I don't really exist

Am I invisible or something? Yesterday the OU finance department had all my details and a standing order, Today I contact them again and all they know is I'm on a course and haven't paid them anything.

HSBC processed my standing order, and now (after half an hour on the phone to India) find they have no record of it.

The GTTR lost my application form, and I've just asked for the second time for another one.

Jesus christ. After decades of disappearing from databases I've got used to it. Occasionally it's even been useful, as when a book club forgot I existed.

I had to tell the local council seven times over five years about a change of address, and the university three times.

I've got used to it, but it still makes me want to scream down the phone that the most basic level of competence seems beyond the largest corporations.

Actually, the only organisation who've never given me any paperwork trouble is the one with the most chaotic finances and the most undermanning. And that's the bloody Socialist Workers.
Sigh. I recorded 'Everything' through a pair of my mother's socks over the microphones. She's greatly amused that I sing into her footwear. Which fit over the mics like a pair of white fluffy condoms, and are fixed to a camera tripod with elastic bands.

There's the old trick of slinging a pair of tights over a wire coathanger. I'm not sure whether that's more absurd than my system.

While recording the debut EP of Strict Machines (who seem to have dropped their definite article), I was sound recordist, microphone stand, and coathanger prop. So when we did a take, I pressed 'Record', and rushed to hold the mic and coathanger in front of Anna's mouth. She provided the tights.

No comments:

Post a Comment