I’M not good with numbers – they jump about, change places, turn themselves upside down or the wrong way round, indeed anything to confuse me.
So I was not exactly on top of the situation when I braved the bank; Ner vously clutching my piece of paper I entered the hallowed halls to find it deserted apart from one chica of tender years and immaculate make-up.
I proffered the paper and explained that I needed a form filled in, but that I couldn’t find the sort code for my account. She perused the paper for some time before making her decision.
‘You have the wrong form. This is for an English bank. Spanish banks don’t have sort codes.’
They must have, I thought, but decided to leave it for now and passed on to my next question. ‘Where is my account number?’ She pointed to my IBAN number. ‘This is your account number.’
‘But that’s my IBAN number. It’s too long to be my account number. It won’t fit in the boxes.’
This stopped her. Faced with a number that did not conform to the number of boxes available was too much of a conundrum for her.
She resorted to her original line of defence. ‘It is the wrong form. It is for an English bank.’ Seeing that I was not convinced she re-iterated ‘This is your IBAN number. It is also your account number and your sort code.’
I looked at her. She looked at me. I picked up my paper and left, unsorted!
