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It is 17:02 and there is no money in the Solicitor’s account.

Let the hernia ensue.

I am forced to re-engage with the (pleb of a) Deputy Manager at my local (inept) Santander branch.

He is, of course, busy on another call and the initially disinterested staff member is forced to request further information to establish whether or not I will tear strips off her (pleb of a) Deputy Manager.

I appreciate our banks have a lot of money to monitor, locate and manage on a daily basis. I appreciate that they try very hard to ensure money moves successfully, without the involving of crime or loss of vast quantities of interest (for them). However, the sum of money I have been trying in vain to transfer, very simply from my account to that of the Solicitor’s, is precious to me. It is the sum total of a number of years saving. It is the result of no small feat.

And yet the (pleb of a) Deputy Manager of this branch has been trained to deny all plausibility. They cannot admit wrong. There is no apology. There is no offer of help.

Now reaching the proverbial final straw I am tipped into complete downtrodden submission, losing the will to scorn and utter malediction, and accepting that only waiting to see what may or may not appear in the Solicitor’s account come 0900am tomorrow. Tomorrow being the day of exchange…

Watch. This. Space. I have heard wine cures a hernia…

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