Someone, somewhere, is utterly convinced of my need for a Capital One no hassle platinum card. Indeed, they are so utterly convinced that I shall inevitably succumb to my obvious yearning for the thing that they have decided, for my convenience, that I should never have to wait more than 48 hours between application forms. This is presumably so that, the moment the mood strikes me to apply (I am undecided - Tigers or Dolphins on the card? This is much more important than interest rates.), I shall have a form there, ready and waiting. I have been preapproved! So the application process is easy and convenient! I only need to have a teensy little credit check (won't hurt a bit) and I can be the proud possessor of this shiny thing of absolute beauty, which lets me buy stuff with (this is the good bit) money I don't even have (pay nothing until 2008!). I am reluctant, in these days of identity theft, to bin the letters. And it would be tantamount to binning about ten trees a year. I like the habit they have of illustrating the cards with the creature whose habitat they have destroyed to print the forms. So pretty! "Today, your junk mail is provided with the help of Fernando the flying squirrel, who has so generously given his tree to further the Capital One cause." So I have started a collection. When the collection of unopened envelopes reaches critical mass and starts to jam the drawer, I shall take it into work and dispose of it in the shred-it recycle bin.
But why, since I acquired a mortgage and a habit of going overdrawn towards the end of the month, have these companies suddenly decided I am the ideal candidate for further credit? My finances are surely precarious enough as it is. Just one more example, I guess, of the fact that banks are complete bastards who want you to default on your credit agreements so they can take everything you own. While I was the model bank customer, with a modest savings account and a current account which never ever went overdrawn, nobody had any interest whatsoever. Bastards.
I was listening to some blokes talking at work. I should stress they were customers and not colleagues. It seems they actually treat dating as an investment. As in, they weigh up the cost of simply paying for sex (with a 100% chance of a return on the investment) versus the cost of a romantic meal for two and a taxi, with approximately 50% chance of return on the investment. They also make allowances for extra hassles like conversation which are considered pitfalls of the latter option. I was however gratified to learn that dating is still considered to be a pretty good deal, considering (the cost of paying for sex is apparently pretty extortionate) provided the meal isn't too expensive ("never date a fat bird. Costs a fucking fortune mate, innit?") So there you go.