Go Compare My Arse...

Modern life seems to be just one endless string of nuisances - some big, some small, all of them nothing more than needless ball-ache.

It feels like you cannot make it through a month without one of these joyless little occasions popping up to make things more crap than they already are. Oh look, it's MOT time. The gas bill has arrived. It's time for the vet to suck more of my life blood to fund the cats' vaccinations. My smear test is due. The front tyre is bald and in imminent danger of pitching me into the nearest hedge if I don't get it replaced. Oh no, a molar is aching. God, the boiler's making weird noises, better let some bloke come and empty my wallet in exchange for glaring at it and whistling.

The particular joy with which I am currently contending is the car insurance renewal. Does this time of year roll around quicker than any other? It sure feels like it and I'm certain it's like bloody Christmas to the insurance companies, as they send out their ludicrous renewal offers in the hope that people will be too bored / busy / terrified to open it in time, allowing their automated direct debits to keep churning out and thus lock them into another year of legalised extortion. Well, this year I was one step ahead of those bastards. I DID open the letter and I DID find the new monthly premium quote and I DID tell them where they could shove it.

Apparently, a rise of nearly 100 per cent is perfectly reasonable and acceptable, the call centre drone assured me when I asked how they could possibly justify raising my monthly payment from £29 to £56, literally overnight. Clearly, these insurance companies are not stupid - they've been checking out Streetview and noticed that I recently swapped my small Ford run-around for a scarlet Lamborghini Aventador.

Insurance in general has gone through the roof this year, according to Bob or Ken or Janice or whatever their name was, as they informed me through slurps of coffee and mouthfuls of digestive biscuit. My insistence that countless other companies were offering me identical policies for less than £35 was met with the polite scorn usually reserved for senile grandmothers who insist they can see Nazis in the garden. Yes dear, of course they are.

Like a prostitute playing hard to get, they went through the usual motions of seeing if they could 'bring the price down a bit' and, after a pointless flurry of typing, announced they could offer me cover for £44 a month. When I told them it was an unattractive offer and I would be taking my business elsewhere, they asked me when my house insurance was due. I brought the conversation to a close.

Luckily I have managed to find a reasonably priced policy with another insurer which will only cost me £1 extra on last year, but annoyingly they want a rather large deposit and as my finances are somewhat embarrassed at the moment, the renewal will have to wait until a nerve-shredding 11th hour before being confirmed. But never mind, at least it keeps things exciting...

In my opinion, the insurance industry is the Devil's favourite hobby and all concerned should be deeply ashamed of themselves. I would have less animosity towards someone who beat small children with sticks for a living than to someone who announced they 'worked in insurance'. I have had a number of brushes with these hellhounds over the years, none of which left a pleasant taste in my mouth.

Particularly the time my limited edition Mini got written off after being shunted in a traffic queue by some prick in a van. The market value would easily have been in excess of £1,000 but because the 'blue book value' (ie. something no doubt written by insurers, for insurers) was only £500, I found that the premiums I had been paying on a £1,600 car for the last five years were pretty much worthless, and the situation is sure to be the same with my current vehicle. (I'd like to have seen what they had to say if I had given its value as £500 when I took out the bloody policy.)

Once they had deducted excess, which took several months to retrieve from the guilty party, I had an extravagant £350 with which to replace my car and therefore had no choice but to get into debt in order to fund the purchase. So I was basically shafted by two arseholes in one day.

The most annoying thing about car insurance? Like every other sane person in the country, I have spent the last year swearing profusely and switching channels every time that massive bell-end came on, bellowing about how you should thank your stars you visited a certain insurance comparison site. And yet when I sat down at the computer to start this thankless task, which website address did I automatically enter without a moment's thought, it's irritating little refrain dancing around my empty brain cavity as I did so?

Bah.