Is writing letters dead and buried?
Recently I seem to have been writing letters of the complaining nature. What’s new there, I hear you say. Well, that’s not the point I’m raising here. What could be dubbed as an ancient form of communication as emails, text messaging and smart phones take over, I ask if the art of letter writing has been killed off.
It is an art as it takes skill, practice and knowledge to construct a letter. I know because not only did my parents teach me how to write formal letters, I also learned at junior school and from text books (Usborne, I salute you for your amazing illustrations and bite-size guidance – I still have the book!) and today, I thank them for their help.
Writing a letter is time consuming. From planning it to posting it but it’s an incredibly powerful form of expression and believe me, it makes others sit up and pay attention. Just the letter below to Lucky Voice is an example. To be honest, I’d given up on them responding so they definitely surprised me but had I not taken the time to write to them, they’d have not heard my voice and not taken action to improve their services.
But I think I am in the minority. I don’t think people these days feel strongly about writing letters, certainly not the ‘yoof’ of today. Many don’t vote. I’m not sure if it’s because people can’t be bothered or don’t know how to present a letter in writing. I genuinely believe a lot don’t know when to use ‘yours sincerely’ and ‘yours faithfully’ and email is lazy not to mention too general. There’s no guarantee the person you wish to address it to will read it or that it will end up in the junk mail folder. Writing a letter by snail mail shows how much thought and consideration has been invested. Send a letter by recorded delivery and there’s no denial from the other side that it got ‘lost in the post’.
I’ve been using a computer at home for 15 years but prior to that, I wrote my letters by hand so having a computer should make the job a lot quicker and easier plus there’s spell-check!
I’ve got two more letters in addition to this – one’s to a major retailer who responded in a day and is presently investigating a personal matter and the other will be winging its way to the head office of a car manufacturer in the UK and in Germany very soon.
The car one is a complaint at three separate car dealers who tried to hoodwink me into buying a car through methods I strongly disagreed on and who also tried to dodge the law in terms of tax payment on the car. It infuriated me how they thought they could pull the wool over my eyes and thought they were smarter than me. Car salesmen are on a par with estate agents and a lot of my friends can’t stand dealing with either so they avoid them at all costs and after my recent experience, I don’t blame them. Sadly I am sure they fool a lot of customers who end up signing off more than they can pay but I want to make sure they get reprimanded and don’t mistreat future clients who walk through the doors of their showrooms. Buying a car should not be stressful but God, did these three drive me round the bend.
Sometimes I don’t feel like compiling a long letter and on those occasions I have to push myself to do it or nothing will happen. I am slacking with the car letter sadly. I should have written and dispatched it about 6 weeks ago but it’s a complicated one and I’m days away from collecting my new car from a dealer who deserves nothing but praise so I’m not sure if it will have the impact that I was hoping for. Never mind, I am still going to send the letter.
Provided you are polite, it really makes a huge difference and I would urge you to put pen to paper whenever you feel strongly about something. If more do, who knows what massive changes will happen but if you don’t, nothing will. OK, I don’t write a letter when the trains are cancelled and I wish I did sometimes but perhaps I should next time they decide to cancel trains going to my destination for no reason other than the driver didn’t show up for work while I get hypothermia, freezing my bits off in low temperatures on a platform out in the open with no shelters open to sit inside for an hour and a half like I did at West Hampstead just before Christmas. It took me two hours to get home instead of 30 minutes. The bastards.
(I dedicate this blog to my best mate, Mojo who also feels strongly about letter writing and does know when to use ‘yours sincerely’ and ‘yours faithfully’.)
How to kill a karaoke night
Photo: Mojo
Last year (well, almost a month ago) I hired a karaoke room to celebrate my birthday. I’d never done karaoke before so was particularly excited as were my friends. We went to Lucky Voice in Soho and unfortunately they knew how to spoil a good night. They knew how to spoil a birthday night.
Below is the letter of complaint sent to their head office on 22nd December 2009. I’m still waiting for a reply:
Lucky Voice Customer Service
Lucky Voice Group Limited
Eastcastle House
27-28 Eastcastle Street
London
W1W 8DH
Dear Sir/Madam,
I recently hired a room at Lucky Voice Soho to celebrate my birthday with a few close friends. The reservation was made two months ahead for Friday 18th December at 10:30pm for two hours. Not only was this my first visit to Lucky Voice, it was my first karaoke experience too and needless to say, everyone was very much looking forward to it.
The sales team were very prompt in dealing with my online query although I felt slightly pressured to make a booking immediately and pay £85 deposit. A couple of days later, I received a voice mail on my phone from a representative at Lucky Voice, enquiring as to whether I was going to book a room, adding that if I booked by a certain time, I would be entitled to a discount.
When I returned her call to explain I’d booked a room but wondered if the offer applied as it was within the time frame mentioned, she bluntly said no. I don’t understand this as I was being prompted to make a reservation with the incentive of receiving a discount (I think it was 20%) but then refused. I politely asked if my booking could be amended as it was my birthday on the actual day of the booking but this was turned down.
In spite of this, I disregarded the matter and a week before, I called Lucky Voice to amend the room booking to which they very kindly downsized the reservation from originally for 8 people to 6 people, and informed me I could pay the outstanding fee of £45 on the night.
On Friday 18th December, I arrived with my friends 15 minutes early and was asked to wait in the bar until the room was ready. We were told someone would collect us and take us to our room. We waited until 10:30pm (the start of our room hire) and when nobody came to find us, we approached the reception desk. It is only then we were taken to the room.
A minute was spent showing us how to select the songs and how to order drinks. I have to admit that my first impression of the room did not match the images used on Lucky Voice’s website – the room was badly lit and it didn’t appear to have been cleaned after the previous users had vacated it. There were no facilities like a cloakroom for us to leave our coats and if there was, we weren’t told about it so instead we had to leave our belongings on the floor. The room was also extremely hot with no ventilation facilities and one of the microphones wasn’t working properly.
Half an hour before our session was due to end and midway during a song, a woman came into the room to remind us we had “25 minutes left” and that we still had “£60 worth of drinks to purchase” in the time left. In the evening we’d only bought three soft drinks and none of us were drinking alcohol.
This caught us by surprise as at no point were we told we were obliged to spend a minimum of £60 on drinks in addition to the room hire. She claimed it was in the terms and conditions and that she was “just doing her job”. After a few minutes she returned, informing us that they were prepared to drop the drinks issue ‘as a goodwill gesture’ and that we ought to feel grateful for this.
Frankly her attitude was appalling not to mention her rudeness at bursting into the room and at one point she had paused the music to speak to us in a condescending manner. Five minutes before our session was coming to an end, she returned to make sure we were ready to leave.
Perhaps this is the attitude your staff adopt in dealing with clients who are heavily intoxicated, in which case we were all insulted. She made no apology for interrupting us and as a result, had spoilt the rest of our night and my birthday. We weren’t in mood to continue after our enjoyment was killed, which was a terrible shame as we had been looking forward to this evening for so long.
We also feel we didn’t receive the full two hours we had booked. We were taken into our booth after 10.30pm and made to leave before 12:30am. At least 15 minutes was wasted in the process. Considering we had arrived early, we should have been briefed of the rules and how to use the equipment instead of sacrificing our paid session to accommodate these.
When leaving the venue, I disclosed our unhappiness to the lady at reception whose response was unsatisfactory. While she apologised, she reiterated Lucky Voice had certain terms and conditions with regards to the purchase of drinks and that this was not clearly explained to us at the time of the booking and upon arrival. She said she would relay the information to the marketing team but as far as I can see, this isn’t about improving marketing skills for Lucky Voice, it’s simply learning to treat your customers with respect.
As a goodwill gesture, she offered to email me an offer to come back to Lucky Voice and receive discounted room hire. I’ve yet to receive such an offer.
Upon examining the terms and conditions, nowhere does it specify we are obliged to purchase drinks of a minimum total price. Only clause ‘f’ states “We have a minimum spend of £10 per person after 9pm on Saturday which is applicable to all room bookings and based on the capacity of the room booked.” It was a Friday night.
I suspect a considerable amount of income for Lucky Voice comes from the alcoholic drinks bought hence the pressure put on us to pay up but for parties who do not drink at all, there is no alternative choice. I did not notice a non-alcoholic drinks menu so not only did your staff bully us, we also felt discriminated too. Funnily enough, we did enjoy ourselves without getting drunk.
Perhaps you might think about integrating a system whereby people are reminded how much time has elapsed on the screen instead of someone barging into the room and ordering you to leave and if you insist drinks must be purchased, you ought to make this abundantly clear at the time of booking, in which case customers should not have this held against them.
I notice you welcome feedback on your website and are strongly concerned to be informed directly of any unhappy experiences, which is why I have taken the time to write to you personally although I should add that as a journalist, I am in a position to voice my concerns in a wider capacity.*
Yours faithfully,
Miss Afsheen Shaikh
*Well, this blog for a start.
Theft of my hard work
Those of you who know me will confirm how much I love taking photographs. So much so that I’ve gone pro. I’ve been asked to take photos for people’s businesses and events and I’ve donated lots of pictures to friends of their precious moments like weddings and parties because I wanted to. In return their kind words fill me with a lot of happiness and satisfaction and keeps me striving for more.
Unfortunately I’ve recently discovered that my photos are being used by individuals on their social networking pages. What’s unfortunate is these individuals have cut off all ties with me (for reasons unknown). I’ve accepted our relationships have ceased so why on earth are they continuing to use my photos for their profile shots?
Legally I own the copyright to these photos and without my permission they are not allowed to use my photos. Worst still is their friends are complimenting them on how good they look. Well it’s down to the art of the photographer, not the subject wholly but I get no credit for it and of course they won’t tell the truth on who took the photos. I can’t decide whether I should tell them to take the pictures off the site or report them. I don’t hate them at all, it’s quite the opposite in fact because I wasn’t the one to end our relationship but it would make sense that if they wanted to remove every trace of me, they ought to remove my photos too.
If you can’t stand me, don’t steal my work. That said, they’ll be hard pushed to find someone else generous and patient enough to take their photos next time they’re craving for an ego massage.
You know the world’s gone mad when…
Swine flu isn’t the biggest epidemic the world should be worrying about. It’s the occurrence of this parasite plastered on the pages of newspapers and magazines.
Jack Tweed, for those who are fortunate to not endure his smug face lapping up press attention, is also the scummiest freeloader who’s had instant fame and easy-peasy fortune land in his lap after he came to our attention for dating the late Jady Goody (reality TV star from Big Brother). Apparently he’s only 21 years old.
Seeing his horrible face makes my blood boil. I never bought into him marrying Jade for love although I am glad he’s not entitled to a penny of her money. It still doesn’t make up for the fact he’s milking every opportunity to sell his stories when he should be ignored.
Any negative press given to him is quickly turned around by his PR camp. For example, some daft bints sold their story to a tabloid, claiming they had had a one night stand with this vile creature weeks after his wife died. While I don’t sympathise with these slappers (because they too are after cash), it infuriates me his camp turned these scandals into ‘oh, Jack Tweed really regretted sleeping with these girls and cried afterwards, missing his late wife so much’. Waaa, waaa, waaa, waaa! Those photos of him at her grave were all staged too!
Why must we put up with this repulsive thug? He can’t even wear a cravate properly! And who on earth would want to sympathise with him? Who are these moronic members of the public who plead for his innocence and that he’s just 21. So?! If at 21 he’s capable of dipping his nib into random ink pots and beating up people for no reason whatsoever, he deserves no allowances. I never thought I’d see the day when criminals like Jack Tweed would be heroes.
Proof we are among idiots
My emotional state at this minute is calm and collected. I’ve devoured a delicious Malaysian/Indonesian take-away and I’ve also told an idiot who’d parked his car and blocked the ramp of my driveway to move it but half an hour ago, I was raging.
I only nipped out for 10 minutes to collect my food but when I returned, his vehicle was partially blocking my driveway. Upon seeing me, he continued to load up his car and so I swerved (with great difficulty) and had to park my car in an awkward position. Once inside, I kept pacing up and down to the window and checking if my appearance had prompted him to move his car. Five minutes went by and no, he hadn’t. Instead he was sitting inside a different vehicle on the opposite side, having a chinwag with three other people. I flapped the net curtains a few times, I even took a few photos but no, the car was still there.
How very dare he...!
I was fuming while my food was getting cold but then I did something extraordinary that surprised me – I stormed outside and went straight to the car he was sitting in. Before he could turn around, the passenger in the seat behind him noticed me and gestured him to open his window.
“Is that your car?”, I asked.
“Yes – I am going in five minutes”
“Er, I don’t think so. Please move your car because I can’t park mine properly and the other space is reserved for another”.
Quickly he got out and moved his car. I mean, how dare he park there in the first place?! Cock! Of course this doesn’t beat the time when a random woman actually parked her car ON MY DRIVE WAY and popped into meet my neighbour across the road during controlled parking in the week day. I kid you not. Does my driveway look like a fucking free car park?! Why didn’t I call the police then? GAH!
By the way, I abhor the house across the road on the right. It used to be one house till the owner converted it into three flats and rented them out. To unsavoury looking tenants. The owner cemented the beautiful garden and knocked down a tree before painting the window frames instead of installing new double glazing and generally making the property look ugly. Urgh! It truly brings down the value of the street and I am itching to move.
Liar, liar, pants on fire
Lies. Everyone tells them. Little white ones or big, fat fibs. Sometimes it’s justifiable but not when it’s going to cause hurt and pain to those involved.
This past week hasn’t treated me well. I’ve been crying most nights and people at work have noticed I don’t look my usual self. The moment they asked, I had to hold back the tears and pretend everything was OK. It’s not the time of the month either so I can’t blame feeling fragile over that. I am just trying to make sense of why people I care about lie to me unnecessarily.
People who tell me they’re my friend have lied to me and the pain from it is horrible. The truth comes out sooner or later so they are the foolish ones but I feel foolish for believing in them. Do they think I’m a mug? Am I too soft and nice? Are they so used to fibbing to everyone that they are immune to others’ feelings? Clearly they don’t feel the same way as I do about them or they wouldn’t dream of hurting me in this way. I also feel like our friendship is false because I can’t distinguish the truth from the lies. Unless I’m told pigs can fly, I’ll pretty much give anyone the benefit of the doubt.
I wish I didn’t have a caring bone in my body but stupidly I do. Most people can walk away from this and never look back. I, on the other hand, just freeze on the spot, not knowing what to do next other than sob endlessly. Unfortunately this isn’t something new as people I thought I could trust have deceived me. You’d think I’d have wised up by now.
Being truthful doesn’t cost anything yet people treat it like it’s an expense of some kind. Unless you’re at the receiving end, you won’t realise just how awful the consequences are to deal with.
Incessantly incestuous
Hello, loyal readers of my blog, bless you for stopping by. What am I going to blog about today? Incest. Between siblings. You must be wondering how such a topic has popped into my head. Well for the last couple of months, I’ve noticed a worrying trend. I know someone who keeps putting up pictures of his sister on his social networking page.
Pouting poses, cleavage-enhancing shots…yeah, I suppose they’re not pornographic but they’re not normal photos either. One or two photos would go unnoticed but a dozen and in the same album? And they’re just of her on her own! Why? It makes me feel uncomfortable, looking at some of these photos (like I need to see her ample bosoms popping out of a strapless top). I can’t avoid it either – they pop up in the news feed on my page. And she has the most number of photos to her name in this gallery of images.
I know another pair of sister-brother siblings who wish each other goodnight with kisses and tell one another they love each other on their respective pages. Two sisters’ affection is different. It’s sweet and cute. Two brothers doesn’t been bear thinking. You don’t get too many male buddies giving each other ‘brotherly’ love but a brother and sister is creepy! I’m not implying anything further is going on but just what I’ve witnessed so far is wrong! Especially the one who keeps sticking photos of his sister on the internet.
True or false?
Apparently Victoria Beckham has had her breast implants removed. The perma-tanned twiglet who emphatically denied having her boobs boosted has redeemed herself just slightly in my eyes for realising how stupid surgically enhanced tits are.
Breast augmentations must seriously be affordable because nobodies are having them done. Of course you get what you pay for and it’s amusing to spot the cheap jobs from the ones who will have you fooled into thinking they are natural. Dita Von Teese, I am specifically pointing my finger at you. I really thought her breasts were natural but when she admitted they weren’t, I lost interest and respect in her. She always struck me as a naturally curvacious beauty. Unfortunately she’s a cheat.
Dita, you teese!
But pushing Dita and her quality pair of airbags, I find the superficial inflated mammaries repulsive and women who get them done, in particular, to further their ‘careers’ are pathetic.
Channel-hopping one Friday night, I came across a television channel called – ahem – Babe Station. You know those dodgy ads in the classified sections of newspapers with the premium charged phone lines? Babe Station is an extension of that except men don’t pay to hear a woman flirt and talk dirty to them, they get to see her too. (I take the ‘men’ bit back – the type who probably phone into these premium charged channels are horny teenagers jizzing under their Superman duvets.)
Viewers are invited to dial up and pay up £1.50 a minute for a plasticated bimbo rub her beachballs whilst on all fours. She flutters her false lashes, pouts with her collagen boosted lips, tosses her hair extensions and rolls around on the rug for as long as she can milk the caller. It’s porn for the Nuts/Zoo generation and I expect the girls who appear on these channels pop up in those lame publications. They are excrutiatingly ugly and their fake breasts are too. Many don’t look above 21. I wonder what their parents think? I wonder if their brothers are proud of their baby sisters pushing their breasts together and simulating sex on national television? If anything, it is laughable and after the initial reaction of being gobsmacked at what they were doing, I was cringing at the gestures on camera.
Mainstream television is brimming with implants. I only had to switch onto Big Brother and there is one girl in the house with boobs bigger than her brain. How can you rely on making a career by pumping up your breasts and mutilating your body as a consequence? They’re not even permanent! Implants have to be replaced after so many years and think of how much the skin is stretched in the process! Meg Matthews has a grotesque pair of breasts with saggy skin in the cleavage. *retches* One of them slipped out of place and she had to have surgery again.
Breast implants do not make a woman remotely sexy or beautiful. How a woman dresses (tastefully) and carries herself with confidence is, no matter how big or small her breasts are. Women who are influenced by using false methods to improve their appearance are weak and shallow. And women who do it to please men or persuaded by their boyfriends are worse. I was speaking to a man who was the first to support the idea of breast implants. Most sensible men actually detest implants. However, this one didn’t. It soon became apparent why as he’d paid for his girlfriend to have her tits done. I had to question what sort of a relationship they have for one person to force their opinion on the other and try to change their appearance. Actually a better word for that is ‘control’. God almighty, is there not anything else better to do?
Jo O’Meara (who used to be in S Club 7, then later embroiled in the race fiasco on Celebrity Big Brother a few years ago with Jade Goody and Danielle LLoyd – both of them had their tits done) recently had hers done. She complained her breasts looked like (and she put it so eloquently), “a couple of saggy condoms” after the birth of her child. I have news for you, O’Meara, your breasts are for feeding, you daft mare. Also if you are allegedly strapped for cash after selling your £500,000 house and moving into rented accomodation because the nation hates you, why splash out on getting your boobs done, you insipid cow. Yeah, buying shoes to cope with your unhappiness is fine – I do it! But cosmetic surgery is plain stupid. Argh! I hate implants! Girls, you don’t need big breasts for a man to be with you. If you do, you’re only going to attract the wrong ones. Besides, no man with an ounce of sense likes them fake.
Use By xx-xx-xxxx
This weekend I’ve had the joyful news that another cousin is getting engaged and very soon to be married. In what feels like a conveyor belt, one by one they’re reaching the front of the check-out to have their barcode scanned and to be packaged into the next phase of their adulthood.
I’m the oldest amongst my cousins from my mother’s side. Bar me there have been three weddings so far, which will now go up to four by the end of the summer. Between my family’s Asian friends and acquaintances, the same thing is occurring – those older than me have said their vows years ago and those younger are trying on their wedding gowns as I type this.
Where I once had numerous suitors supposedly asking for my hand in marriage (I’m inclined to believe more my British passport), I’ve since passed that eligibility milestone and now I’m just rudely prodded as to why I am not considering settling down into a married life. By people who know don’t know me. And just for amusement, all parties known to me who have tied the knot have not had arranged marriages.
I can’t speak for those who have chosen to get married at 21 or 24 because I don’t know their reasons or circumstances. I imagine they have been fortunate to be in the right place at the right time. I can’t say I was lucky to come across one eligible bachelor at university.
Some have made it their mission to find a husband. It’s not unusual to see Asian girls dreaming of the glitz and glamour of a large-scale wedding where they have the excuse to be the centre of the attention, wearing the most exquisite wedding dress and guests turning green with envy at the sight.
In case you’ve not twigged, I’m nearing the end of my expiry date in the eyes of Asians. I mean, God forbid, an Asian girl still single and 30?! My parents are happy, why is it anyone else’s business that I’m not married?
I don’t stop to think about marriage and that is exactly what I think about. I don’t wonder about the wedding or what dress I want to wear, or countless ceremonies in the run-up to the big day. I take marriage seriously and my opinion has altered as I’ve become older and more sensible. At 21 I hadn’t a clue, at 24 I wasn’t ready but now as I enter my thirties, what I have in sight is clear.
Yes, I’d like to get married. I would like a family of my own. No, I’m not interested in him having a large pay packet nor must he be an investment banker or someone of equally or a higher profession. I’ve never been impressed by superficial things like that.
I aim to honour the sanctity of marriage wholeheartedly. I don’t want a grand wedding with 500 random guests I have never seen in my life. I don’t want to waste an extortionate amount of money on a dress I will wear for a few hours. I don’t want to be dripping in 24 carat gold and I don’t want a sodding mendhi. I am more interested in getting an Aga for my dream farmhouse kitchen than to fork out for a frock encrusted in diamantes. I would like my nearest and dearest friends and family to be present on my special day, the figure I can probably count on both hands. But most importantly, if or when I get married, it will be to someone I care about and love unconditionally.
I’ve had my fair share of cruel jibes from Asian men I encountered in my early twenties. Some said I’d be left on the shelf if I didn’t hurry up and get married. Wise words coming from control freaks. Perhaps they feel intimidated by strong, independent thinking women. I owe it all to my daddy for encouraging me to be the person that I am today. And he knows he’s raised no fool.
As I write this blog, I worry about others much younger than me. My cousin who’s just turned 17 is already grooming herself and practising her Colgate smile in pictures she’s plastered on her page on a social networking site. I won’t be surprised if she’s the next one to walk down the aisle.
You just can’t get the staff these days
This time yesterday I was fuming. Today my mood has swung to one of much relief after I put my blogging skills into practise with a complaint letter addressed to the CEO of a huge electrical retailer. Dixons to be exact.
About a month ago I purchased a netbook (a mini laptop for the technological challenged) through Dixons’s website. It was considerably cheaper than in-store plus delivery was included. Besides, if my saviour John Lewis sold this brand, I’d have not hesitated about going straight to them.
The laptop was delivered quickly, I excitedly plugged it in and started to slowly build up its content with programs and ditching Internet Explorer for Firefox. One day later and these horrible lines appeared on the screen – like dead pixels. AFTER ONE DAY!
The only option was to ask for an exchange or a refund except it wasn’t as straight forward. Dixons do not allow products to be returned to their shops if bought online. It’s the reason why their online prices are lower in comparison to their store prices. So I had no choice but to telephone their after sales number to arrange for the item to be returned. Argh! A pain and half that was.
I was promised DHL would collect the laptop from an address of my choice – either home or work so I chose the latter. This was arranged to take place 11 days ago. When I called Dixons to find out when they’d be refunding my money (nearly £300), they couldn’t trace it. Well, I wasn’t surprised when I found it was still sitting in the collections depot at my work place! Cue me calling Dixons again and being forced to go through the same, lengthy procedure of arranging a collection again, which they promised to do on the same day. Of course they didn’t show up again!
So I stormed home, fuming and instead of firing off a letter which would end up on some random person’s desk, I emailed the CEO of Dixons. It saved me a trip to the post office, queuing up during my lunch hour and paying for a letter to be sent by recorded delivery.
Today I received a grovelling phone call from the head office, and coincidentally, my laptop was finally collected too. A refund usually takes a few days but 20 minutes later, I received an email confirming my money had been returned to me. Still, it’s taken almost a month to sort out and put me off buying from Dixons again. Head office failed to explain why they employ such incompetent staff though.
I am the queen of writing complaint letters but I hate doing them to begin with. It’s a crutch ache to plan, prepare and write one, and include evidence to back up your argument plus you have to remember not to be rude and aggressive but firm and polite. If retailers pull up their socks and provide a high quality service, it will save me so much bother complaining about when they bodge things up.
Some don’t have a clue about treating customers well. I had a bad experience with online clothing site ASOS.com who sold me a duff coat which was cream coloured with red lining. The label’s instructions said it could be washed in the machine so I did and the coat turned pink. ASOS requested I return it to them for a refund but it took an eternity to get my money back. ASOS claimed they never received the coat and yes, I obtained proof of postage. I wrote several emails to the rude prick representing ASOS and eventually sought advice from Consumer Direct before ASOS turned around and miracuously discovered the coat was with them all along and swiftly gave me my money back.
This was about two years ago and I’ve never bought from them since.
