Oversensitive Drama students probably shouldn't read this one

I HAVE SOMEWHERE TO LIVE.

Admittedly, it's only temporary. And it's slap bang in the middle of the one part of Bordeaux I've been told to steer well clear of. But it's relatively near where I'll be working and staying there shouldn't be too financially demanding on my limited budget either. The key word there being 'shouldn't.' 

Unfortunately, it hasn't quite worked out that way, as all the main French banks only give accounts to people who have places to live. Which is all well and good until you realise that you're probably going to need a bank account with quite a lot of Euros in it to pay for somewhere to live in the first place. It's the perfect trap for us stubborn, non-conforming Brits and our awkward individual currency. To be fair, it's probably still a decent trade-off for not having to face total financial meltdown alongside most of the Eurozone, but I'm going to complain regardless. 

As I wasn't particularly keen on the idea of carrying a month's rent in cash around on French public transport, I started looking into other options that were less likely to get me mugged and pushed under a suburban tram. A few minutes of internet research later, I found what seemed to be the perfect solution- a range of bank accounts from Barclays and HSBC which allowed me to access my money in three different currencies with minimal charges.

Feeling particularly smug, I started to fill in an application form for an account with HSBC, problem apparently solved. It was only several minutes later that I noticed this bombshell in the small print:

'If you have £25,000, or currency equivalent, you're eligible to bank and save with us.'

It probably won't surprise you to learn that like most students, I don't have £25,000. Or any currency equivalent, for that matter. I wouldn't know what £25,000 looked like if it wasn't for all the Friday evenings I've wasted in front of The Million Pound Drop. A quick look at the Barclay's website revealed similarly stupid restrictions and I was right back where I started. So, yeah. Fuck you, Bob Diamond. 

Thankfully, it's all sorted now. I've got a nice Euro Traveller currency card which would be perfect if it didn't immediately single you out as a 'rosbif' every time you use it. But I can live with that- it's the other niggly things that are winding me up. 

One recent example for you- the French government have demanded that all British Council workers supply translated birth certificates. This wouldn't be a problem, but they've also demanded that it be translated and certified by high-ranking local officials. Having sent mine off for translation, I've been told that I'm going to be charged £108 exactly for the privilege.

At first, this seems excessive. But when you realise that most of a birth certificate doesn't need to be translated in the first place, it's hard not to feel robbed. They're made up of names, addresses and dates... none of which need changing at all. Indignant, I counted the words on my certificate that needed any sort of translation, and came to a grand total of... two. 'Pharmacist' and 'Programmer.' That comes to £54 a word. If students were paid at that rate for all their assessed university work, every single Arts and Humanities student would come out with enough cash to set up about a dozen of those stupid HSBC accounts and still have more than £1,000,000 left to spend on Vodkat and Pot Noodles and all the other things us students waste our money on.

Unless you study Drama, in which case your degree is still pretty much useless. Hard luck.