How times have changed.
So he walks into the bank, states his name and that he's lost his little book and they hand over 50 quid in return for a little scribble on a piece of paper. Great he thinks and goes down the pub to drink in an under age but hey, this is a small town and no one gives a monkey's, kind of way.

So I walk into the bank, clutching my little book in my sweaty little paw and ask to withdraw my £50 birthday money as I'd seen some toy or other that I wanted and my Mum said it was ok. "There's been a mistake me laddo..." patronises the lady behind the glass "...seems you don't have 50 pounds to withdraw." And tears well up in my eyes as my lower lip plunges floorways with a familiar wobble.

I find my Mum in the shoe shop next door and tell her, between sniffs and sobs, that I don't have 50 pounds to withdraw, and she marches me straight back to the bank and immediately demonstrates a better knowledge of my meagre finances that I've managed to muster in the years since passed.

Seems the chap at the top of this tale didn't lie, just that the teller didn't notice the two people of my name on the books. I was given my money and his account changed accordingly and I dried my eyes and bought whatever mass produced plastic tat had been so important to me at the time, and everyone was happy.

It's not much of a tale, but try doing that now:

"Hi, my name's Moey, I bank with you and I'd like to withdraw 50 of your finest pounds with which to get drunk."

"No, I don't have any evidence of my ID, nor do I have anything to prove I bank with you, but I do have an account, honest."

"Oh go on, just 50 quids, I'm parched and I can't be arsed to walk all the way home again...!"

"No, I don't have any evidence..." etc...
( Moey, Wed 22 Jul 2009, 16:41, Reply)