I am verging on insane, having spent unproductive hours on the British Embassy, Paris, website trying to get the renewal forms for Jock’s passport, downloading new software so I could print the forms, helping Jock (!) to fill them in, then back to the website, as you can’t pay by cheque, and need ANOTHER form to pay by credit card.
Couldn’t find it by visiting every page on the website several times. Rang the office in Paris, who told me by recorded message that they can no longer deal with passport enquiries, referred back to blankety blank website. After another rootle round, I found a number to ring in UK, but they wouldn’t even hear the question until I’d given them credit card details, so that they could charge me 74 pence a minute to listen to me (plus the International call charge, natch!)
The upshot was that I had to brave the infernal website again while the girl talked me through how to get the payment form. She was a delightful Scottish girl and I asked her to tell the bosses that the site was the worst I’d come across in twenty years online, and to ask them how they thought my technincompoop husband of 78 would have coped if he were a widower. I now have to pay £160 plus courier charges to get the new passport delivered to us. Jock hopes he doesn’t live another 10 years!
The upshot of this rigmarole was webweariness, aggravated antipathy, minimally mollified callcentre rage and ten years off my lifespan.