How to Change your Cell Number and Stay Sane!

Well long time, no hear! So sorry but we have finally moved Provinces and I will talk about that in more detail later this week.
Anyway, one of the priorities when moving Provinces is to obtain a new number for your cell (mobile) phone.
In Canada, the 'phone numbers are symbolic of the area in which you live, pretty similar to UK. The difference here is that we have long distance charges too and if you have a number from a different Province, then every time someone rings you, they are charged the long distance rate which can be quite expensive. Also, everyone assumes your number starts with *** and if it doesn't it involves a lot of crossing out when completing forms etc.
Anyway, today I thought I'd pluck up the courage and summon the energy to ring the Call Centre for my cell phone - Rogers....
After the first 10 minutes, I regretted my decision. I wondered if the Roger's Call Centre was affiliated in any way with the Santander Call Centre - in Asia....
The woman was very sweet but clearly didn't understand exactly what I wanted. She had trouble with my accent and I with hers.
Fortuitously, after 10 minutes of not getting very far, they had a power cut and our call was terminated. I thought she'd ring back so I waited and waited. Finally I gave up and called again.
I make this sound a simple task when in actual fact, it involved pressing a variety of numbers to the voice commands to be told there was a 30 minute wait to speak to a 'Live Person' is that opposed to a dead one? Anyway I had to give my number, again and my name and press '1' if I wanted them to call me back....
When I was called back, this time it was from a man at the Call Centre - in Asia. He appeared to be more competent and I went through the story, again and he grasped it. Or did he? It was like a time bomb ticking when he told me my new number and said he was going to disconnect my old one.... you guessed it, just as I was about to remind him that I was talking on that number he was going to pull the plug on, the line went dead - again.
Undeterred, I rang a third time, slightly less polite and slightly more impatient. I was thrilled to hear the sound of the woman on the line - from Ontario.
Straight away she grasped my problem, confirmed the new number in case we were cut off and within 30 more minutes I finally had achieved what I set out to do - hurray!
Sadly, they were out of stock with my daughter's choice of phone, so we need to go to the local store tomorrow. I'm quietly confident that the visit will just take a few minutes, my husband is not convinced and seems to think he should have booked the day off! We'll see...

Don't Forget to Text Me!

Well with one week left to go before the big move, we are starting to say farewell to friends and acquaintances for the last time.
Yesterday after school, my daughter had her leaving party for 14 friends. It was great. They 'Glo-bowled' for an hour, ate pizza to loud music, took selfies by the dozen, did a group rendition of the cup song, laughed, danced and had a blast. They gave cards, cash and vouchers and her 'bestie' framed a collage of photos for her - it was beautiful.
Are we being really cruel, snatching her away from all these great kids she's known for half her life? Are we expecting too much when we drive her halfway across Canada and dump her in to a new school where she knows no-one? She's just as excited as us but understandably nervous too.
That's where her maturity and outlook on life will serve her well. She's mature for her age and I know she will flourish anywhere, it might just take time.
Today we pack some more, sort and plan. Tonight our next door neighbours come for a roast beef supper with all the trimmings. They have been so kind to us, we'll really miss them. We have ample beer and wine to keep them quenched as we talk about the past 6 years and reminisce.





I'm not a great one for keeping in touch, especially with some people. Having moved around a lot, I find it pointless to keep in touch with those I never plan on seeing again e.g. old school friends, neighbours whose names I hardly knew, some random person I met in a supermarket who's a friend of a friend. So when I bid my farewells this week and people ask if I'm on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter, I'll just tell them I'm not, but I'll let them know my new number, (or perhaps not) and smile sweetly as they shout, 'Don't forget to text me!'

SANTANDER? I GIVE UP!!

Well, following on from the Santander fiasco, I mailed their form back to them yesterday advising them of my new address - sorted!
Or rather not sorted... today I received an e-mail from their Customer (dis)Service Department verifying that if I wanted to change my address abroad, then I had to complete their form - I chuckled to myself thinking I was way ahead of them - then return it in the mail to the address shown below - check, yep I did all that ha ha! Then to my horror, I read further and they also requested a copy of my passport - what?! Why had the inept Glaswegian at their Call Centre - in Scotland - not mentioned this to me? Or perhaps she had but I couldn't understand her?... No I am sure I would have heard it.
Today was put aside for packing, but now I have to print off their stupid form AGAIN, fill it out AGAIN, address an envelope AGAIN, pay another $2.50 and mail it off with another 9 mile round trip. Oh and don't forget the copy of the passport!
I feel a headache and another complaint coming on.....

Santander - Give Me Strength!!!

Ok, normally I'm a fairly laid back person and I merrily wait in line at check-outs or listen patiently to the canned music whilst on hold to Call Centres.


Not this morning though..... I bank with Santander in UK. I won't even begin to tell you about the fun and games I had with them when we moved here nearly 6 years ago. Ok, then I will, make yourself a cup of tea and sit back...





I had 2 accounts with Santander and decided to close one of them a few days before we left England. At the airport on the day we left, I thought I'd treat myself to some duty free perfume. Strangely, my debit card wouldn't work. I tried and tried and was getting more frustrated as my husband told me we were about to board the plane. I had to leave the perfume behind and as I lurked at the back of the boarding gate line, I quickly rang Santander's Call Centre - in Asia...


What I could glean from the 'Agent' was that the dumb cashier in my branch had closed the wrong account. Of course, I had destroyed the card for the account that had no money in and should have been closed. The card I had to the mistakenly closed account had everything we owned in it, equity from the house, salaries, you name it, it was in there, locked away, never to be spent.


Fortunately my husband was able to buy us some goodies on board with his card from his bank so we didn't starve. Plan B would have been to ask my young daughter for a loan from her Noddy purse.


I forget how many ridiculously expensive phone calls I made from my husband's English mobile phone to Santander's Call Centre - in Asia - once we landed in Canada.









After a few weeks and some mind-boggling security questions from their Fraud Office, I was allowed access to our money again. Oh yes and they graciously put £25 in to my account for the inconvenience.


Today I tried to notify said Bank of our new address on-line. Not possible if it's from a foreign country to another foreign country. Not even possible via their secure e-mails only accessible via their secure log-in to the secure on-line banking. Not possible either to print off their stupid 'Change of Details' form that when I clicked it, took me straight to a page that stated 'Error - Page Not Found'!


Eventually I rang their Call Centre - in Scotland and spoke to a girl who was less easy to understand than the Asian Call Centre agent. However, after 6.5 minutes, she agreed to e-mail me the form.


Now all I have to do is print the form off, complete the form by hand, address an envelope, stick on a $2.50  stamp, drive a 9 mile round trip to the Canada Post mail box, wait at least a week for it to get there (some hope) and then have it processed.


Easy isn't it? As I'll explain to my daughter later, that's how we used to do it before computers were invented.....

Happy Birthday to Him!!!

Yesterday was my husband's birthday. Now you know the sort of person that always says they don't want anything for their birthday and that they don't want a fuss, well that's him.
As he sat up in bed though with a steaming hot cup of tea, a pile of cards to open and hastily (and badly) wrapped presents, you could tell he was loving it!


What is it about being married that you breathe a silent sigh of relief as every other card opened is from your side of the family and that they remembered? Sadly I can't lay claim on that feeling totally, but I'm not here to name names. Sadly, living in Canada with a haphazard postal delivery service, especially to us country folk tends to mean that not all mail gets to us on time. In fact I consider ourselves very lucky if we get it at all!





Numerous items have mysteriously disappeared over the years, never to be seen or heard of again. A Permanent Resident Card, for example, never showed up. You can imagine the problems I had proving that and obtaining a new one. Packages from our loved ones abroad, just disappeared in to the black hole without a trace.


Anyway, I digress. I bit my tongue as my husband sat and watched soccer all morning, then the Grand Prix in the afternoon (a duplicate of the day before). I was silent and smiling instead of screaming telling him we had a house to pack up in under 2 weeks! I was polite and loving as I cobbled together lunch and was slightly surprised when he agreed to help clear out the sheds. 'One job less to do',  I thought as the rain drizzled on us in the cold autumn wind.


Our clocks went back an hour at the weekend too, so instead of laboriously changing them all, I simply took out the batteries and packed them away, ready for our move.


At the moment our house looks like a bomb has hit it from a great height. Every room has a pile of boxes adorning the wall. I know it will all come together in the end and I enjoy picking away in different rooms to give me variety as I work.


Today I emptied the kitchen dresser in to 3 boxes, another good job done. I booked the heated storage unit in our new town and modified our removal truck order. I've advised 4 companies of our new address and made a host of phone calls too. In 12 days we say goodbye to this home and make our way across the Prairies to our new one. I have sorted paperwork and spoken to family via phone and e-mail.


Later today, I am selling some of our unwanted items to make more space and more cash. I so look forward to a feeling of a new 'clutterless' house and have filled 2 more bags for the charity shop.


I have more lists than I know what to do with and feel if I don't write things down, I will remember them after we have long left this place and are at a point of no return!


I would love to fast forward 12 days now and be on our merry way with no worries in my swimming head. But would I really? I am savouring each day as I wander around the house, yard and woods talking to the birds, squirrels and chipmunks. We saw a deer grazing on the acorns last week and I hoped he would not come back after we'd left. I intend to leave a plentiful supply of seed for the birds and the chipmunks as I bid them farewell. I want to make the most of our last 2 weeks, enjoy the house we've loved so much and grown in. I'm reminded of the Steve Martin movie, Father of the Bride II where his family are moving and they mope around taking photographs of everything before they leave.


Not me, it would upset me more to look back at them knowing I'd taken them the day before we left. I'd rather just keep it all in my head as a fond memory. One day when my memory fails, then it won't be a problem any more will it? Now where did I put my lists......?

Hallowe'en - Sick or Sweet?

Last night was the night we used to dread in England but love here in Canada. I think the folk in North America embrace the concept and really push the boat out.
In England, people are more blackmailed in to handing out goodies at the doorstep for fear of what 'trick' might be played on them if they were to pretend they were not home.
Last night, we dropped our daughter at a friend's house so they could go trick or treating together around the town.





You may remember that my daughter's friend drew the trump card and dressed as Alice in Wonderland whilst my daughter was the Cheshire Cat, even so, she looked beautiful.
For around 3 hours they trekked around the houses with optimistically large bags for the candy and it was well worth the trip.
She came home with 2 large bags full of goodies and some rather funny stories.
One lady told them they couldn't have any candy until they'd both eaten an apple on her doorstep. This my daughter dutifully did and I did not dare to ask whether the woman was dressed as a witch and the apple was rosy red on one side as in Snow White!
They also called on a house where the local dentist lived. No candy there, just a new toothbrush each. Yes, I understand that he's trying to save their teeth from cavities, but what a cheapskate! A piece of fruit too might have been sweeter?
Anyway, my husband and I laughed away as we drove around looking at the costumes. Some people spend a fortune every year on new outfits, décor for the house inside and out, not to mention the treats for the children.
I've learnt that once you give out good stuff, word gets round and you can expect a constant trail to your door. Apparently on Facebook, people were posting locations in the town where ghouls and zombies might jump out at you as you walked up the path to their house.
It was all great fun. Here, if you don't want to participate or want to go out for the night, simply switch your lights out. Folk understand that it's not everyone's cup of tea. In England, we used to be afraid if we didn't answer the door in case our car was egged or covered in flour.
I was so impressed by the beautifully decorated bags handed out by some people, they clearly enjoy the whole event. Good for them I say!
It took me back to when I shared a house many years ago with 2 lads I worked with who ate us out of house and home. Of course when the first knock of the night was heard, they hid and left me to answer the door. I told the hopeful, costumed children to wait a moment and ran in to the kitchen. The only thing left that was vaguely edible in the house were some rather stale mushroom vol au vents my Mother had made me the week before and had been forgotten about. I grabbed the tin and offered the contents to the smiling children. They both peered in to the pathetic tin, looked at each other, made their excuses and left.





I could quite understand their rationale and am still grateful to this day that they weren't carrying any eggs or flour!