29 January 2009

A milestone

The movers have finished and taken all my possessions with them. There is something liberating about holding my wordly goods in a few bags and a Pelican case. Almost feels like starting over.

There were a few panics, mislaid passport and one cupboard packed by mistake while others were overlooked, and a mad rush at the end with a gaggle of young, energetic and incredibly strong lads who emptied the place into their van in one fell swoop.

Now, dinner at the sushi train and wine with Combie and Sarah who are putting me up until I leave.

28 January 2009

Musing on Moving


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Why is it that the one time my place is in tip top shape is the day before the movers come? Yesterday this house was streamlined. I knew where everything was, what possessions I own and that all of them are things I actually value. It was beautiful. Of course, today everything is packed into pristine white boxes, inaccessible for the next 6 months.

Vodaphone rant

With every house move there has to be a rant, because the least fun job when leaving a country is the cancellation of bills and accounts. Water rates, rent, car insurance, tax, landline phone, internet, mobiles... I could go on. Cancelling involves navigating through imprenetable websites, waiting for hours on the phone to atrocious hold music, sending letters and visiting dingy offices.

The prize for most ridiculous excuse for refusing to cancel a contract so far goes to Vodafone New Zealand. Vodafone has a track record for flakiness, cancelling international roaming just as I leave for Australia or changing contract details without notification, inevitably resulting in endless calls to the outsourced call centre. From the beginning, despite signing a contract in person in the shop, my bills said "Mr.". Knowing the haphazard results from calls, I never bothered changing it. When I called to cancel my account today I was informed that I could not do this because I was not male as per the account details. The fact that I know the date of birth, password and any other details was to no avail. Even the supervisor was adamant that they would see my passport in person to verify my gender. The back and forth went on for so long that I was starting to doubt my identity at the end.

Oh well. I guess I will be trying to find a male who can make the call for me. It's almost like being back in the Middle East...