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Today has been the most awful day with one shiny bit of awesome news, leading to just feeling strangely full of ennui.
On the bad side: my car has been written off. I got a phone call from my assesser to tell me this. People think 'written off' means 'battered to hell and lucky to be alive'. This can be true, but in my case, it's 'the bodywork is screwed to hell in tiny little ways' and basically translates to being more to fix than it is worth.
As such, they have valued my car. It was worth - this is before people bang into the back of it - a grand total of £309. The damage is about £700 worth. My insurance excess, entertainingly, is £600. Oh, and my insurance people, due to how much my excess is, weren't going to pay me the money for the write-off, oh, 'and there's a query about liability so you may have to pay the excess?'
So I did what all good feminists do, and cried down the phone at the assesser. I then pulled myself together while he phoned around for me, and got a scrap dealer sorted out. A joint effort from my assessor and from my own initiative has led to me being exempt from excess due to, you know, car worth half of it and me finding a scrapper that will pick up the car and pay me £80 cash-in-hand for it. I have to dick around with all this nearer the time, but the point is, I'm finally going to have to give up my beloved Starbug. But Dad is looking for a car for meoff the Ormskirk mafia and I've found an ad in the paper that fits the bill, and I have a bit saved up and a large overdraft. Also a solicitor to deal with my personal injury claim which means *crosses fingers* I might well be able to pay myself back in the next few months. Also my MOT and tax were both due, so at least I'm not losing out there.
Still, though, I would rather she had never hit me. I'm back at work, but standing up, it turns out, is not something I can do for more than an hour at a time without an ache in the bottom of my back. And I still can't lift anything, which I suspect my manager, who did all my delivery today, is probably delighted about.
YEAH YOU SEE WHY MY WEEK IS BAD.
My day was not all bad. In fact, one bit was marvellous. I'm not entirely sure if I'm allowed to legally talk about it, but a friend of mine has won something and I get to share in the prize. It's not the lottery - alas - but you know what? It might be better. I will tell more when I, er, legally can? No offence, I love you guys, but not enough to screw this up. T
And now I need a shower, as I'm going out with DocSoc tonight. Yay. I was looking forward to it, but now I'm just tired. Oddly eough.
On the bad side: my car has been written off. I got a phone call from my assesser to tell me this. People think 'written off' means 'battered to hell and lucky to be alive'. This can be true, but in my case, it's 'the bodywork is screwed to hell in tiny little ways' and basically translates to being more to fix than it is worth.
As such, they have valued my car. It was worth - this is before people bang into the back of it - a grand total of £309. The damage is about £700 worth. My insurance excess, entertainingly, is £600. Oh, and my insurance people, due to how much my excess is, weren't going to pay me the money for the write-off, oh, 'and there's a query about liability so you may have to pay the excess?'
So I did what all good feminists do, and cried down the phone at the assesser. I then pulled myself together while he phoned around for me, and got a scrap dealer sorted out. A joint effort from my assessor and from my own initiative has led to me being exempt from excess due to, you know, car worth half of it and me finding a scrapper that will pick up the car and pay me £80 cash-in-hand for it. I have to dick around with all this nearer the time, but the point is, I'm finally going to have to give up my beloved Starbug. But Dad is looking for a car for me
Still, though, I would rather she had never hit me. I'm back at work, but standing up, it turns out, is not something I can do for more than an hour at a time without an ache in the bottom of my back. And I still can't lift anything, which I suspect my manager, who did all my delivery today, is probably delighted about.
YEAH YOU SEE WHY MY WEEK IS BAD.
My day was not all bad. In fact, one bit was marvellous. I'm not entirely sure if I'm allowed to legally talk about it, but a friend of mine has won something and I get to share in the prize. It's not the lottery - alas - but you know what? It might be better. I will tell more when I, er, legally can? No offence, I love you guys, but not enough to screw this up. T
And now I need a shower, as I'm going out with DocSoc tonight. Yay. I was looking forward to it, but now I'm just tired. Oddly eough.
