Someone save me from the U.K. banking system, please

I can't believe it!! I am so angry I could ... throw a tantrum. In fact I may just do that. I got a letter from my bank (the Royal Bank of Scotland) today; not only did they spell Rossmore incorrectly, but they have the temerity to tell me that my signature doesn't match the one they hold "on file". It goes on to say:

What do I need to do next? You will need to visit your local branch where a Change of Address request form will be completed and they will arrange to update your signature details within the Bank's records.

completely ignoring the fact that there is no "local branch" in this country. Do they not think that's the first thing I would have done when I discovered that the cashlink card had expired? (I still can't believe they have expiring bank cards! Credit card, sure. Cashflow card, really?) They didn't even have the decency to list my "local branch" when they sent the letter - to Northern Ireland. Grrrrr. I mean, I can't get to my money to buy a ticket to get to my "nearest branch" to change my signature and my address! I really thought that opening a bank account with them was going to be as bad as it got - Dr. Lard (I prefer to call him Pooh Bear) will recall the stress I went through for that. It included getting the last five years' bank statements faxed through to the branch in Stirling, only to discover that actually, they needed originals. Could they not have just said that to start with? They also needed (and I may be exaggerating) five forms of id, a retina scan from a doctor registered with them, proof of work and a place to live, and the tooth of a wolf.

The letter goes on to say:

Thank you for your assistance in this matter and if you have any questions please contact me on ... and I will be happy to help.

I'm tempted to phone up and ask him for a return trip to get to my "local branch", but I think instead I shall saunter down (in the sun) to the nearest Ulster Bank (Belfast is bristling with them) and ask them to open an account for me, and close my RBS one. That would make me feel so much better. I'm going to implode if they can't.

On the other hand, I've discovered that Lara (my flatmate) is going to be a really bad influence on me. Apparently I didn't entirely break the washing machine, the same thing happened to her; except that she turned the knob thing the other way and it was fine. We opened a bottle of wine, and she mentioned that she had a Swiss Army knife, and I might be able to "fix" it with that. I like playing with knives. I took off a chunk of the plastic covering the programmes bit using the big knife (there will be a photo), and then we managed to move the dial around to B (normal wash), using the bottle opener. Normally this would be bordering on sacrilegious, but desperate times etc. (I was down to one sock: I must have thrown one away. Not to mention women in this country have very small feet, and the men wear really boring socks.)

There's an offy (bottle shop) here called Wine Mark, they're not as good as OddBinns, or Berry Brothers and Rudd, but they are everywhere, and they do have tastings from Thursdays to Sundays. This week is Oyster Bay, so Lara and I are going to visit four different outlets and go nuts on the chardonnay. Roll on tomorrow evening!