected up.
Me (thinks: what is a router?)
Sandy: Yes, you better call them and arrange it.
A bit later, he says in a very grouchy way:
Sandy(Staring at laptop, in usual position on sofa. When Sandy is sulking, he sits on the sofa hunched over his laptop. In fact, inasmuch as quite a fat man can, he starts to actually look like a laptop.): This is a real problem with these flights. This is going to be a real problem.
Me: What is?
Sandy: I can't fly anywhere from Almeria. There are basically no flights except to the UK.
Me: Well, didn't you know that? You must have checked the flights.
Sandy: Well I did, but not in depth.
Me: What do you mean, not in depth?
Sandy (banging away on the laptop): I looked at it, but now I look at it more, I can see there are no flights.
Me: Well, we'll just have to work it out.
Sandy: Well, I can't fly from there. I don't know how I'm going to work it out.
Me: Can't you fly from Alicante?
Sandy: Yes, but it's an extra hour on the journey. (tap, tap)
Me: I dont understand why you're just looking at this now.
Sandy: Silence (Tap, tap). Frowns.
Later on, he points out that if there are no flights, this would mean I Cant Work, which would mean I Would Have to Fly to Madrid, Never Be at Home, never see the children and they would be very sad (I was not mentioned as never being seen). He is clearly majorly stressed: he stares at the laptop all the time although it clearly has no answers.
I then call Sylvia, my friend in Madrid, and ask her to call Telefonica for starters. She is very obliging and tries, but it turns out Telefonica say we don't have an Internet account. We then try Movistar, since we also seem to have a bill from Movistar, which Sandy thinks might relate to the satellite dish on the side of the house. Movistar (which is kind of part of Telefonica, but kind of not - not entirely clear in the call centre) don't do Internet.
At about this point, Sylvia suggests I speak to an engineer, Fernando, she knows in Agua Amarga. Why don't I call him and get him to sort it out? Maybe, but I decide to have another go at working out whether we have an Internet account.
I speak to Movistar and have several nice conversations with people in local mobile shops in Vera who offer me little cards and things. Then we realise I am after Internet and they don't do that. I have to call Telefonica from the UK. It takes me a while to find a number that works. I then get Telefonica Movil (not Movistar), and am in the wrong place; I have to speak to Telefonica Fixed. After a while, I do. A lot of Spanish call centre people are very patient. "Mira, Dona Juliet, this is no good, you are in the wrong place. No, they have no Internet registered on this phone number. Dona Juliet, you call this number..." I start to bang things on the floor.
Sandy calls and asks me if I have sorted it out. I shout at him, he says:
Sandy: Well, we have to sort it out, or I Can't Work.
Me: What am I supposed to do?
Sandy: I don't know, but we have to get it sorted. If I can't get online, I will have to go back to the UK. I will not see the kids, they will be upset.
Back to Telefonica: we have to speak to Telefonica Fixed, not Telefonica Mobile. I speak to them. No, you can't have Internet where you are, they say. But I think I do, I say. No, you don't, they say. But I have a dish on my house, I say. We don't know what kind of system you have, they say. Can an engineer come and look? No, not if you haven't got an account. Bang, bang.
In the end, one lady (I have spoken to most of Telefonica's call centre by now) says that I can have some kind of Internet and do I want to contract it now? But it is not ASDL something, it is something else something. I am stabbing in the dark now. OK, I think, I'll have it anyway, on the basis that something might be better than nothing. I organise to amend the account to take whatever it is. Will we now have broadband? I have no idea. I call Fernando and say I'll call him from the house if it doesn't work. The nice lady, Maria, gives me a magic number which she says I need to input to the computer to link up. I am pleased to have the number: in my mind this is the code that will solve all our problems. I ask Maria if I can just put it into any computer: she says yes.
Later, I am not sure. I call back to ask about the number: Telefonica then tell me to call their technical team. I do. They put me onto some local technical office, who say the number hasnt' got the right number of digits, also it is not for broadband, which would connect automatically. Can they come out and look? No, they don't do that: I need to speak to the main Telefonica number.
We go there in the last week of May, accompanied by Lizzie, the ex-nanny, Jane and her girls. Xtina and Eddie are going to join us, so there will be lots of witnesses to the marital discord.
We get there: Sandy logs on, spends a lot of time doing stuff and none of it works. It goes tlike this for a bit:
Sandy: You had better call Telefonica.
Me: But they wont speak to me.
Sandy: Well, we have to do something.
Kids: Can we have an ice cream? Can we go to the waterpark?
Other adults: How about a glass of wine? Cor, this is great, being on holiday!
I call Telefonica again, this time I can use the Spanish number. They ask me what kind of Internet I have: I don't know. I tell them they have just sold me something so surely they know what it is? They say, they don't know what system I have, they are just the billing people? They point out that the phone line is very bad and needs fixing: they will call me back. Bleep, bleep.
Nobody calls back. I call back several times.
Eventually, I speak to a nice marketing man who says I need a new satellite dish, that will just be for the Internet. It will cost a lot, 2000 Euros. I dont care: by now I wouldnt mind if it cost 10,000. I feel I am finally getting somewhere. Does that mean I will have Broadband? It is very important for my husband's work! By now, all the Telefonica people know about my husband and how he needs broadband to work, but I suspect they don't actually give a toss. Why would they?
I call Fernando and he says he could also supply this satellite dish for me, but with another operator. He will come out, but it will cost about 1000 Euros to come out. I say I'll call him back a bit later. Bang, bang.
Just as I am about to give up, Telefonica, miraculously, calls me back. Things like this happen in Spain, I have noticed. They are sending an engineer out to look at the system. At last, a human being will come and see what we have in the house.
He turns up the next day. Everyone else is by the pool: I am walking about attached to the phone and Sandy is on the laptop. The engineer is quite silent: he does a lot of things on the laptop and realigns the satellite dish. He says it is nonsense to have a new dish; the two signals would get confused and our village is too far from the satellite, that is the real problem. But the marketing man told me, I said. He sniffs: these marketing people don't understand the technology, he says. Shocking, I say, from the depths of my PR experience. I haven't understood most of what he said, but the dish is now nice and straight.
What do you suggest? I ask. He says we could go down and work in Lubrin. Yes, there is broadband there. It seems odd to me that the satellite is millions of miles up in the sky and yet it makes a big difference if you are in Lubrin or in Los Herreras, 15 minutes away. We are facing the wrong way, apparently. No chance of broadband in the house? No, all we have is a dial-up line - it is ok for email but not more than one computer. Oh.
Sandy is still sulking. He goes out in the car to buy a phone card which may let him do 3G or something. He goes all the way to Vera and the shop is not open. He waits for it to open, but has left his passport behind, which he needs. He has to come back again, then go again. The shop is then closed. He goes back later, with his passport. Eventually, the girl does the paperwork and says it will be sent off: come back tomorrow. He is very silent by the pool.
I go over to the neighbours. Juana's son's novia, girlfriend, Maria, is also there: she is also our plumber, Gilberto's, daughter. I explain my trials with Telefonica: they all agree it is very hadrd dealing with Telefonica though they look very vague when I mention "banda ancha", Broadband. What is that? I can see them thinking. The Spanish are very switched on to e-commerce, but maybe not in Los Herreras. Maria, however, works for the Ayuntiamento - she says there is broadband in Lubrin and also that they are going to put up a new mast in Saeti (our area).
Oh, when? I say. "Soon, quite soon." This year? Maybe, could be. Maybe next year. Anyway, they have written to the residents about it. You don't want to go and buy a satellite dish now and then find they've done it all free.
I try talking to Sandy. It is uphill work: he is like Eeyore. I point out angrily that it is not my fault he didnt check if there was broadband or not. If it was that important, why didnt he check? He says Oliver told him. As Oliver was, on a generous interpretation, absent-minded, and on a less generous one, a bankrupt, financial disaster who scarpered back to the UK leaving lots of unpaid bills, you could wonder why Sandy Oliver saying anything was gospel. Sandy goes back down to look for his 3G card. The girl has forgotten to send off the paperwork: he will have to come back again.
After a while, I talk to Jane. I explain Sandy's unreasonable behaviour and like most people she seems to think it was my decision to come to Spain and somehow Sandy has been corralled into it. Is that what he told her? Not exactly, but clearly while his mouth said it was a joint decision his body language was saying I Was Pushed. I didnt effing push him. I gave him several get-outs - the last few times I was approached about jobs I asked him if he was quite sure and he said, yes, though on reflection he used words like "we 've made the decision now, we have to stick to it," and "it's the best thing for the children." He is in a foul mood: I hate him and want to leave. Jane and I wonder if he ignored the information about the flights and bloody banda ancha until it was too late because subconsciously he really wanted to go to Spain, so was ignoring any logistical obstacles. I think this is right. He has been quite unhappy at work for some time and I think he wants to escape - but he has to burrow his way out backwards and with his eyes closed, as usual, rather than just picking up the spade and going for it.
The fact is, it all ended OK, the way things do in Spain. You try for ages to do something through the official channels, and then, as if by magic, someone helps you. We went down to Lubrin to se the school's headmistress and stopped by the Ayuntiamento. There was Maria, who gave us a password and user name. We logged in, sitting in the bar, and lo and behold, there was free broadband and Sandy got onto Starship Enterprise Flight Deck. A cloud lifted; he was suddenly connected with the Mother Ship. He became a different person and started talking to me about car brands, having not spoken to me for some days.
At the same time, Juan Manas, our builder, was in the bar. I had told him about the Internet problem and how we might have to rent a small office space somewhere in Lubrin. All smiles, he offered us a desk in his office there if we wanted one, where there is also working broadband. Sandy said Juan Manas was a sharp operator, and was going to charge us a fee that would cover his own internet costs, but I didnt see it that way. Besides, Juan Manas himself had told me that he liked helping people, not for the money, but because he wanted them to be happy living in his town. And I believe him. Yes, Sylvia - who was liaising with him because his Andaluz accent can be hard work on the phone - had given him an earful about not leaving the house tidy and not putting the glass in the windows yet. But he wasn't just guilty - he was being a Mr Fixit, which is what he likes.
Before we reached this happy conclusion, we had some very dark moments. On the Villaricos beach, Sandy was silently lying there, exuding resentment. There might as well have been a bubble coming out of his head saying: You made me come here where I can't work and have no broadband. When Jane and I were talking about what I was going to do (everyone keeps asking me that), I said I didnt know yet but wanted to take some time. She agreed and said, of course and I said, I do have a year's pay off. Sandy then raised his head slightly to say that the payoff had been spent. Subtle message: you should get a job!
I was so angry I nearly exploded; instead I walked off down the beach and didnt come back for a bit. Nobody knew it but I was crying to myself and thinking about leaving Sandy. I felt there was no way I could go out to Spain and embark on this adventure with him if he had that attitude. I He had a real cheek: the money was paid off the mortgage which meant we could afford to live on less, so it was contributing just as much as if it were in the bank. I could only think he said it to make a point about how I ought to get a job. He kept pushing me about it, even though we both know that would not be feasible when I am spending all my time talking to call centres. I don't even know what is behind it as if you ask him he denies it and says he doesn't care (note the language) what I do, it does not bother him, he does not think about my job. On the beach, I was stomping along trying to think of how I could leave him, complicated by the fact we were going to Spain. I thought probably I could share the house with him and just not speak to him. When I got back, all the other adults had "handle with care" faces on and were trying to be extra polite and constructive and probably thinking how annoying it was to come on holiday and have to see us have a big row. I downloaded a lot of my views to Eddie who was in the kitchen trying to cook up a huge meal. He wasnt generally listening as he was focused on the squid but he did agree with me that now was not the time for Sandy to think of reasons why it was not logistically possible to live in Spain.
I blame a lot of it on IBM. Their Human Resources HQ - which is some giant evil computer in Hungary - kept saying Sandy had to be based in places like Germany, based on some computer analysis of where he had worked in the last 6 months. He pointed out this changed every 6 months but the Hungarian computer was not interested. All this followed a lot of to-ing and fro-ing about whether he could, or could not, be based in Madrid, during the course of which Sandy changed his mind several times and peed off the partner based there because he didnt accept a local job on a local salary. In the end, it has all worked out and he is going to be based in Madrid, but we have had several evenings of Sandy head-in-hands, sighing and giving me his "this is a big problem" speech. He always expects the worst and is very black and white about it. One minute it will be no way, there is no way this will ever be resolved and my career is going nowhere; then suddenly some bloke in IBM will call someone and suggest Sandy joins some other team and it will all be hunky-dory again. Whatever I say during these interludes is rejected due to the fact that I don't understand, which is quite accurate.
All this has taught me a couple of things.
1) You realise how badly you speak a language when you have to go through a call centre in it. I spent three and a half hours on the phone to Telefonica, and have just spent another 30 on the phone to BBVA, the bank, trying to sort out Internet access to our Spanish bank account. Mysteriously, they have a wrong passport number for me: it bears no ressemblance to my own which means I can't input it to the Internet which requires this information.
2) In Spain, if you try hard, it don't mean a thing, as the Specials said. It's when you give up and take it easy that some nice person suddenly just solves it for you. After about 3 calls on the passport, a man just gave me the number they had and told me to use that.
3) People are not logical, even my husband. On the surface, they may seem to be, but underneath, they are being driven by hidden psychological motivations. I know this about myself, but I always assume that everyone else is completely rational.
So we dont exactly have broadband, but we know where it is and the good news it is in a bar in the square and it is free. Later on, some time this year, maybe next year, there will be a new mast, and maybe we'll get it in the house. In the Ayuntiamento, I saw a sign that said to call Gloria at Telefonica for information about rural internet, which I will do when we get out there.
Meanwhile, there is a new boiler, and I managed to read the Spanish instructions and light it, and the electrics appear to work. This will not be the end, but at least we have broken the ice.
Sandy did something pretty weird when it came to this move, particularly given that he used to be in the military and is supposedly Logistics Man. When we were talking about moving, one of the questions was whether he could work from the Spanish house or not. We are, after all, in a small village which is long on goats but not much else. Working out there required two things: broadband Internet access, to allow Sandy to get onto IBM Starship Enterprise HQ - no small undertaking - and an airport which could fly him to meetings in Ankara or Munich, or wherever.
He decided it was all hunky-dory: Oliver, the previous owner, had told him there was broadband, and Almeria airport was all he needed. That was in March, when we decided to go to Spain. This is what then happened in about April:
Sandy: We have to sort out that broadband, you know. (We, in this context, means, you).
Me: I thought it was sorted out.
Sandy: No, it's not connected up. We need to get the software to connect it up.
Me; (Glazing over at thought of technology) How do we do that?
Sandy: You have to get it from Telefonica, we have to get them to come round to the house and fix it.
Me: (Heart sinking) Oh? How do you know we've got Internet?
Sandy: Oliver showed it to me. I saw it working, and there is a satellite on the side of the house, and a router. It's there, it just isn't connected up.
Me (thinks: what is a router?)
Sandy: Yes, you better call them and arrange it.
A bit later, he says in a very grouchy way:
Sandy(Staring at laptop, in usual position on sofa. When Sandy is sulking, he sits on the sofa hunched over his laptop. In fact, inasmuch as quite a fat man can, he starts to actually look like a laptop.): This is a real problem with these flights. This is going to be a real problem.
Me: What is?
Sandy: I can't fly anywhere from Almeria. There are basically no flights except to the UK.
Me: Well, didn't you know that? You must have checked the flights.
Sandy: Well I did, but not in depth.
Me: What do you mean, not in depth?
Sandy (banging away on the laptop): I looked at it, but now I look at it more, I can see there are no flights.
Me: Well, we'll just have to work it out.
Sandy: Well, I can't fly from there. I don't know how I'm going to work it out.
Me: Can't you fly from Alicante?
Sandy: Yes, but it's an extra hour on the journey. (tap, tap)
Me: I dont understand why you're just looking at this now.
Sandy: Silence (Tap, tap). Frowns.
Later on, he points out that if there are no flights, this would mean I Cant Work, which would mean I Would Have to Fly to Madrid, Never Be at Home, never see the children and they would be very sad (I was not mentioned as never being seen). He is clearly majorly stressed: he stares at the laptop all the time although it clearly has no answers.
I then call Sylvia, my friend in Madrid, and ask her to call Telefonica for starters. She is very obliging and tries, but it turns out Telefonica say we don't have an Internet account. We then try Movistar, since we also seem to have a bill from Movistar, which Sandy thinks might relate to the satellite dish on the side of the house. Movistar (which is kind of part of Telefonica, but kind of not - not entirely clear in the call centre) don't do Internet.
At about this point, Sylvia suggests I speak to an engineer, Fernando, she knows in Agua Amarga. Why don't I call him and get him to sort it out? Maybe, but I decide to have another go at working out whether we have an Internet account.
I speak to Movistar and have several nice conversations with people in local mobile shops in Vera who offer me little cards and things. Then we realise I am after Internet and they don't do that. I have to call Telefonica from the UK. It takes me a while to find a number that works. I then get Telefonica Movil (not Movistar), and am in the wrong place; I have to speak to Telefonica Fixed. After a while, I do. A lot of Spanish call centre people are very patient. "Mira, Dona Juliet, this is no good, you are in the wrong place. No, they have no Internet registered on this phone number. Dona Juliet, you call this number..." I start to bang things on the floor.
Sandy calls and asks me if I have sorted it out. I shout at him, he says:
Sandy: Well, we have to sort it out, or I Can't Work.
Me: What am I supposed to do?
Sandy: I don't know, but we have to get it sorted. If I can't get online, I will have to go back to the UK. I will not see the kids, they will be upset.
Back to Telefonica: we have to speak to Telefonica Fixed, not Telefonica Mobile. I speak to them. No, you can't have Internet where you are, they say. But I think I do, I say. No, you don't, they say. But I have a dish on my house, I say. We don't know what kind of system you have, they say. Can an engineer come and look? No, not if you haven't got an account. Bang, bang.
In the end, one lady (I have spoken to most of Telefonica's call centre by now) says that I can have some kind of Internet and do I want to contract it now? But it is not ASDL something, it is something else something. I am stabbing in the dark now. OK, I think, I'll have it anyway, on the basis that something might be better than nothing. I organise to amend the account to take whatever it is. Will we now have broadband? I have no idea. I call Fernando and say I'll call him from the house if it doesn't work. The nice lady, Maria, gives me a magic number which she says I need to input to the computer to link up. I am pleased to have the number: in my mind this is the code that will solve all our problems. I ask Maria if I can just put it into any computer: she says yes.
Later, I am not sure. I call back to ask about the number: Telefonica then tell me to call their technical team. I do. They put me onto some local technical office, who say the number hasnt' got the right number of digits, also it is not for broadband, which would connect automatically. Can they come out and look? No, they don't do that: I need to speak to the main Telefonica number.
We go there in the last week of May, accompanied by Lizzie, the ex-nanny, Jane and her girls. Xtina and Eddie are going to join us, so there will be lots of witnesses to the marital discord.
We get there: Sandy logs on, spends a lot of time doing stuff and none of it works. It goes tlike this for a bit:
Sandy: You had better call Telefonica.
Me: But they wont speak to me.
Sandy: Well, we have to do something.
Kids: Can we have an ice cream? Can we go to the waterpark?
Other adults: How about a glass of wine? Cor, this is great, being on holiday!
I call Telefonica again, this time I can use the Spanish number. They ask me what kind of Internet I have: I don't know. I tell them they have just sold me something so surely they know what it is? They say, they don't know what system I have, they are just the billing people? They point out that the phone line is very bad and needs fixing: they will call me back. Bleep, bleep.
Nobody calls back. I call back several times.
Eventually, I speak to a nice marketing man who says I need a new satellite dish, that will just be for the Internet. It will cost a lot, 2000 Euros. I dont care: by now I wouldnt mind if it cost 10,000. I feel I am finally getting somewhere. Does that mean I will have Broadband? It is very important for my husband's work! By now, all the Telefonica people know about my husband and how he needs broadband to work, but I suspect they don't actually give a toss. Why would they?
I call Fernando and he says he could also supply this satellite dish for me, but with another operator. He will come out, but it will cost about 1000 Euros to come out. I say I'll call him back a bit later. Bang, bang.
Just as I am about to give up, Telefonica, miraculously, calls me back. Things like this happen in Spain, I have noticed. They are sending an engineer out to look at the system. At last, a human being will come and see what we have in the house.
He turns up the next day. Everyone else is by the pool: I am walking about attached to the phone and Sandy is on the laptop. The engineer is quite silent: he does a lot of things on the laptop and realigns the satellite dish. He says it is nonsense to have a new dish; the two signals would get confused and our village is too far from the satellite, that is the real problem. But the marketing man told me, I said. He sniffs: these marketing people don't understand the technology, he says. Shocking, I say, from the depths of my PR experience. I haven't understood most of what he said, but the dish is now nice and straight.
What do you suggest? I ask. He says we could go down and work in Lubrin. Yes, there is broadband there. It seems odd to me that the satellite is millions of miles up in the sky and yet it makes a big difference if you are in Lubrin or in Los Herreras, 15 minutes away. We are facing the wrong way, apparently. No chance of broadband in the house? No, all we have is a dial-up line - it is ok for email but not more than one computer. Oh.
Sandy is still sulking. He goes out in the car to buy a phone card which may let him do 3G or something. He goes all the way to Vera and the shop is not open. He waits for it to open, but has left his passport behind, which he needs. He has to come back again, then go again. The shop is then closed. He goes back later, with his passport. Eventually, the girl does the paperwork and says it will be sent off: come back tomorrow. He is very silent by the pool.
I go over to the neighbours. Juana's son's novia, girlfriend, Maria, is also there: she is also our plumber, Gilberto's, daughter. I explain my trials with Telefonica: they all agree it is very hadrd dealing with Telefonica though they look very vague when I mention "banda ancha", Broadband. What is that? I can see them thinking. The Spanish are very switched on to e-commerce, but maybe not in Los Herreras. Maria, however, works for the Ayuntiamento - she says there is broadband in Lubrin and also that they are going to put up a new mast in Saeti (our area).
Oh, when? I say. "Soon, quite soon." This year? Maybe, could be. Maybe next year. Anyway, they have written to the residents about it. You don't want to go and buy a satellite dish now and then find they've done it all free.
I try talking to Sandy. It is uphill work: he is like Eeyore. I point out angrily that it is not my fault he didnt check if there was broadband or not. If it was that important, why didnt he check? He says Oliver told him. As Oliver was, on a generous interpretation, absent-minded, and on a less generous one, a bankrupt, financial disaster who scarpered back to the UK leaving lots of unpaid bills, you could wonder why Sandy Oliver saying anything was gospel. Sandy goes back down to look for his 3G card. The girl has forgotten to send off the paperwork: he will have to come back again.
After a while, I talk to Jane. I explain Sandy's unreasonable behaviour and like most people she seems to think it was my decision to come to Spain and somehow Sandy has been corralled into it. Is that what he told her? Not exactly, but clearly while his mouth said it was a joint decision his body language was saying I Was Pushed. I didnt effing push him. I gave him several get-outs - the last few times I was approached about jobs I asked him if he was quite sure and he said, yes, though on reflection he used words like "we 've made the decision now, we have to stick to it," and "it's the best thing for the children." He is in a foul mood: I hate him and want to leave. Jane and I wonder if he ignored the information about the flights and bloody banda ancha until it was too late because subconsciously he really wanted to go to Spain, so was ignoring any logistical obstacles. I think this is right. He has been quite unhappy at work for some time and I think he wants to escape - but he has to burrow his way out backwards and with his eyes closed, as usual, rather than just picking up the spade and going for it.
The fact is, it all ended OK, the way things do in Spain. You try for ages to do something through the official channels, and then, as if by magic, someone helps you. We went down to Lubrin to se the school's headmistress and stopped by the Ayuntiamento. There was Maria, who gave us a password and user name. We logged in, sitting in the bar, and lo and behold, there was free broadband and Sandy got onto Starship Enterprise Flight Deck. A cloud lifted; he was suddenly connected with the Mother Ship. He became a different person and started talking to me about car brands, having not spoken to me for some days.
At the same time, Juan Manas, our builder, was in the bar. I had told him about the Internet problem and how we might have to rent a small office space somewhere in Lubrin. All smiles, he offered us a desk in his office there if we wanted one, where there is also working broadband. Sandy said Juan Manas was a sharp operator, and was going to charge us a fee that would cover his own internet costs, but I didnt see it that way. Besides, Juan Manas himself had told me that he liked helping people, not for the money, but because he wanted them to be happy living in his town. And I believe him. Yes, Sylvia - who was liaising with him because his Andaluz accent can be hard work on the phone - had given him an earful about not leaving the house tidy and not putting the glass in the windows yet. But he wasn't just guilty - he was being a Mr Fixit, which is what he likes.
Before we reached this happy conclusion, we had some very dark moments. On the Villaricos beach, Sandy was silently lying there, exuding resentment. There might as well have been a bubble coming out of his head saying: You made me come here where I can't work and have no broadband. When Jane and I were talking about what I was going to do (everyone keeps asking me that), I said I didnt know yet but wanted to take some time. She agreed and said, of course and I said, I do have a year's pay off. Sandy then raised his head slightly to say that the payoff had been spent. Subtle message: you should get a job!
I was so angry I nearly exploded; instead I walked off down the beach and didnt come back for a bit. Nobody knew it but I was crying to myself and thinking about leaving Sandy. I felt there was no way I could go out to Spain and embark on this adventure with him if he had that attitude. I He had a real cheek: the money was paid off the mortgage which meant we could afford to live on less, so it was contributing just as much as if it were in the bank. I could only think he said it to make a point about how I ought to get a job. He kept pushing me about it, even though we both know that would not be feasible when I am spending all my time talking to call centres. I don't even know what is behind it as if you ask him he denies it and says he doesn't care (note the language) what I do, it does not bother him, he does not think about my job. On the beach, I was stomping along trying to think of how I could leave him, complicated by the fact we were going to Spain. I thought probably I could share the house with him and just not speak to him. When I got back, all the other adults had "handle with care" faces on and were trying to be extra polite and constructive and probably thinking how annoying it was to come on holiday and have to see us have a big row. I downloaded a lot of my views to Eddie who was in the kitchen trying to cook up a huge meal. He wasnt generally listening as he was focused on the squid but he did agree with me that now was not the time for Sandy to think of reasons why it was not logistically possible to live in Spain.
I blame a lot of it on IBM. Their Human Resources HQ - which is some giant evil computer in Hungary - kept saying Sandy had to be based in places like Germany, based on some computer analysis of where he had worked in the last 6 months. He pointed out this changed every 6 months but the Hungarian computer was not interested. All this followed a lot of to-ing and fro-ing about whether he could, or could not, be based in Madrid, during the course of which Sandy changed his mind several times and peed off the partner based there because he didnt accept a local job on a local salary. In the end, it has all worked out and he is going to be based in Madrid, but we have had several evenings of Sandy head-in-hands, sighing and giving me his "this is a big problem" speech. He always expects the worst and is very black and white about it. One minute it will be no way, there is no way this will ever be resolved and my career is going nowhere; then suddenly some bloke in IBM will call someone and suggest Sandy joins some other team and it will all be hunky-dory again. Whatever I say during these interludes is rejected due to the fact that I don't understand, which is quite accurate.
All this has taught me a couple of things.
1) You realise how badly you speak a language when you have to go through a call centre in it. I spent three and a half hours on the phone to Telefonica, and have just spent another 30 on the phone to BBVA, the bank, trying to sort out Internet access to our Spanish bank account. Mysteriously, they have a wrong passport number for me: it bears no ressemblance to my own which means I can't input it to the Internet which requires this information.
2) In Spain, if you try hard, it don't mean a thing, as the Specials said. It's when you give up and take it easy that some nice person suddenly just solves it for you. After about 3 calls on the passport, a man just gave me the number they had and told me to use that.
3) People are not logical, even my husband. On the surface, they may seem to be, but underneath, they are being driven by hidden psychological motivations. I know this about myself, but I always assume that everyone else is completely rational.
So we dont exactly have broadband, but we know where it is and the good news it is in a bar in the square and it is free. Later on, some time this year, maybe next year, there will be a new mast, and maybe we'll get it in the house. In the Ayuntiamento, I saw a sign that said to call Gloria at Telefonica for information about rural internet, which I will do when we get out there.
Meanwhile, there is a new boiler, and I managed to read the Spanish instructions and light it, and the electrics appear to work. This will not be the end, but at least we have broken the ice.
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