Winning wills

While I appreciate winning is not everything I understand the will to win most definitely is.  Much to my frustration, and largely due to over-commitment on all fronts, I have recently experienced an overwhelming sense that, on occasion, having the will to win can still prove insufficient to gain the advantage in every battle.

Over the past ten days I have,

·        failed to convince my body I do not have an upper respiratory infection resulting in this unwelcome invader knocking me for six

·        failed to convince my landlord to attend to a list of repairs resulting in the prospect of another winter with extortionate heating bills and very little warmth

·        failed to convince the former Treasurer of the Friends to furnish me with much needed banking information resulting in pure guesswork when it came to the allocating of this year’s funds at our meeting

·        failed to work out an economically sound method for my teenage son to travel, via public transport, to an open day at University College London resulting in a seven hour road trip by car

·        failed to convince the Financial Ombudsman to view HBOS’s actions as both negligent and pivotal to the resulting mortgage shortfall I am now saddled with.

However, knowing success is not wholly dependant on drive and persistence while fatigue can make cowards of us all I sent for reinforcements when it came to the assembly of my team for the school quiz.

Carefully selecting friends who have been supportive and uplifting during the darkest hours of my HBOS ordeals, my unassuming band of debt fighting warriors threw aside the trappings of battle to engage in an evening’s intellectual frivolity of fish and chip fuelled entertainment.  Although brows were periodically furrowed in contemplation, we laughed and dined the evening away in untroubled camaraderie and in so doing melted my failures of the preceding days  into insignificance. The by product of this meeting of minds over a school quiz and a few beers was......

We won!

On hearing American baseball player Michael Jordan words,

“I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. Twenty six times I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and again in my life and that is why I succeed.”

I realise every road to success is littered with failures of the past. However, it has become evident from the success of our quiz team efforts that the individual’s commitment to a group effort is precisely what makes a team work, a company work, a society work, a civilization work ,

And,

I am also convinced it will eventually be what makes my battle with HBOS work.

In recognition of this invaluable and ongoing solidarity I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge my appreciation of not only my fellow quiz team members, but also every kind and caring individual who has so readily given their time and their expertise over the past three years to ensure I remain on my road to success in spite of my failures.

I extend my heart felt thanks to each and every one of you.

Homes and Gardens

 

Knowing “a house is made of walls and beams” while “a home is made with love and dreams”, I guarantee our sixteenth century grade two listed barn most definitely fell into the latter.  From the moment we saw its derelict shell towering over unobstructed views of the countryside towards the river Severn, we knew it would make the perfect family home.

Over a ten year period we were diligent in our search for reclaimed materials to maintain its character and used locally grown green oak to restore its magnificent vaulted ceiling complete with mistral’s gallery.  With an enormous log burner at its heart to ensure our family was always warm, this lovingly crafted restoration project was my husband’s pride and joy and regularly left visitors gasping at both its beauty and location.

As my children grew old enough to enjoy their surroundings, they discovered our home made a wonderful back drop to the freedom that two acres of land and an abundance of local friends afforded them.  I, in turn, was delighted to finally have a home from which we could put down roots which also allowed us to bring up and school our children in a village community.  Being a developer’s wife had meant numerous house moves throughout the years as a means of growing my husband’s business so I happily embraced a more settled outlook and threw myself wholeheartedly into country life. Quickly making many friends led to our home becoming the venue for many wonderful gatherings and  it was often filled with the camaraderie and laughter of our guests.  

In October 2008 my perspective completely changed.

Discovering we were to be faced with repossession, I soon realised everything I had once considered my own fell into two categories neither of which had anything to do with whether one's property is merely a house or a wonderful family home. A threat of this nature instantly dictates that everything must be viewed either as items against which a mortgage is secured or items against which a mortgage is not. 

As the forced sale of our home gathered momentum, repossession became HBOS’s “hangman’s noose” in the eevnt we be tempted not to co-operate.  During this period I watched my husband carefully strip each and every mortgage free fixture from our home in the hope the harvested items could be sold or reused for our families benefit.  When it came to dismantling our children's enormous wooden climbing frame (which he had designed and built in our field) he endured the sub zero temperatures of one of the coldest Januarys on record. In spite of the adverse weather conditions he carefully removed each and every part of this structure and, piece by piece, transported it to our newly rented home. 

For nearly three years the pile of wooden planks representing all that remained of our beautiful sixteenth century masterpiece was left discarded and ignored. Grass and weeds grew up amongst what appeared to be nothing of value and our children all but forgot about their much loved climbing frame's very existence. Believing its presence was only an unpleasant reminder of “old oak beams and thwarted dreams” I accepted it was unlikely ever to be resurrected again.  

However this week, to the astonishment and delight of everyone, my husband announced his intention was to build a tree house. With a spring in his step and  a renewed vigour I have not witnessed in some time; he resurrected and transformed the remnants of our old climbing frame. Three full days and nearly four hundred screws later it has become a formidable play structure in the enormous sycamore tree at the bottom of our garden and all three of our children have been in excited attendance for every step of its construction. Having now completed this project I believe my husband has not only created another masterpiece but has also laid one last ghost to rest. 

I am told there is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury and the forced sale of our home along with the simultaneous demise of our business, our livelihood and our financial future is most definitely an injury from which recovery has proved extremely difficult. Nevertheless, a tree house rising from the ashes of our lost life has been a very therapeutic start on the road to recovery for us all.

 

Off Limits

I have heard it said that limitations live only in our minds and if we use our imaginations, the possibilities become limitless. This point was illustrated to perfection today by my ten year old son when expressing, yet again, his desire to keep chickens.  On this occasion he did not attempt to seek permission to own a chicken but merely stoked a lively discussion as to how many chickens would be required to fulfil his ambition to keep our family in eggs.  Changing tack like this has smoothly shifted the debate from if to when he can have chickens and has made me wonder if taking a leaf out of his book in my dealings with Lloyds and HBOS’s might render me greater success.

Over the last week I have;

·        Received another demand from Lloyds debt collectors

·        Received no reply from Antonio Horta Osorio to my original letter of 4 August

·        Received no reply from Antonio Horta Osorio to my ”chase up” letter of 19 August

This leaves the Irish and the Elite continuing to enjoy preferential treatment for mortgage shortfall forgiveness and me continuing to suffer in purgatory purely because I live in England and do not have a high enough profile to be heard.

I have, however, received another letter this week. The Financial Ombudsman has given me two remarkably good but unexplained piece of news.

The henchwoman at Merrels Ede Solicitors has been called off as a direct result of my compliant and HBOS have, at last, agreed “not to pursue” for the time being, namely eighteen months.  This has come as a complete surprise to me because, in their last letter, my caseworker informed me they could not proceed without seeking agreement from HBOS to investigate my complaint leaving me under the impression the Financial Ombudsman's Service was about to prove completely toothless yet again.

So where does this leave me now?

It leaves me with eighteen months of limitless possibilities.  I don’t know what they are yet but it will be a relief to be able to put my case to whomever I wish without continually having to deal with the bully boy and brow beating tactics of HBOS’s Rottweiler, Merrils Ede solicitor’s. It also leaves me some unencumbered time to consider the merits of a ten year old boy keeping chickens.

Kitchen Chaos

I am told chaos results when the world changes faster than the people in it and, whilst the uneasiness caused by global chaos is reputed to allow the opportunity for creativity and growth, chaos in my kitchen seems to be causing nothing but confusion and angst.

It is mid morning and my grandson and daughter are attempting to make a crumble with fruit they have picked from the garden while calling on my expertise, constantly, to help them.

My youngest son, furious to find someone has been using his Uno cards again, communicates his indignation by way of a walky talky at full volume that picks up passing police transmissions at the same time.

My husband who was, until summoned by our eldest son, mid point of yet another Internet based job application, stands silent and hovering in the doorway in readiness to fulfill a “no notice” request for a lift to the cinema.

The same sixteen year old son is attempting to procure the Orange Wednesday code from my phone whilst telling me to chill at my handbag invasion and show more respect when conversing with him.

I, on the other hand, while doing my best to both relay cooking instructions and referee the Uno card dispute,  am endeavouring to communicate to my sixteen year old son the benefits of  being less demanding of instantaneous social gratification and more responsive to the numerous tasks of educational importance that he has seen fit to neglect.

Getting nowhere with anything, but still with all eyes on me I decide to,

·        ask my daughter and grandson to take a break from prepping the crumble and play Uno,

·        ask my youngest son to switch the walky talky off and join in with the  Uno game,

·        tell my eldest son it is too short notice to go to the cinema and suggest he crack on with his list of more pressing issues.

This leaves my husband free to return to his CV and me exhausted, but with some semblance of order and an empty kitchen.

“Miracle Mum,”, some might say?

“Dictator and control freak,” they cry,  while during all this, my husband stands silently by.

Despicable Me

Buddha said, “Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle yet the life of this candle will not be shortened”, and by the same token, “happiness never decreases by being shared”.  It saddens me to hear these words because although I believe them to be true, it is not how married life is for me.

My husband’s monotones seep into every crevice of our lives and his overall lack of enthusiasm is only punctuated by occasional self-amusement at a play on words that comes to mind from listening, but not engaging, in the conversation of others.  Perfectly able to speak with animation about a new piece of information he has acquired, he sees no need to offer even a hint of a smile when conversing in other ways.  To him it is excessive and unnecessary to crease his dead pan facade as he either enters a room or sees a familiar face across a crowd, even when it’s me.

My daughter, now almost thirteen, calls him “Daddy glum face” as she teases him about his expressionless demeanour.  He replies, without offence, that it would be uncomfortable if he smiled any more than he already does and, as he sits blanked faced throughout every meal, every car journey and what seems like every moment, I regularly wonder how many hours of silence I have spent with him to date and consider, with sadness, how many more I still have to come.

“Move on,” I tell myself in moments of desperation only to have my resolve falter at the price my children will pay for my inability to cope with the man they love.

“Get help”, say my friends when I tell them, in tears, about his mood swings of indifference to rage, only to find I shrink from the task of broaching the subject with him, let alone finding the money to fund it.

“Keep trying,” is the voice that persists, in spite of his wagging finger declaring the fault lies entirely with me. For this is a broken man I speak of who once was my closest friend in a time gone by, before bereavement, before debt and before financial despair. 

They say that sometimes being a friend means knowing when to exercise the art of timing, with a time for silence, a time to let go and a time to leave well alone for people to hurl themselves at their own destiny.

·        I have been silent while he built a business on what proved to be foundations of sand

·        I have let go so he could seek his own destiny and achieve great things in his own right 

However, it is also said a friend should be prepared to pick up the pieces when it’s all over.

“But how” I ask, “do you pick up a man in pieces when he believes himself to be whole with no part of the problem lieing with him?”

I end today knowing there is no delight for me in a life unshared and sadly, all too often these days it is my computer, not my husband, that is my closest friend.

Will and Power

Some would say watching people reveal their cynicism makes it possible to identify what it is they lack in life and I suspect it would be easy to assume that someone in my position would be cynical about their reduced circumstances and the paralysis it can sometimes bring about in everyday life. Today, for example, my children had their feet measured to establish if they need new school shoes.  In the past, if their feet had grown I would have simply bought them new shoes immediately, but current circumstances demand I defer the decision to spend money until I have checked the month’s outgoings. I cannot, however, say I am at all unhappy about this situation having always believed Mr Micawber’s recipe for happiness, “Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen and six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds and sixpence, result misery,” is a very valuable lesson for my children to learn.

Nevertheless I have little doubt those who choose observe me would definitely see immense frustration rather than cynicism as a result of the lack of progress I am making in all I am attempt to achieve.

In the last ten days I have,

• Sent my “All I need is you” letter to Antonio Horta Osorio and, as yet, received no acknowledgement or reply.
• Sent my blog “All I need is you” to the Financial Times and James Quinn editor of the Telegraph and, although in the case of Mr Quinn it has been acknowledged, again there has been no further communication.
• Sent my blog link and a synopsis of my writing to a literary editor who specialises in Misery Memoirs only to receive a sympathetic but disappointing reply, “I fear I don’t see this making a book.”

Thankfully, I have also,

• Been sent an article from the Times about people in similar circumstances to me in an effort to help me feel less alone in my endeavours.
• Received an invitation to spend a weekend in a beautiful coastal hotel in celebration of a friend’s birthday, all expenses paid.
• Had a phone call from my eldest daughter praising “Beaches and Blessings” as a wonderful piece of writing and , in her opinion, my best so far.
• Received an email from a lady who worked on my case for the CAB in which she praised my writing and said I am an inspiration to others.
• Had my blog sent to the CAB's Social Policies coordinator along with my original case worker.

In an addition to these much valued signs of support I have also been repeatedly told by my good friend Christine during my frequent crisis' of confidence,

• Lloyds Banking Group will eventually be exposed for fabricating correspondence about fictitious payment arrangements and be forced to address my situation rather than continue to persecute me.
• Their is a slim chance the Financial Ombudsman may well rule in my favour and not HBOS’s (as I fear) with regard to my mortgage shortfall complaint and for this reason I should be patient

She also insists,

• My writing is not drivel.

I am only too aware it is the fate of many people to fail in their endeavours, not because they lack strength, but purely because they lack will. Bolstered and strengthened by the support and generosity of others I am left with renewed vigour to persist with the making of fresh plans to take the place of those that have so far failed. Thankfully for me, HBOS and Lloyds Banking Group will never be at liberty to repossess either my will or the camaraderie of others.

Beaches and blessings

Like pediatrician and author Dr Marianne E. Neifert,  I believe “a family is what you make it. It is made stronger, not my the number of heads counted at the dinner table but by the rituals you help family members create, by the memories you share, by the commitment of time, caring and love you show to one another, and by the hopes for the future you have both as individuals and as a unit”.

With this observation in mind and sincerely hoping “a family in harmony will prosper,” I decided to combat the growing number of sibling disputes by way of a visit to the seaside.  Good weather combined with an unexpected mid week day off for my husband not only enabled us to get to the coast without running the weekend traffic jam gauntlet but also offered us an opportunity to take our ten and twelve year old as well as three of our grandchildren ages eleven, six and three. A substantial picnic along with buckets, spades, wet suits, flotation jackets and an inflated tractor inner-tube were carefully crammed into every available space in and on our car, while a selection of choral offerings from our passengers marked the level of excitement in the air during the journey.
Within an hour or two of our arrival, once a lengthy disembarkation had been completed, lunch served, crabs collected and sandcastles built, I was left to snooze in the sunshine while endless swashbuckling adventures involving our five charges and the inner tube were played out on the shoreline under my husband’s watchful eye. Towards the end of the afternoon, prompted only by the onset of hunger, my wanderers returned to find their beautifully engineered sandcastles, both lovingly and expertly constructed with the help of my husband, had attracted some enthusiastic but clumsy interest from some neighboring children.  Panicked by the potential for destruction, my ten year old son very politely suggested they ask their own Dad to construct a similar offering which they would be then be able to call their own.

As the small boy and his little sister got up to leave he said without malice,
”I can’t ask my Dad to build me anything because he left us when I was little and even though my Mum got us a new Dad he had to leave too because he and my Mum hated each other.  Now I don’t have any Dad but I really like your sandcastle.”

I could see from the look on my children and grandchildren’s faces that they were shocked and saddened by the boy’s statement. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, a discussion of some gravity had all five of them locked in debate.  Before long an agreement was reached and my husband and I were informed that a new sandcastle village was to be built for the sole use of the fatherless boy and his sister. An hour later the boy was found and presented with a comparable architectural masterpiece and this time the look of shock was on his face rather than the faces of my own children.

Twice he said,” Is this really for me?”

As I watched my five charges move off towards the shoreline to embark on more inner-tube adventures, I saw the beneficiaries of their efforts settle down to some intense sandcastle based play wearing faces that shone with unadulterated pleasure.
Not only am I immensely proud that my children and my grandchildren showed understanding and compassion for two children they believed to be less fortunate than them, but I am doubly impressed they applied their collective expertise to design a solution through a caring commitment of their time as a unit. I am also all only too aware that, had I chosen a different path when our HBOS troubles began, it could well have been my own children explaining the lack of a fatherly presence to strangers on a beach and not someone else’s.

A day at the beach and a regrettable gap in a small boy's life provided me with a heartwarming opportunity to see just how much my children still have in spite of our financial traumas.  It also afforded my an illustration of how much they value and have benefited from the rewards of a loving and secure family environment which, thankfully, has remained uncontaminated by unsympathetic creditors.  It is for this reason and for their sakes that I continue to covertly struggle on behind the scenes while battling with the Lloyds Banking Group. I do this in the hope that one day my husband and I will be able to enjoy family life, after debt, free from the legacy of HBOS greed and economic recession.

Infiltrations

Having read that the Smurf’s have recently been seen on Wall Street opening the New York stock exchange, I am beginning to wonder if, far from being a new development, Smurf’s have in fact been quietly infiltrating our financial institutions for quite some.  If this is indeed the case, the meaningless correspondence I continue to receive from Lloyds Bank is perfectly understandable when one considers it may well have been written by a large blue fluffy creature with very little between its ears.

Amidst the comings and goings that go hand in hand with children at home for the summer holidays, it appears I am now be subjected to a Lloyds Banking Group “pincer action”. On the one hand Merrils Ede Solicitors are waiting like vigilantes to pounce in the hope that the Financial Ombudsman will throw me to back to these HBOS wolves, while on the other, Lloyds TSB’s credit card and small loans department are bludgeoning me to distraction with their stupidity. The frustration of getting nowhere in both directions at once is nothing short of infuriating and, as ever, threatens me with yet another migraine melt down.

The crux of the matter is this.

I and the CAB have only ever corresponded with Lloyds TSB to ask them to forgive my husband’s credit card debt and personal loan (amounting to approximately £20,000) on the grounds of an inability to pay, combined with compassionate reasons. Lloyds TSB have spent two years ignoring these letters and then, just over twelve months ago, invented a communication in which it was agreed a payment arrangement should be set up. I have no knowledge of making an arrangement with them of any kind and nor haas the CAB so have I repeatedly asked for the documentary evidence on which they have based this assumption.

A multitude of letters later and almost year on, Lloyds continue to fail to supply me with anything. My exhaustive efforts have managed to ascertain nothing more than their repeated confirmation that a payment arrangement has definitely been made. Today’s letter states, yet again, this is their final response and advises me to deal direct with their collection agents in the future. This is, I am told, customary with debts that are in default of a payment arrangement.

Stupidity of this magnitude has led me to believe this level of stupidity can only be the work of ungoverned Smurfs if Smurf history is to be believed.

In 1964 when the first of their adventures were being heard, Smurfs were experiencing a leadership struggle following the disappearance of Papa Smurf. Although two potential leaders were soon indentified the Smurf population quickly became disenchanted when trying to arrange a vote because Smurf’s, as a rule, prefer only to vote for themselves. The community continued to struggled between choosing one candidate who was intent on making empty promises and using demagogical tactics and another who was arrogant and opinionated. Order and productivity ground to a halt while battle broke out between the independent factions. Thankfully, after much discontent and disruption amongst the entire Smurf population, Papa Smurf returned to save the day immediately restoring harmony and industry in the Smurf village once again.

If my suspicions are correct, the reason my requests are being continually ignored is because they are falling on the ears of ungoverned Smurfs within the Lloyds Banking Group. If this is truly the situation, Papa Smurf must return to restore order and productivity amongst these Smurf dissenters as a matter of urgency. I believe his presence is imperative I am to have any hope of procuring some sense out of Lloyds Banking Group and the tax payer is to avoid paying the price of banking lunancy once again .

Busy Bees

Still hoping that success comes to those who are too busy to go looking for it, I have been occupying myself with a number of widely varied tasks.  In the last twenty four hours I have,

·        Accepted delivery of three grandchildren for an indeterminate  period of time while my grown up daughter trains for a new job

·        Prepared, served and cleared up four meals for six people to eat “al fresco” while providing endless towels for mid meal swims in our paddling pool and refereeing numerous disputes

·        Arranged transport for my sixteen year old son to a youth hostel that, it now transpires, is two hundred and fifty miles away

·        Argued with said sixteen year old, who, having gone for a sleep over at a friends house, has arrived and discovered he has taken no money with him

·        Answered a phone call from a Gok’s fashion fix researcher who, having got my details from a neighbour, wishes to offer me and two friends a makeover, only to find the majority of my friends are running for cover at the very thought.

And,

·       Sent yesterdays blog, “All I need is you” to Antonio Horta Osorio at Lloyds Banking Group, James Quinn business editor of the Telegraph and Sharlene Goff retail banking correspondent for the Financial Times along with Ian Fraser's article about Lloyds sins of the past.

Here’s hoping they are not too busy to read them.

Brave New World

In order to limit the distress my sixteen year old son foresaw if he had to endure a family holiday without teenage companionship, I suggested he invite a friend from school to come too.  It was during a conversation with his friend, who plans to do a law degree, I discovered the Inland Revenue spend vast sums of money on legal cases involving people who find their tax bills a distressing infringement of their human rights.  Having been a self-employed 40% tax payer for the much of my working life I can  most definitely relate to finding a tax bill distressing but have to admit I have never considered it a violation of my human rights but merely the bane of the fortunate.

In the same way it would not occur to me to take the Inland Revenue to court on an issue of this nature, it did not occur to me, to seek human rights or equal opportunities advice when HBOS told me it was too late to save my home in October 2008.  I believe HBOS profited from a naivety on my part and when they decided to forego scruples, morals and decency in favour of seizing an opportunity to rail-road me out of my home in an effort to replenish their under capitalised coffers.Until recently, I  did not understand why my mortgage paying proposals fell on deaf HBOS ears. I have Stop HBOS campaigner Nicolette Turner (and victim of the HBOS Reading scandal) together with Ed Milliband’s recent speech on the feral elite to thank for my Eureka moment.  Their words have helped me see not only did I borrow too little to register above the radar for help but they have also enabled me to see I fell into financial difficulties too early to enjoy the benefit of government recommendations to lenders that followed, via the Ministry of Justice Pre-action Protocol in early 2009.

While I was looking to work with HBOS to reach a solution which worked for both of us, the HBOS executive were busily shouting from the roof tops “ it wasn’t me” to every accusation which came their way.  I believe the capital within my home became part of their hurried re-capitalisation plan which was supposed to sweep their recklessness towards risk management under the carpet and save them face along with their jobs. I can think of no other reason why my home saving proposals got me nowhere at a time when the media were declaring help was on its way in the form of government funding and FSA guidelines aimed at helping those caught in the credit crunch crossfire.Regrettably for me, our meritocratic culture encourages the celebration of the good fortune of the early bird without giving a second thought to the bad luck of the early worm. When it came to the forced sale of my home I fell foul of being one of the very early worms which was consumed by unbridled HBOS self interest.

When Ed Milliband recently said, “The powerful are very good at talking about the responsibilities of the powerless but they aren’t very good at looking at their own responsibilities,” he could have easily been referring to HBOS and the way they have continued to expect me to pay the price of their mistakes. Unaware of Franklin Roosevelt observations, “In our personal ambitions we are individualists but in our seeking of economic and political progress as a nation, we all go up or else all go down as one people”, Lloyds and HBOS have continued to offer victims of their greed nothing but contempt for the stressful HBOS created predicaments they find themselves in.

I can only hope the newly launched Public Jury Campaign provides  a definitive step in the right direction towards a brave new world which limits the power of " the cosy elite" because, again in the words of Roosevelt, as a rule,"men are moved by two levers, fear and self interest” and while “we have always known that heedless self interest was bad morals: we now know that is bad economics.”

High Anxiety

While EU politicians deliberate over how best to prop up the Italian economy's 1.8 trillion euro debt mountain, a Tuscany vine yard owner told Ian Fraser “all that matters is family, good wine, good food and sex” and having recently read former Chief Executive of HBOS, Andy Horby has decided to take time off from corporate life, I am beginning to wonder if it is because he too shares the Tuscan vineyard owner’s views.

According to Rupert Steiner in the Mail online, Hornby has experienced a tense five years from which he has required a much needed four month stress free break before make a career move into gambling, this time at the helm of Coral the bookmakers. To facilitate this, former employer Alliance Boots, the firm behind Boots the Chemist, has seen fit to make him a payout of ”£842,000 in salary, a £750,000 bonus, a £337,000 pension payment plus £41,000 in other benefits” on his departure. In addition the firm’s accounts also reveal Hornby was paid an additional £450,000 as compensation for not being allowed to join a rival health care company where he would have been at liberty to divulge Boots secrets.

It is said Andy Hornby is in need of a "sabbatical" because he has been “a worried man who cannot concentrate on anything” and having suffered from extreme levels of debt related stress throughout the last few years myself, I can certainly appreciate exactly how this feels. However although the nation is understandably still up in arms with regard to Hornby’s contribution to the collapse of HBOS and the cost of the subsequent government rescue, my question is not directly related to this. Instead I wish to know about what it is that Andy Hornby has been worrying?

·        Is it the worry of a guilty man who is hoping he will not be discovered and, like some former HBOS employees, face the consequences with a prison sentence?

·        Is it the worry of a bought man who is between a rock and hard place because his silence has been purchased?

·        Is it the worry of a patriotic man who wishes he hadn’t played a part in bringing this country to its economic knees?

·        Or maybe, it is the worry of a man who knows I, and many more like me, have lost their homes, their health and their livelihoods as direct a result of risk management policies he supported.

Of course, I cannot begin to guess the real trigger for Andy Hornby’s worries, but in the unlikely event the latter is true, then, as far as I am concerned, absolution is simple. If Andy Hornby would just tell someone of influence in his “ old boy’s” net work that I genuinely have no means with which to repay a mortgage shortfall of £217,000 which was created by HBOS unnecessarily requesting the forced  sale of my home in 2008, I might be able to get agreement to a write off and then I could enjoy some much needed stress free time myself. 

Assuming Mr Hornby could help me get his HBOS successors to listen, I would happily forgive him the legacy of financial persecution he left behind for me when he ran for hills leaving my family and I to suffer the consequences of his board’s reckless policies towards lending and heartless directives for the people caught up in its aftermath.Unfortunately I cannot speak for the many other individuals who have suffered at the hands of an HBOS led by Andy Hornby. However, my philosophy has always been to endeavour to consume ones elephants a little bit at time and helping me could well be the first mouthful of redeeming humble pie and absolution for the allegedly stress troubled Mr Hornby as he takes up the reins in another career based on a gamble.

They say love looks forward, hate looks back and anxiety has eyes all over its head. Having been in the grips of anxiety over the welfare of my family’s future since the very beginning of the economic downturn I have come to believe worry is most definitely interest paid on trouble due before it arrives. If this is the case  I can only hope Andy Hornby’s pockets are very deep.

Learning curves

They say that you should learn everything you can from anyone you can because there will always come a time when you need it. Today I couldn’t agree more as I reflect on just how far I have come since first finding out about my husband’s debts all but three years ago.

Having recently returned home from a much needed holiday from my debt fighting duties and chairmanly responsibilties of our recent school Summer Ball, I am now firmly back in harness again on all fronts.

It appears, while I was away, there has been some fallout from the Friends fund raising efforts following our Summer Ball.

·        Our treasurer forgot to pay some of our service providers for the Ball before departing for her holiday abroad

·        The Head’s wife is unhappy that the “thank yous” to all concerned have not been sent out sooner

·        The caterers feel aggrieved that they had to tender for our business  rather than having “cart blanche” to agree their remuneration without commercial comparisons as per previous years.

Whereas once I would have been instantly on the phone to make sure everyone was consoled by me personally and ensured every situation was resolved to the best of my ability regardless of my own energy levels and time constraints, on this occasion I have,

·         Expressed my sympathy to the lady handling the unhappy creditors in the treasure's absence but left her to handle the situation

·         Put an all encompassing “thank you” in the school magazine, without consultation with anyone, to keep the head's wife happy

·         Emailed the caterers to ask them for an appointment in September to discuss next year’s booking in the hope that they redirect their focus to securing future business rather than lamenting their treatment in the past.

In my absence, the postman has also served up a generous helping of debt fighting hassle,

     ·     Merrels Ede have written to explain themselves in a way that is nothing short
          of peculiar

·       Lloyds Bank have demanded I repay their outstanding balance in full and asked again if I wish all future correspondence to be in Braille

·        The Financial Ombudsman has done a complete about turn with regard to my complaint against the Bank of Scotland and written to say she cannot proceed with it unless she has the banks agreement.

Whereas once I would have been quaking in my boots ,head in my hands, defeated by fear and frustration I have,

·       Ignored the Merrils Ede letter in the belief they have only written to me because they feel vulnerable about the numerous complaints I have made to their regulatory authority resulting in very thorough and time consuming investigations of their staff and business practises 

·        Written back to Lloyds TSB in enormous print asking if they would like me to put all future requests for information in Braille in an effort to make it clear to them precisely what I would like from them

·        Told my allocated Financial Ombudsman adjudicator that I disagree with her decision to ask the Bank of Scotland for permission to proceed with my complaint and asked her to explain the thinking that led her to make this unusual propsal

I may not have learned everything there is to learn in the last three tempestuous years but, I have certainly gleaned, in the words of Bertrand Russell, “One of the symptoms of approaching a nervous breakdown is the belief that work is terribly important, and that to take a holiday would bring all kinds all kinds of disaster.” I took eleven days off to recharge debt fighting batteries that had been running at full pelt for almost three years.  I have returned from this welcome break having learnt that, not only will much of what has been going on in my life wait a few days to be resolved but, putting some distance between me and my sometimes overwhelming problems empowers me to take control of the situation more effectively and, in so doing, limit the stressful impact it has on my health.

Learning this lesson has not only rewarded me with a clearer head which hopefully in turn will deliver better results but, after  nearly three years of being completely bald due to stress related alopecia, it appears I am also to be rewarded with almost a full head of hair. At last it is finally showing signs of growing back. For this wonderful development I am truly grateful.

Poor parenting

It is said the number one fear of most people is public speaking. I was surprised to read that even death is second to this. While I don’t fear death or public- speaking, I do and always have feared failure. To fail in my parental duties is the most excruciating of all.

So far this morning my youngest son, who is now ten, has asked me,

·        How does your body know how long to make your toes?

·        How much water do spiders drink?

·        How many memory sticks would it take to fill a brain?

While endeavouring to answer these questions have I been,

·        packing suitcases for five of us

·        preparing a family Sunday lunch

·        answering my emails regarding the imminent school ball

·        organising my lodgers for when we are away

·        trying to write a blog about Equitable Life and the Halifax

Today’s duties have come hot on the tail of a gruellingly long sports day at which I,

·        sold ice-creams for the Friends in the blistering heat,

·        answered any number of questions from fellow committee members and prospective ball goers

·        recruited a new Vice Chairman  for the Friends

·        prepared and served a picnic for my husband, mother, daughters, sons and grandchildren all of whom came to support my youngest two budding athletes

But in spite of all these examples of a one woman debt fighter and housewife extraordinaire’s ability to succeed, today I forgot to go to my youngest son’s special assembly at which he did his first public speaking.

For this unforgivable act of parental neglect, I am full of regret.