Day 150: The Joys of Perry

This morning I have a meeting at the bank with Perry, the man in charge of investments.  I lack a financial chromosome (and a pension plan) but I do try to make up for it.  Every couple of years, I force myself to go to the bank and I throw what I can spare into an ISA.

Sort of like Frodo casting The Ring into the fires of Mordor.  It's a painful job, and I don't really understand the forces at work, but I hope that the outcome will be the future security of The Shire.

The last time I did this, my opponent was Vishal.  A pin-sharp young gun, with a smooth line in sales chat.  He quickly understood what he was facing, and managed to get my agreement and my money in a painless half an hour. 

This year I am up against Perry.  Which fills me with some confidence, as it's a name that has positive associations for me.  Delicious and lethal pear cider - my Glastonbury fuel of choice.  I remember the first time I became fully aware of the Brother's tent, because of the visual impact - the centrifugal splatter of cups and spreadeagled people, like a blast radius from the bar.  It is a legendary fixture. 

So it's with high hopes that I go to my meeting.  Maybe it will be refreshing and I'll get through it surprisingly quickly.  Like the first pint of Brother's on a sunny afternoon by the Pyramid Stage. 

No.  It is not to be.  Perry's approach is stodgy.  He's a stickler for detail and paper work, and doggedly tries to map out my lifestyle and objectives, even though I already know what I want to do. 

Perry: 'What are you hoping to achieve with your investments?'

Me: (Vaguely but hopefully) 'Being able to afford to buy bread when I'm old?  Is that the right answer?'

Perry: 'What is your five year plan?  Any projected expenditure?'

Me: 'Don't have one.  Probably.'

We dance round the financial mulberry bush for an hour and a half.  I have my head in my hands.  Perry prints out a lot of stuff I am never going to read, and don't want.  Finally I think we're done.  At the place that we could have reached in twenty minutes tops, if he'd stopped filling in forms and actually listened to me.  Then he says I have to have another meeting with him.  It's policy.

This evening I get a call from the bank.  My second meeting with Perry is cancelled.  He's been signed off work on sick leave.  Long term. 

Sorry, Perry.  I hope I wasn't the straw...