So it turns out that in fact I am subject to questioning by the fucking spanish inquisition in order to obtain my own bloody money. Charmed, I’m sure. Here is an approximation of my banking experience, note that I spent 10 minutes queuing before I even managed to have the memorable discourse detailed below. My total sojourn in the bank was about 45 mins, making me slightly late back to work.

Me: Hi, I need to withdraw money using my identification, my wallet was stolen with all my cards in it
Clerk: Ok, what ID do you have?

…I hand her my passport and a recent bank statement…

Clerk: Ok, I’ll just go photocopy these

…She disappears for 10 mins, finally returns…

Clerk: Em, this passport expires in july
Me: Ye-es, but its valid now, and its a valid form of ID anyway surely
Clerk: When do you get your new one?
Me: when I go apply for it
Clerk: Why haven’t you?
Me: I travel a lot, I have to give it up for over 2 weeks to get a new one, I haven’t had the chance
Clerk: so you’ve been travelling on this passport?
Me (getting slightly annoyed): Yes, its a valid passport
Clerk (looking cunning): So why doesn’t it have any stamps on it?
Me (getting really quite miffed): Because we live in the EU! I travelled to Ireland and France!
Clerk: I was just asking. Hold on for a minute.

…Disappears for 5, returns…

Clerk: this might take a while to authorise, do you want to sit down?
Me: Fine.

…Finally returns about 15 mins later…

Clerk: Sorry about that
Me: thats fine, can I withdraw the cash now? £90 please

… she counts out 70, attempts to hand it to me, realises she has fucked it up (possibly from the look on my face), and amends it to 90, then finally hands me my fucking money.

I am distinctly unimpressed.