Almost as soon as I had sat down with my morning cup of tea the IT teacher came in a gave me three pages of glossy print out headed “12 reasons why I won’t buy an Apple iPad” which I read as avidly as addict might read about the advantages of methadone over the Real Thing!
I am now beginning to suspect that the “help” I am being offered in my manful struggle against the lure of the i-pad is motivated more by base envy than by logical analysis. Or is that the reasoning of someone who is hopelessly drawn towards his drug of choice!
By great good chance I had a sequence of non contact periods this morning and so (after suitable permission) I was allowed to go to Cornellá to my local tax office to try and get my taxation situation sorted out.
Having heard various horror stories about the stopping of time and the slitting of wrists connected with this place I did not go there with any lively expectation of easy results.
All I wanted was a set of taxation forms to replace the ones which the authorities (allegedly) sent to my old address. As I have collected the mail sent there religiously I have more than a little scepticism about the verity of the statements of the office.
However, it was time off school and therefore it would have to be very bad indeed to make that fact nugatory.
I parked in the underground car park of El Corte Ingles and began my epic walk towards the building of myth and mystery. Tina had very kindly provided me with a map but I still had to ask my way there twice.
The tax office when I eventually got there was something less than impressive with a heaving mass of humanity sweltering inside in the expanded entrance hall/office.
I looked around for the ticket machine. I am used to these things from other governmental offices and so began to make my way towards a computer screen, only to find myself in a queue for the tickets. The computer gave nine choices of which only the one marked “Informacion” looked at all friendly. I produced a ticket and made my way into the human scrum to insure a sight of the computer screen giving details of which ticket was being dealt with at which desk.
Depression settled firmly when I realized that my particular number was number 116 and they were helping the person with number 73. As my ticket was designated with an “I” and as there were other letters of the alphabet with their own sequences I seemed to be settled there for some time.
People came; people went – but I sat on.
The proper way to behave was demonstrated by a thin rat-faced boy who came in and marched towards the machine and selected himself a ticket. I watched, as I had watched all the other people arriving as the machine was opposite the seat that I was occupying. He checked the number of his tickets and then marched back to the computer and selected another, presumably for a different letter, and then he went back again, and again. Now armed with a pack of tickets he was able to choose the one which got him quicker access.
And it worked because I saw him exit smiling and with an officially stamped paper long before I was seen.
I was eventually seen by a smiling and cheerful lady who wished me good afternoon and then waited. I asked my usual question about her ability to speak English to which she replied with a smile and by saying that “Why should I, I am in Spain!” To which of course there was no answer. Except, of course, for my torrent of “Spanish” which issued from my lips.
The bemused look mixed with animal terror which is the normal reaction to my Spanish soon settled on her face and I am certain that he proud dismissal of my language will be rectified when she starts look for English lessons to limit her future expose to the mangling of her language that only I can produce!
She, however, did produce a whole sheaf of papers many of which I think I need.
And it turns out that I owe them money!
All that effort just to pay more! But my colleague who understands these things (in so far as anyone can be said to understand them) informs me that I can claim for more and so lessen (if not reverse) the amount that I have to pay. I hope. I trust. I pray.
The day continues muggy but, thankfully at the moment, dry. Indeed the only wetness around is emanating from our bodies as the atmosphere squeezes moisture from us. It is the sort of weather when all sane people are having a refreshing swim in their pools and then having a cocktail afterwards.
Toni has now become an expert at making some sort of South American cocktail which uses limes and sugar, crushed ice and some sort of clear liquid that gives it its punch. He doesn’t make them in those effete conical glasses but rather in chunky, oversized toothbrush glasses and very nice they are too. After the horror of visiting the tax office I think that I deserve one!
Cheers!
I am now beginning to suspect that the “help” I am being offered in my manful struggle against the lure of the i-pad is motivated more by base envy than by logical analysis. Or is that the reasoning of someone who is hopelessly drawn towards his drug of choice!
By great good chance I had a sequence of non contact periods this morning and so (after suitable permission) I was allowed to go to Cornellá to my local tax office to try and get my taxation situation sorted out.
Having heard various horror stories about the stopping of time and the slitting of wrists connected with this place I did not go there with any lively expectation of easy results.
All I wanted was a set of taxation forms to replace the ones which the authorities (allegedly) sent to my old address. As I have collected the mail sent there religiously I have more than a little scepticism about the verity of the statements of the office.
However, it was time off school and therefore it would have to be very bad indeed to make that fact nugatory.
I parked in the underground car park of El Corte Ingles and began my epic walk towards the building of myth and mystery. Tina had very kindly provided me with a map but I still had to ask my way there twice.
The tax office when I eventually got there was something less than impressive with a heaving mass of humanity sweltering inside in the expanded entrance hall/office.
I looked around for the ticket machine. I am used to these things from other governmental offices and so began to make my way towards a computer screen, only to find myself in a queue for the tickets. The computer gave nine choices of which only the one marked “Informacion” looked at all friendly. I produced a ticket and made my way into the human scrum to insure a sight of the computer screen giving details of which ticket was being dealt with at which desk.
Depression settled firmly when I realized that my particular number was number 116 and they were helping the person with number 73. As my ticket was designated with an “I” and as there were other letters of the alphabet with their own sequences I seemed to be settled there for some time.
People came; people went – but I sat on.
The proper way to behave was demonstrated by a thin rat-faced boy who came in and marched towards the machine and selected himself a ticket. I watched, as I had watched all the other people arriving as the machine was opposite the seat that I was occupying. He checked the number of his tickets and then marched back to the computer and selected another, presumably for a different letter, and then he went back again, and again. Now armed with a pack of tickets he was able to choose the one which got him quicker access.
And it worked because I saw him exit smiling and with an officially stamped paper long before I was seen.
I was eventually seen by a smiling and cheerful lady who wished me good afternoon and then waited. I asked my usual question about her ability to speak English to which she replied with a smile and by saying that “Why should I, I am in Spain!” To which of course there was no answer. Except, of course, for my torrent of “Spanish” which issued from my lips.
The bemused look mixed with animal terror which is the normal reaction to my Spanish soon settled on her face and I am certain that he proud dismissal of my language will be rectified when she starts look for English lessons to limit her future expose to the mangling of her language that only I can produce!
She, however, did produce a whole sheaf of papers many of which I think I need.
And it turns out that I owe them money!
All that effort just to pay more! But my colleague who understands these things (in so far as anyone can be said to understand them) informs me that I can claim for more and so lessen (if not reverse) the amount that I have to pay. I hope. I trust. I pray.
The day continues muggy but, thankfully at the moment, dry. Indeed the only wetness around is emanating from our bodies as the atmosphere squeezes moisture from us. It is the sort of weather when all sane people are having a refreshing swim in their pools and then having a cocktail afterwards.
Toni has now become an expert at making some sort of South American cocktail which uses limes and sugar, crushed ice and some sort of clear liquid that gives it its punch. He doesn’t make them in those effete conical glasses but rather in chunky, oversized toothbrush glasses and very nice they are too. After the horror of visiting the tax office I think that I deserve one!
Cheers!
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