Bournemouth Barclays By Way Of Boston

Early this morning I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup quarter final match between France and South Africa. Fortunately for England who meet the winner in the semi final I think they have a marginally better, albeit very slender, chance of beating them than the team that lost this one.

Bournemouth having been pinpointed on the map in today’s Antiques Road trip – before I went to sleep, that is – reminded me that I had forgotten to mention the mission for which Jacqueline had volunteered during her visit on Saturday.

When we recently changed cars we were informed by the dealer that a refund of road tax on our old Modus would be sent automatically by the DVLA. Nothing could be simpler, it seemed.

Not so.

The tax has, of course, to be paid on line. This is paid from my bank account. Jackie is the registered car owner, in her previous name of Stockley. She has never changed the name with her bank, which is Barclays.

Mrs J.M. Stockley therefore received a cheque for the required sum. All nearby branches have been closed during the last few years. She does not do on line banking. The nearest open branch is now at Bournemouth, eleven miles away.

Needless to say there is no telephone number on the DVLA paperwork.

My sister, who banks with Barclays and lives at Boston in Lincolnshire, has taken the cheque and Jackie’s bank details home with her to pay into her branch on her sister in law’s behalf.

This afternoon I began reading “Over The Bridge” by Richard Church.

This evening we all dined on tender roast lamb; boiled new potatoes; firm cauliflower, broccoli stems, and al dente mange tout followed by apple pie and vanilla ice cream, with which Jackie drank more of the Lieblich and I finished the Cabernet Zinfandel.