The bank

22 August, 2008

I may have an Irish bank account. Or I may not. I may also be under suspicion of international money laundring. My proof-of-address letter, with the right dates and exactly the right wording, took four attempts to get right (that’s four iterations of trekking to Engineering, pestering Angela for a letter, trekking back to the bank, queuing up, arguing with them about it and being rejected). I should hear on Monday whether it worked. I am not hopeful.

Getting a PPS, on the other hand, just involved a trip to Dublin and an hour’s queueing. The Personal Public Service number is the Irish National Insurance number equivalent.



  1. Banks suck! Were having no end of trouble with ours at the moment.

  2. Personal Public Service sounds like some sort of enforced labour camp.

  3. […] I went to UL to try to register. Unfortunately, the forms and letters I need for this have been posted to my nerdcave in Dublin, so I have to wait for them to turn up and bring them back again. This is all horribly familiar. […]

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