You may have noticed that banks are reluctant to list either their phone number or address in the phone books. Fortunately, they had listed them on the Internet, and I had printed out the addresses of the local branches of Barclay's Bank. Unfortunately, I had left that list at home. I remembered that one branch was on Queen's Road. So, I studied the map carefully and set off on foot for what the map promised to be a 24-minute walk. Nancy stayed at the flat to start getting it organized.
I got to the street that I should have turned on - but remember I told you that the streets change their names (Queen's Road becomes Park Street becomes College Green - the map failed to mention College Green) and I continued to walk straight. Eventually, I discovered that I was in the center of town.
Rather than turn back, I remembered that there were several other branches in the downtown area but was a little vague on the addresses. I asked a man on the street if he knew where the Barclay's Bank was and he pointed and said that he thought it was on Corn Street. I walked in the direction pointed but remember I told you that there were no street signs. After a couple of blocks, I started to feel real nervous and was wishing I had a street map. The next corner had a very nice map store! I bought an excellent indexed map of Bristol. I asked the sales girl if she knew the location of the Barclay's Bank and she replied that she thought the bank was on Queen's Square and pointed. I then abandoned the search for Corn Street and headed for Queen's Square. Queen's Square was a dud. And I was a long way from home. [note: several months later I did find the Bank on Queen's Square - It looked for the outside like somebodies private home]
So, I sat down with my new map and then headed for my original destination. I walked about half the distance back and then north and finally found the bank. I had spent about an hour and a half of walking and fooling around to no avail.
The banker was very nice and started filling out the paperwork for my new account and everything was going well until he asked for my phone number. I explained that in order to get a phone I had to have a bank account (catch 22). He then told me that I could use my cell phone - everyone has a cell phone. I told him that our American cell phone does not work in Europe. He figured he could work around the phone thing. He asked for proof of our address and I showed him our brand new real estate contract and he said that the contract was not acceptable - he needed verification from the tax authority that the address was valid. He had no idea how I was going to meet that requirement - then he changed his mind and accepted a reference to our US address.
Everything went smoothly and we were all signed up. We shook hands and he told me that the checks and the ATM card would be sent to our address sometime next week. I thanked him but pointed out that waiting until next week wouldn't help with the phone hook-up and signing up for the utilities. He then showed me some numbers on the bank contract that I could use. The only thing left was the 24-minute walk home.
On the walk back, I spotted a sister office to our Letting Office. I asked if I could use their phone. The manager called the "Whiteladies Road" office and verified that I was not some crank off the street and let me use the phone.
I called the telephone office (there is a choice of at least three) to establish service. One of their first questions was to ask for my phone number. I explained that I didn't yet have a phone number and the girl said that I could use my mobile phone number. I'd been through this before at the bank. She then asked me for some sort of verification of my identity and switched me to the sales group so that I might schedule a meeting with one of their reps so that he might see my passport and driver's license. The girl in the Reps' office started over with all the same questions and ended by suggesting that everyone had a mobile phone. Rather than having a sales rep schedule an appointment (I didn't have a mobile phone) it was suggested that I fax a copy of my passport and driver's license. I then pointed out that faxing required a phone. She said I could use any copy shop and that I should call her on Monday to set an appointment for the installer. That was when I realized that I didn't have a clue as to what day it was (Friday) and that her request was quite reasonable.
The manager of the letting office had a fax machine and helped me fax the necessary information to the Phone Company. The manager then pointed out that of the various phone companies - I had picked the worst. We'll see. I later found out that the flat had been wired previously by the phone company I had just called.
I got back to the flat tired, hungry and emotionally drained by mid afternoon. Nancy had waited lunch for me. Actually, she had no choice. Jerry had forgotten to leave her any money and there was no food in the flat yet, just some of the munchies and tea bags we brought with us on the plane. Nancy walked down to the 7-11 type store a block away to pick up something for lunch and was well enough rested to want to do some shopping. The "SPAR" store microwaved us a couple of pre-packaged meals and we ate them eagerly.
Put a few things away; and we went to use a public phone booth to call the landlord and Ruth, an Internet acquaintance that Nancy had connected with about knitting. Of course, we had to try and figure out what coins to drop into the telephone - the phone will not take five pence pieces even if you try fifteen times. Left a message on the landlord's machine and told them we would be home on Friday night and probably out on Sat morning as we were meeting Ruth at the local museum to see an international traveling show with Monet, van Gogh, Sargent, Rembrandt, and some other major artists.
We walked down the street looking for a pub to have our dinner in as that is what everyone said was the best place to eat a reasonably-priced dinner. The one we picked did not serve food so we wandered down towards the fish and chips place for another dinner meal and decided we would stop at the Chicken and Ribs shop. Looking at the menu we decided we didn't want fried food again. So, Jerry went into the fish and chips place and ordered two potpies and Nancy went into the chicken place and ordered salads to go with the pies. They wrapped everything nicely and we went back to the flat to eat. Also picked up a paper and ice cream cones to eat later for dessert.
After our potpie dinner, the landlord showed up. We had prepared a whole list of questions for him, and the list melted away in short order. He suggested that he might have a TV that we could borrow and maybe a pay-as-you-go cell phone, but he would have to ask his wife. The wife was out of town and wouldn't be back until Tuesday. Hugh, the landlord, seemed very nice, worked in London, lived about three bocks away, and was heading for their house in Wales for the weekend.