s e v e n i s a j o u r n e y

Okay, we’re a little sparse on the posting now that I’ve gone back to work. Still going for the house, which is an involved and complicated process.

Stephen has been doing the Money Dance to try and get his (our) money transferred for the theoretical down payment (and to, you know, put some money in his new bank account). Brookline “Customer Service” is made up of, as near as we can tell, either a pack of slack-jawed morons, or a series of automata incapable of conscious thought. So he’s treid shifting a bunch of cash to his Waterhouse account, since they seem to have at least encountered the concept of International Banking. They *have* however indicated that the transfer request needs to arrive as a signed notarized letter, which leads us to Complication Two. Okay, you know how if you want a Notary Public in the States, you pretty much just have to wander into any post office, pharmacy, insurance agency, my Mom’s house, whatever ? Over here Notary Publics are, like, White Rhinos. Rare, elusive. Near as we can tell, there’s maybe four in the whole city, and if you want one to sign something, you need to track them down and make an appointment, for somewhere between $20 and $60. It’s insane. Why are they so rare ? Apparently if you want to become a Notary here, you have to petition the Archbishop of Cantebury. I kid you not. So Kiwis generally use a JP (Justice of the Peace) for the sorts of things we’d use a Notary for.

All fine once you know all this, but less fine when you’re wandering around the city on foot, getting different info from different sources — “Oh, try over there…”, “Notary ? What’s that ?”, “Oh, I think Gimbal and Frank have one; they’re over on Willis.” Some nice receptionist at one of the law offices spent a good 15 minutes phoning all the other law offices for us, to save us more hiking.

So the letter’s been sent off, anyway. I’ll explain how houses are sold later.