What a name! That's the 60s for you. They're just cornflake cakes. By popular demand, from the Woman's Own Cookery Book, 1968: makes 12 small (kiddie size) or 6 adult size. (I tend to double the quantities).
7 tablespoons corn flakes (that's 34g if you have electronic scales)
1 tablespoon icing sugar or caster sugar
1oz vegetable fat or shortening (I use Pure or Sainsbury's 'Free From' marge to keep them vegan)
1 level tablespoon cocoa powder
1 tablespoon golden syrup (heat the spoon to keep it from sticking)
2 tablespoons dessicated coconut or 1 tablespoon grated orange peel
Melt the fat and syrup slowly in a saucepan; do not boil.
Add the cocoa, remove from heat and stir in the sugar.
With a metal spoon, quickly fold in the cornflakes and coconut/orange peel until well-coated.
Spoon onto a greased baking sheet (I use paper cake - not muffin - cases) and cool.
I seem to remember them coming out of the fridge hard, but recently they've been quite squidgey still. Possibly this is because I'm slap-happy with the syrup - they have been tooth-achingly sweet. To counter the sweetness, though, I'm tempted to halve the sugar; I think they need the stickiness of the syrup to bond.
Yummy.
Wednesday 25 February 2009
Pesky squirrels
Garden update: the pesky rodents have been digging up the bulbs from our pots. I am not happy. A couple of casualties, then I put the pots in the shed. Hopefully they will shoot, unassailed.
The window box at the front has several shoots, but the back has none. The back gets all the morning sun. Possibly they're unrelated, and the front pot just had the bulbs that were further along. The rest of the garden looks lovely: yellow croci keep springing up, and we have a lovely couple of daffs in a crack between decking and fence. (Yes, cowboys).
The window box at the front has several shoots, but the back has none. The back gets all the morning sun. Possibly they're unrelated, and the front pot just had the bulbs that were further along. The rest of the garden looks lovely: yellow croci keep springing up, and we have a lovely couple of daffs in a crack between decking and fence. (Yes, cowboys).
Saturday 14 February 2009
Walthamstow lunch recommendation and gardening therapy
We had a fantastic valentine's day lunch at our favourite place in Walthie, the Portuguese tapas cafe the Windmill: Portuguese (salt) cod cream, baked goat's cheese, piri piri prawns - yummy. We forgot the patatas bravas, but with bread and really good olives that was plenty - so we didn't really need a pastel de nata and a slice of their supremely good apple and cinnamon cake (for which I daren't ask for the recipe have fruitlessly searched t'internet) that we had with coffee anyway. That lot came to £30 with a tip, which is a lot for lunch but reasonable (ooh, it included a beer, too) since we were there for almost two hours and they're so accommodating - nay, welcoming - of tiddlers. Also, I'm particularly happy to splash on their tapas of a weekend because I sometimes take other mothers there for their bargain weekday lunch - £3.50 for a dish and rice - when we take up time and large tables and often only drink tap water, so they're really only making any money out the repeat business.
Anyway, I truly recommend it, and it's a real asset to this part of town.
Afterwards, we came home via the park, and because it was such a lovely day, we went straight into our little urban garden to plant the bulbs we bought on the cheap before christmas - reduced because they were almost overdue planting back then. Terry dug around in the bed in the back looking for stones to use for drainage in the the two aluminium window boxes that came from dad's, which revealed, among the cat shit, an awful lot of pruning and tidying to do. So we pulled out all the dead stuff and got rid of the fallen leaves, and pulled up the hundreds of weeds (there's a particular plant that's everywhere, red stem and lots of shoots. Luckily the rootball is small and shallow, so it's easy to pull out, but it's all over the bed), and hacked back the pyrocanthas and the other tree-bush and the winter-flowering jasmine, and then I attacked next door's ivy, which has completely, unassailably, covered the fence we share, and finally got back to planting up the bulbs. We had heaps of tulips and daffodils and croci, so I have the two window boxes and 4 or 5 tubs. Most of the bulbs looked like they were still good, though half the daffs had rotted down to blackness in their papery casings, so hopefully we'll get a little spring colour, even if it is a bit late and half-hearted.
Clearing one corner of the bed, I pulled and pulled, then jumped back as something moved. What I could see looked gross, it could almost have been cat turd, but there was something sticking out, so it really looked like a slug with legs - and then I realised it was a little toad. Poor little thing stayed as still as still could be, so I asked Terry what to do and he suggested I just cover it with some of the leaves. I did, and we left it. It was still there half an hour later when we were back over that side with weightier implements to attack the tree with; hopefully not paralysed with fear....
A little robin was about too. Considering the amount of cat poo in the garden, we manage to attract quite a few birds. I've seen blue tits and robins and sparrows and a jay among the ubiquitous woodpidgeons and squirrels. The robin was really fearless. He sat on the back fence for a while, only a couple of feet from us, and we tried to show Babs, but I'm not sure she clocked him. A little while later, as soon as my back was turned, he was off the tree and onto the beds, where I'd clearly revealed some worms, and he looked happy. We moved the bird feeder and put up another, so hopefully we'll see a few more birds in the next few weeks.
It was so nice being in the garden; I haven't really been out there since the summer. The endorphins got me so fired up I swept up in the back and then swept out the front, and I'm still a bit buzzy two hours later. There may be hope for our allotment dreams yet.
Anyway, I truly recommend it, and it's a real asset to this part of town.
Afterwards, we came home via the park, and because it was such a lovely day, we went straight into our little urban garden to plant the bulbs we bought on the cheap before christmas - reduced because they were almost overdue planting back then. Terry dug around in the bed in the back looking for stones to use for drainage in the the two aluminium window boxes that came from dad's, which revealed, among the cat shit, an awful lot of pruning and tidying to do. So we pulled out all the dead stuff and got rid of the fallen leaves, and pulled up the hundreds of weeds (there's a particular plant that's everywhere, red stem and lots of shoots. Luckily the rootball is small and shallow, so it's easy to pull out, but it's all over the bed), and hacked back the pyrocanthas and the other tree-bush and the winter-flowering jasmine, and then I attacked next door's ivy, which has completely, unassailably, covered the fence we share, and finally got back to planting up the bulbs. We had heaps of tulips and daffodils and croci, so I have the two window boxes and 4 or 5 tubs. Most of the bulbs looked like they were still good, though half the daffs had rotted down to blackness in their papery casings, so hopefully we'll get a little spring colour, even if it is a bit late and half-hearted.
Clearing one corner of the bed, I pulled and pulled, then jumped back as something moved. What I could see looked gross, it could almost have been cat turd, but there was something sticking out, so it really looked like a slug with legs - and then I realised it was a little toad. Poor little thing stayed as still as still could be, so I asked Terry what to do and he suggested I just cover it with some of the leaves. I did, and we left it. It was still there half an hour later when we were back over that side with weightier implements to attack the tree with; hopefully not paralysed with fear....
A little robin was about too. Considering the amount of cat poo in the garden, we manage to attract quite a few birds. I've seen blue tits and robins and sparrows and a jay among the ubiquitous woodpidgeons and squirrels. The robin was really fearless. He sat on the back fence for a while, only a couple of feet from us, and we tried to show Babs, but I'm not sure she clocked him. A little while later, as soon as my back was turned, he was off the tree and onto the beds, where I'd clearly revealed some worms, and he looked happy. We moved the bird feeder and put up another, so hopefully we'll see a few more birds in the next few weeks.
It was so nice being in the garden; I haven't really been out there since the summer. The endorphins got me so fired up I swept up in the back and then swept out the front, and I'm still a bit buzzy two hours later. There may be hope for our allotment dreams yet.
Maternity matters
It's almost Babs' first birthday. It's played on my mind for months that I never got round to writing to the head of midwifery and the director of maternity services where I gave birth, to feed back on my experiences. I don't want to complain; really, I just want to let them know what happened, where there were failings, and where some of their development activity should focus. Everyone whose birth stories I have heard in the last year have included aspects which disappointed them - apart from the women who were able to give birth at home. Now, possibly this is because the home births, by definition, required the least intervention - were the most 'natural' - but it is not intervention per se that causes dissatisfaction (disappointment, maybe, but that's a very different thing). Dissatisfaction comes from the way we are spoken to, consulted (or not), treated, and the mis-match between expectation and experience. Sometimes this mis-match is due to the degree of intervention: I think it's reasonable for decisions to be taken without laborious explanation and formal consent when the degree of risk requires fast, decisive action. Hence I have little sympathy for the indignance of my contemporary who was not consented for an episiotomy when the baby clearly needed to be delivered as quickly as possible - but this post hoc indignance could have been mitigated by some sensitive and informative explanation following the events.
Partly, the problem could be attributed to the 'empowerment' of women by encouraging them to write a birth plan, without fully preparing them for the deviations from normality that could indicate wide deviation from this list of hopes for their care. Our antenatal community midwife ran through the ways some of my points might not work out, and encouraged us to think flexibly; she tried to impress on us that things might not go smoothly, and so, for example my desire for no epidural might not be realistic. I could accept this; but I (unlike so many others) was able to think flexibly because I was well prepared for many of the possible deviations from normality because of the work I do. For several years, I have worked with midwives and doctors and have become well acquainted with the work of the delivery suite, the language of maternity, the roles and responsibilities of the different professions and the ways that even initially straightforward labours and deliveries can be complicated. But for this experience, my understanding would have been patchy. Were it left entirely to the PCT (the primary care trust, which organises and delivers primary care in an area approximate to the borough) and the antenatal classes they provided, it would have been woefully limited.
The PCT provided a 4 week programme of antenatal classes. The first, 'normal labour' was reasonably useful and complete. The second 'deviation from normality', given by a different midwife, was appallingly inadequate. The scheduled 2 hour session lasted barely an hour. Deviation from normality covered precisely one possibility - the need for induction of labour. And even this did little to explain what might occur, and over what timescale. (Only when my induction was booked when I was >40 weeks was I told I would need to attend the night before.)
Anyway, this lengthy preamble is to introduce the letter I have finally, belatedly, hopefully sent to the hospital I gave birth in. I have so far only sent it to the PALS (patient advice and liaison service) team, because there was no address for the head of midwifery or the director of maternity. Because of the way maternity care is structured and funded, I should also send it to the PCT maternity lead. I would seriously urge others to feed back their experiences - importantly, good and bad - to the people who organised and delivered their care. In the climate of chronic underfunding, poor staffing and competing priorities, it's important to lobby - hard - for attention here.
Dear ...
I gave birth at [hospital] in March 2008 after a transfer from home, and though my experience was reasonable, there are several points on which I think Maternity Services requires feedback.
I had two brilliant community midwives overnight, and they persuaded me by the early morning that due to my slow progress, it would probably be best to transfer to hospital for syntocinon to speed things up and an epidural for a bit of a rest. My labour had been long and slow and I totally saw the logic in reserving energy for pushing (ie, intervention now might save intervention later).
I transferred in by ambulance at about 6am, and my care (after a while, possibly via the labour ward co-ordinator) was handed over to Midwife1. Midwife1barely acknowledged us when she took the handover, and this lack of eye contact and engagement with myself and my partner set the tone of the care she offered and the experience we had with her.
A cannula was put into the back of my left hand reasonably quickly and I was kept supine with the CTG - something the community midwives had tried to avoid when we arrived: they had put me on the CTG but standing up, to try and keep things moving. Mariam barely talked to me about what she was doing, never told me why things were necessary. I was not treated as a partner in my care. I was the object of a course of treatment/action.
Given that we arrived at around 6.30 or 7am, I was surprised when, at about 11am, Mariam started doing something with the drip. I asked her what she was doing and was told she was putting the syntocinon in. I couldn't believe this was only happening now, hours after we arrived. No explanation was given, so I don't know whether this represented a delay or whether this time lag was normal. It would have helped considerably if she had talked to us when we arrived about what needed doing in what order and how long the process might take. Given that I was transferred to speed things up, this felt like an incredibly long time for things to be taking.
At one point, without warning, while I was talkling to my partner on my right, Midwife1 picked up my left hand, and did something which sent a fierce, shooting pain into my hand and up my arm. I was alarmed, and asked what on earth she was doing. She told me she had had to flush the line; end of story. No further explanation was given of what this meant or why it was indicated. But more shocking than the pain was that she did it without gaining my attention first, let alone my permission.
Later, when I started to shake, I worked out that I hadn't eaten since 8pm the previous evening, and thought it could be low blood sugar. I knew (through common sense, not from Midwife1) that because of the chance of going to theatre, I could not eat, and framing it thus, I explained I was hungry and asked if there was any glucose in the drip. She told me I couldn't eat, so I explained that I understood this, but that I was concerned about my energy etc, and again asked if there was glucose in the drip. She told me she didn't know. This in itself is slightly concerning - the qualified midwife doesn't know what's in her client's drip - and she read the bag to see. It was Hartmann's solution, and I now know what that means. My concern is that, again, no explanation was given when the drip went up of what it was or what it was for. Midwife1 couldn't engage with me further about my hunger; I tried to tell her I was shaking and I hadn't eaten; she told me it was labour. I sent my partner out to ask for the co-ordinator, and she came and also told me it was labour. Nothing was done to address the issue that it was now more than 12 hours since I had eaten. (I have since found out that shaking in labour is not unusual, but neither the midwife of the co-ordinator explained this to me satisfactorily).
After this series of events, I was so fed up I asked my partner to ask the co-ordinator for a new midwife. Midwife1 was sent for lunch and reassigned on her return. As she left she engaged with us for the first time in the way I would have expected a midwife to behave all along, telling us she hoped to be back to see the birth. Fortunately the next midwife was brilliant; engaged, supportive, discursive, informative and friendly. Everything the previous midwife wasn't.
I realise it's almost a year, and Midwife1 may not even be working at the hospital any longer, but my complaint is not about her per se; I really just want to highlight, with concrete examples, how the service can be disappointing. Clearly this midwife needs some direct performance management; her communication skills and professionalism were lacking. I was lucky - empowered because I am articulate, knowledgeable, and undaunted about challenging poor practice. Not all the women in the catchment area would be able to challenge this, and without complaints poor practice is able to continue.
My experiences with the post-natal midwives and the limitations of their breastfeeding support (my baby could not latch on) were also disappointing. I requested the support of the breastfeeding leader, which was documented in my notes, but I never saw her; I was discharged with no further mention of it, and unclear about what or how much to feed my baby. I think it was just assumed that she would eventually latch on or that in my sleep-deprived and hormone-addled state i would be able to figure out formula feeding - even though I had made it clear I wanted to breastfeed and the PCT breastfeeding talk had discussed nipple confusion, so I was (and told them I was) adamantly against bottles. I was desperately confused on discharge, and though I made extensive use of the breastfeeding network in the few days postnatally, I had no formal support, my baby absolutely could not latch on, and she undoubtedly suffered because we were discharged home at 4pm with no idea how we were going to feed her, or how much and how often she needed to be fed.
I hope that these comments will be of use to the service. This is absolutely not about pointing the finger at particular members of staff, just about highlighting areas for development. I understand that there are competing priorities for training, x days mandatory training have to be undertaken, the service is short-staffed, making backfill difficult, etc; but there is clearly a need for training on breastfeeding support, and making sure that no woman leaves the service as I did, with no way of breastfeeding and no resources for expressing (no one showed me how or even mentioned it) or feeding by other means (eg syringe).
Yours faithfully,
Partly, the problem could be attributed to the 'empowerment' of women by encouraging them to write a birth plan, without fully preparing them for the deviations from normality that could indicate wide deviation from this list of hopes for their care. Our antenatal community midwife ran through the ways some of my points might not work out, and encouraged us to think flexibly; she tried to impress on us that things might not go smoothly, and so, for example my desire for no epidural might not be realistic. I could accept this; but I (unlike so many others) was able to think flexibly because I was well prepared for many of the possible deviations from normality because of the work I do. For several years, I have worked with midwives and doctors and have become well acquainted with the work of the delivery suite, the language of maternity, the roles and responsibilities of the different professions and the ways that even initially straightforward labours and deliveries can be complicated. But for this experience, my understanding would have been patchy. Were it left entirely to the PCT (the primary care trust, which organises and delivers primary care in an area approximate to the borough) and the antenatal classes they provided, it would have been woefully limited.
The PCT provided a 4 week programme of antenatal classes. The first, 'normal labour' was reasonably useful and complete. The second 'deviation from normality', given by a different midwife, was appallingly inadequate. The scheduled 2 hour session lasted barely an hour. Deviation from normality covered precisely one possibility - the need for induction of labour. And even this did little to explain what might occur, and over what timescale. (Only when my induction was booked when I was >40 weeks was I told I would need to attend the night before.)
Anyway, this lengthy preamble is to introduce the letter I have finally, belatedly, hopefully sent to the hospital I gave birth in. I have so far only sent it to the PALS (patient advice and liaison service) team, because there was no address for the head of midwifery or the director of maternity. Because of the way maternity care is structured and funded, I should also send it to the PCT maternity lead. I would seriously urge others to feed back their experiences - importantly, good and bad - to the people who organised and delivered their care. In the climate of chronic underfunding, poor staffing and competing priorities, it's important to lobby - hard - for attention here.
Dear ...
I gave birth at [hospital] in March 2008 after a transfer from home, and though my experience was reasonable, there are several points on which I think Maternity Services requires feedback.
I had two brilliant community midwives overnight, and they persuaded me by the early morning that due to my slow progress, it would probably be best to transfer to hospital for syntocinon to speed things up and an epidural for a bit of a rest. My labour had been long and slow and I totally saw the logic in reserving energy for pushing (ie, intervention now might save intervention later).
I transferred in by ambulance at about 6am, and my care (after a while, possibly via the labour ward co-ordinator) was handed over to Midwife1. Midwife1barely acknowledged us when she took the handover, and this lack of eye contact and engagement with myself and my partner set the tone of the care she offered and the experience we had with her.
A cannula was put into the back of my left hand reasonably quickly and I was kept supine with the CTG - something the community midwives had tried to avoid when we arrived: they had put me on the CTG but standing up, to try and keep things moving. Mariam barely talked to me about what she was doing, never told me why things were necessary. I was not treated as a partner in my care. I was the object of a course of treatment/action.
Given that we arrived at around 6.30 or 7am, I was surprised when, at about 11am, Mariam started doing something with the drip. I asked her what she was doing and was told she was putting the syntocinon in. I couldn't believe this was only happening now, hours after we arrived. No explanation was given, so I don't know whether this represented a delay or whether this time lag was normal. It would have helped considerably if she had talked to us when we arrived about what needed doing in what order and how long the process might take. Given that I was transferred to speed things up, this felt like an incredibly long time for things to be taking.
At one point, without warning, while I was talkling to my partner on my right, Midwife1 picked up my left hand, and did something which sent a fierce, shooting pain into my hand and up my arm. I was alarmed, and asked what on earth she was doing. She told me she had had to flush the line; end of story. No further explanation was given of what this meant or why it was indicated. But more shocking than the pain was that she did it without gaining my attention first, let alone my permission.
Later, when I started to shake, I worked out that I hadn't eaten since 8pm the previous evening, and thought it could be low blood sugar. I knew (through common sense, not from Midwife1) that because of the chance of going to theatre, I could not eat, and framing it thus, I explained I was hungry and asked if there was any glucose in the drip. She told me I couldn't eat, so I explained that I understood this, but that I was concerned about my energy etc, and again asked if there was glucose in the drip. She told me she didn't know. This in itself is slightly concerning - the qualified midwife doesn't know what's in her client's drip - and she read the bag to see. It was Hartmann's solution, and I now know what that means. My concern is that, again, no explanation was given when the drip went up of what it was or what it was for. Midwife1 couldn't engage with me further about my hunger; I tried to tell her I was shaking and I hadn't eaten; she told me it was labour. I sent my partner out to ask for the co-ordinator, and she came and also told me it was labour. Nothing was done to address the issue that it was now more than 12 hours since I had eaten. (I have since found out that shaking in labour is not unusual, but neither the midwife of the co-ordinator explained this to me satisfactorily).
After this series of events, I was so fed up I asked my partner to ask the co-ordinator for a new midwife. Midwife1 was sent for lunch and reassigned on her return. As she left she engaged with us for the first time in the way I would have expected a midwife to behave all along, telling us she hoped to be back to see the birth. Fortunately the next midwife was brilliant; engaged, supportive, discursive, informative and friendly. Everything the previous midwife wasn't.
I realise it's almost a year, and Midwife1 may not even be working at the hospital any longer, but my complaint is not about her per se; I really just want to highlight, with concrete examples, how the service can be disappointing. Clearly this midwife needs some direct performance management; her communication skills and professionalism were lacking. I was lucky - empowered because I am articulate, knowledgeable, and undaunted about challenging poor practice. Not all the women in the catchment area would be able to challenge this, and without complaints poor practice is able to continue.
My experiences with the post-natal midwives and the limitations of their breastfeeding support (my baby could not latch on) were also disappointing. I requested the support of the breastfeeding leader, which was documented in my notes, but I never saw her; I was discharged with no further mention of it, and unclear about what or how much to feed my baby. I think it was just assumed that she would eventually latch on or that in my sleep-deprived and hormone-addled state i would be able to figure out formula feeding - even though I had made it clear I wanted to breastfeed and the PCT breastfeeding talk had discussed nipple confusion, so I was (and told them I was) adamantly against bottles. I was desperately confused on discharge, and though I made extensive use of the breastfeeding network in the few days postnatally, I had no formal support, my baby absolutely could not latch on, and she undoubtedly suffered because we were discharged home at 4pm with no idea how we were going to feed her, or how much and how often she needed to be fed.
I hope that these comments will be of use to the service. This is absolutely not about pointing the finger at particular members of staff, just about highlighting areas for development. I understand that there are competing priorities for training, x days mandatory training have to be undertaken, the service is short-staffed, making backfill difficult, etc; but there is clearly a need for training on breastfeeding support, and making sure that no woman leaves the service as I did, with no way of breastfeeding and no resources for expressing (no one showed me how or even mentioned it) or feeding by other means (eg syringe).
Yours faithfully,
Monday 2 February 2009
Winter Walthie
Pretty in our backyard, and baby was fascinated. So sweet.
Inches on top of the birdfeeder!
Unfortunately, the only tube line in London that's completely underground (and therefore works) is the Victoria line. So daddy's gone to work, but it's still snowing so we're hoping he'll be home in time for tea. There are lots of people playing in the park at the end of our road. It really warms the cockles.
Inches on top of the birdfeeder!
Unfortunately, the only tube line in London that's completely underground (and therefore works) is the Victoria line. So daddy's gone to work, but it's still snowing so we're hoping he'll be home in time for tea. There are lots of people playing in the park at the end of our road. It really warms the cockles.
Sunday 1 February 2009
Bullying the bereaved
Or, 'Should lenders be able to repossess when probate is outstanding?'
Redstone, a sub-prime mortgage lender which is open about the securitisation of their mortgages (one of the antecedents of the recent (indeed, ongoing) financial turmoil), were generous enough to offer my cash-strapped dad an interest-only mortgage of ~£220,000 on a property he bought for ~£250,000 in 2006. Unfortunately, daddy didn't insure himself or his mortgage and his pension died with him, so when he died in summer 2008, the mortgage interest was barely dented, the capital untouched, and no more money was due into his estate.
I was surprised the mortgage companies were even allowed to charge their hefty non-payment charges to estates awaiting probate; particularly since the financial watchdog put its foot down over the banks' unfair penalties a year or two back. It seems particularly unfair and really easy money to charge penalties for non-payment when probate* typically takes 6 months to obtain: we're sitting ducks. Where exactly are the repayment monies supposed to come from each month we await the grant of probate? Anyway, our solicitor informed us that this unethical practice is not illegal, and so we watched the debts rack up.
In October 2008, my father's two year fixed-rate deal ended and the mortgage reverted to Redstone's standard variable rate (SVR). Now, SVRs are typically pretty rubbish, which is why in the last decade or so many people scrambled at the end of their fixed rate deals to remortgage to another similarly good fix (prompting fierce competition between lenders, decent rates for most buyers and, during the really good times, free switches** as banks were so desperate to steal their competitors' customers). Interestingly, at exactly the same time, my own mortgage rate (a base-rate tracker from the still-mutual Nationwide Building Society, tracking the Bank of England rate +0.24%) was tumbling, as base rate was cut and cut by the Bank of England Monetary Policy Committee in attempts to stave off the impending recession. In October 2008, Redstone's SVR, to which my dad's mortgage reverted, was around 8 (yes, eight) per cent. At the same point, base rate was 4.5% and so my mortgage rate was 4.74%.
Currently (February 2008), base rate stands at 1.5% and our mortgage at 2.24% (because of the 'floor' imposed by Nationwide that means they don't pass on cuts to base rate below 2%). As far as I am aware - I have had no correspondence to the contrary - Redstone's SVR remains at 8.45%. The statement of arrears that arrived on Friday indicates that the monthly repayments (interest-only, remember) on the £220k borrowed are currently over £1,800. Ours (a capital repayment mortgage) on £210k borrowed are £927.
Because my dad died at the end of June 2008, we have now (February 2009) missed 7 monthly repayments. Redstone were informed of my dad's demise within weeks of his death. According the the blurb from their solicitors, Redstone take steps towards repossession after an account has been in arrears for two months. Damn straight. Despite the fact that they know the mortgage holder has died and that the estate cannot be administered until the grant of probate, by the autumn, they were being heavy-handed with their demands for repayment and threats of repossession. In November and December 2008, our solicitor made several overtures first to Redstone and then to their solicitors, informing them that probate had not yet been granted - due, in part, to Redstone's tardiness in supplying a redemption value for the probate application - but that our intention was to discharge the arrears as soon as possible thereafter. But there was no acknowledgment of this, just the mulish continuation of their action.
And so, when I went to collect the post from my dad's house on Friday, at the very end of January, there was a letter from the solicitors informing us that possession proceedings had indeed been commenced. And on Monday, another letter confirming the court date in a month's time. Our solicitor had written the same week to inform them that the grant of probate is anticipated in February and that we intend to discharge the arrears immediately. It is likely this crossed in the post with the letter informing us proceedings had commenced. Let's see whether they acknowledge these facts. On past evidence, it is unlikely.
It's unfortunate that just as these proceedings have commenced, potential tenants have been found for the house. If we can't get Redstone or their solicitors to accept that we intend to repay the arrears in all likelihood within the month, we are probably going to have to let them go. The rent would only cover half the mortgage repayments anyway.
I went to the inquest into my father's death more out of curiosity at what was involved than anything else. I shall attend the possession hearing similarly out of curiosity, but also because I really hope to witness a judge put a flea in their ear. And then I'll take this to the FSA and the financial ombudsman. I can totally understand a company wanting to recoup losses when a mortgage is defaulted, but issuing possession proceedings following a death, prior to probate and alongside assurances from a solicitor that the arrears - and the associated charges - can and will be covered in time is heavy-handed, to say the least.
*The grant of probate allows the executors to 'administer' the estate, i.e., get hold of the assets and distribute them to address the liabilities, with any leftovers going to the beneficiaries of the estate.
**Banks would pay the conveyancing fees (ours were around £800) and mortgage administration fees (anywhere between £500 and £1500 once the good times ended).
Redstone, a sub-prime mortgage lender which is open about the securitisation of their mortgages (one of the antecedents of the recent (indeed, ongoing) financial turmoil), were generous enough to offer my cash-strapped dad an interest-only mortgage of ~£220,000 on a property he bought for ~£250,000 in 2006. Unfortunately, daddy didn't insure himself or his mortgage and his pension died with him, so when he died in summer 2008, the mortgage interest was barely dented, the capital untouched, and no more money was due into his estate.
I was surprised the mortgage companies were even allowed to charge their hefty non-payment charges to estates awaiting probate; particularly since the financial watchdog put its foot down over the banks' unfair penalties a year or two back. It seems particularly unfair and really easy money to charge penalties for non-payment when probate* typically takes 6 months to obtain: we're sitting ducks. Where exactly are the repayment monies supposed to come from each month we await the grant of probate? Anyway, our solicitor informed us that this unethical practice is not illegal, and so we watched the debts rack up.
In October 2008, my father's two year fixed-rate deal ended and the mortgage reverted to Redstone's standard variable rate (SVR). Now, SVRs are typically pretty rubbish, which is why in the last decade or so many people scrambled at the end of their fixed rate deals to remortgage to another similarly good fix (prompting fierce competition between lenders, decent rates for most buyers and, during the really good times, free switches** as banks were so desperate to steal their competitors' customers). Interestingly, at exactly the same time, my own mortgage rate (a base-rate tracker from the still-mutual Nationwide Building Society, tracking the Bank of England rate +0.24%) was tumbling, as base rate was cut and cut by the Bank of England Monetary Policy Committee in attempts to stave off the impending recession. In October 2008, Redstone's SVR, to which my dad's mortgage reverted, was around 8 (yes, eight) per cent. At the same point, base rate was 4.5% and so my mortgage rate was 4.74%.
Currently (February 2008), base rate stands at 1.5% and our mortgage at 2.24% (because of the 'floor' imposed by Nationwide that means they don't pass on cuts to base rate below 2%). As far as I am aware - I have had no correspondence to the contrary - Redstone's SVR remains at 8.45%. The statement of arrears that arrived on Friday indicates that the monthly repayments (interest-only, remember) on the £220k borrowed are currently over £1,800. Ours (a capital repayment mortgage) on £210k borrowed are £927.
Because my dad died at the end of June 2008, we have now (February 2009) missed 7 monthly repayments. Redstone were informed of my dad's demise within weeks of his death. According the the blurb from their solicitors, Redstone take steps towards repossession after an account has been in arrears for two months. Damn straight. Despite the fact that they know the mortgage holder has died and that the estate cannot be administered until the grant of probate, by the autumn, they were being heavy-handed with their demands for repayment and threats of repossession. In November and December 2008, our solicitor made several overtures first to Redstone and then to their solicitors, informing them that probate had not yet been granted - due, in part, to Redstone's tardiness in supplying a redemption value for the probate application - but that our intention was to discharge the arrears as soon as possible thereafter. But there was no acknowledgment of this, just the mulish continuation of their action.
And so, when I went to collect the post from my dad's house on Friday, at the very end of January, there was a letter from the solicitors informing us that possession proceedings had indeed been commenced. And on Monday, another letter confirming the court date in a month's time. Our solicitor had written the same week to inform them that the grant of probate is anticipated in February and that we intend to discharge the arrears immediately. It is likely this crossed in the post with the letter informing us proceedings had commenced. Let's see whether they acknowledge these facts. On past evidence, it is unlikely.
It's unfortunate that just as these proceedings have commenced, potential tenants have been found for the house. If we can't get Redstone or their solicitors to accept that we intend to repay the arrears in all likelihood within the month, we are probably going to have to let them go. The rent would only cover half the mortgage repayments anyway.
I went to the inquest into my father's death more out of curiosity at what was involved than anything else. I shall attend the possession hearing similarly out of curiosity, but also because I really hope to witness a judge put a flea in their ear. And then I'll take this to the FSA and the financial ombudsman. I can totally understand a company wanting to recoup losses when a mortgage is defaulted, but issuing possession proceedings following a death, prior to probate and alongside assurances from a solicitor that the arrears - and the associated charges - can and will be covered in time is heavy-handed, to say the least.
*The grant of probate allows the executors to 'administer' the estate, i.e., get hold of the assets and distribute them to address the liabilities, with any leftovers going to the beneficiaries of the estate.
**Banks would pay the conveyancing fees (ours were around £800) and mortgage administration fees (anywhere between £500 and £1500 once the good times ended).
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