In my case, I even own a TV, but use it only for my Gamecube. I wrote them a letter telling them so, and they bother me once a year since, as above.
Shit... I'd have thought that wouldn't work!
leekfiend wrote:Get them to write a letter telling the TV licence monkeys this, and they'll leave them alone for a year. Then they'll write them a letter saying "have you got a TV?" and your fols will have to write back saying "no".
Suppose so... but I've very little faith with the licensing authorities and their databases.
Wayback clock: When I moved to Worcester, I went into the local PO and asked to get my licence changed. This consisted of the counter woman crossing out my existing address and writing the new one on, then stamping it. I didn't see her take any notes, so was confused as to how the authorities would know.
Sure enough, at my new place, I got a card through the door telling me an inspector had called around. When I rang them, they claimed to have no record of me owning a licence (even at my old address), and asked for the licence number:
Code: Select all
them: what's the number printed on the licence?
me: there isn't one.
them: it's above the address, top-left.
me: my address is bottom-right.
them: turn the licence over, look for the purple box, top-left
me: yup.
them: what does it say?
me: "you can NOW pay with direct debit!"
them: no, your licence number should be printed, above the address
me: my address is overleaf. I'm looking at several boxes telling me how I can pay.
them: well your address should be at the top, on the left.
me: no, it's overleaf, bottom-right.
(etc)
She eventually asked me to send it in, but refused a photocopy as evidence. Since they had no record, if it was lost in the post, I was fecked, so I refused. Eventually some inspector, confirmed I had a licence and told me I could have saved a lot of time and bother if I'd have just sent it in. Luckily for him I was happy that day since I'd had a pay rise - else I'd have chinned the fucker.
Forward-fast 3 months. My missus moves in with me, so for a while we have two licences. I ring the authorities and manage to get the remaining time on mine credited to hers. Hers had a number. All is well.
Few months later, I get another postcard telling me I haven't got a licence. I wait for the bloke visits, sees hers, grumbles that a lot of time could have been saved if I just rang up or sent it in, then goes away.
We moved house, contact the relevent authorities, get the address changed. In the next place, we get a letter addressed to "the occupier" telling us we've not got a licence and to contact them. Since we *have*, and we're on record, I presume it's not for us. Another letter, more threatening, a week later. Eventually some bloke calls around (different one) wanting to see our licence, I show him, he grumbles and walks off.
We move out to a country bungalow. Contact authorities, get things changed... but it doesn't stop us from getting a letter, telling us that a detector van came up our street and found a large number of unlicenced TV sets (there's two bungalows and a farm out here. And several sheep). Wait a few weeks, get another letter. Missus is nonplussed at getting a visit, so I call....
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me: this letter says we ain't got a licence.
them: yes. we have no licence listed at that address.
me: here's a licence number: XXYYZZ11223344. What address is listed on there?
them: ummm.... *squirm*
me: why couldn't you just search against our address and found that?
them: that's not how databases work....
Cunting jesus tittyfuck on stilts. I despair. But that's not all...
Forward-fast to 2 years ago. We buy a new TV. A week later... "YOU DO *NOT* HAVE A LICENCE AT THIS ADDRESS! THIS IS ILLEGAL! YOU WILL BE CAPTURED WHILST SLEEPING AND SPRINTED OFF TO CAMP X-RAY!" letter pops through.
The missus wanted me to ring and sort it out. I know if I do, I'll slam the phone down so hard I'll break someone's ankles in Australia. But she doesn't want Braindead Bob The Inspector visiting, in case he stumbles on the uneven path and falls upon the spiky gateposts, several times. So I email them, and their HTML reply is rejected by my mail server. I've heard nothing since, so I'm guessing they've got my area marked "do NOT approach".
Didn't stop them sending threatening letters to Daddy, mind.
What's REALLY sad about this whole episode is that last year I spent some time at the BBC, running a SuSE Linux sysadmin training course. Absolutely EVERYTHING about my visit screamed "organisation!" - the gateman was prepped for my arrival, giving me a map to a parking space. I was greated by someone that gave me a student list, the room was well-set up, coffee and meals were provided, and ALL students smelled strongly of that heady scent called "Clue". That trip ranks VERY high in my list of "getting things done RIGHT." I just wish the same efficiency extended to other areas of the organisation.
Rant over... Sorry it was so long, folks.
