Last night, I finally opened the folder with the title "The Plan". Amazingly, I've done most of the things in it. Also, most of the things in my pink-paged filofax and on odd scraps of paper. I'm not sure how this happened. A sort of efficiency borne of complete chaos.
And then I tried to redirect my mail, online. It seemed quite straightforward until it said my payment was unsuccessful. Twice. My bank has been known to freeze my card on a whim so I called them. No, everything was fine and they had authorised payment to Royal Mail.
This morning I speak to what is amusingly called Royal Mail Customer Services and am told that I failed an identity check. A what, now? At no point did the online form ask for anything that could be verified - like my passport number, my NI number, my driving licence number. No. They used Experian for checking identity. And clearly I'm not me.
I managed to contain my rage just enough that I did not blister the poor girl with acres of swearing. Which meant that I just went very English and said "THIS IS RIDICULOUS" a lot and demanded to lodge a complaint. "Over 50% of online applications are successful", she reassured me. I advised that this was not much comfort when I was being treated like a criminal.
There is nothing more likely to bring out shrill indignance than having one's identity questioned. I would not have minded if the process had been a little more sensible and transparent - but the online system told me payment had failed and it had not. Clearly this is code for "You lying little shit, you're not Jane Capon."
Well I am. You twatfaced sons of horsemongers.