My PPI claim with Capital One

As you may or may not know, I’m not a fan of PPI, nor the people that want to claim it back.  Yet only a few weeks ago, I recalled I had an account with Capital One years ago.  So, I asked them for my money back.  It’s not going well, but I hope my latest letter might help.  Here it is.  I’ll let you know when they answer, if you want to know. Feel free to use as a template for your own claim….

Dear Sirs,

Account No. 5460 9753 **** ****

Several weeks ago, I enquired if I could make a claim for PPI payments which I paid on a credit card I had with yourselves several years ago.  You wrote to me on the 3rd September 2013 stating that I was not eligible as I fitted all the criteria for PPI, there was no reason for me not to have it, and I didn’t cancel the PPI policy within the cooling off period.

I called you back, suggesting that I never asked for it, and was therefore mis-sold. You told me this wasn’t the case, and that you had a transcript of the telephone call application.  I asked for a copy, and you said you would send it.

On the 16th September 2013, you wrote to me again saying you didn’t have a copy of the conversation, and to get in touch if I had any queries.  So I called you again, but was told I needed to prove that I didn’t ask for PPI.  Your operator kindly told me my salary at the time, my age, and that there was no suggestion that I SHOULDN’T have PPI.  This, my dearest ignorant finance provider, is why I was mis-sold.  You made the assumption that because there was no reason for me not to have PPI, then you should sell me it anyway, and start charging me accordingly.

Not so.  And here’s why.

Here are some other things that there was no reason for you not to sell me:

1) A signed photo of Alan Titchmarsh.  Why didn’t you sell me one of these? No reason not to.

2) Sandwiches. There was no apparent reason for me not to have sandwiches. You didn’t offer to sell me sandwiches. For future reference, I’m not keen on chicken and bacon together, it makes the chicken too salty, and no peppers under any circumstances.

3) A time share in Barnsley. It was just in my budget. Did you offer me one? Did you? No.

4) A Bananaman outfit.

5) Oral sex. Absolutely no reason for me not to have been offered this. I like it, and would rather have had that than PPI. Not once in the 5 years I was with you did you send a member of staff round to look at my, er, member/staff.

6) Some Fuzzy Felts, including the footballer pack.

7) A hairdryer, including travel adapter (for Europe only).

8) A box of assorted door handles including several pretty ceramic ones which my mother would love, then nag me to go round and fit “when I have a minute”.

9) A second hand merkin, adorned with the flag of Wales.

10) “Get Stuffed!” the imaginary stuff your own dead relative taxidermy kit I have just this second thought up.  Technically you couldn’t offer me it back then because I just thought of it now, but you could offer me it now, as there is no reason for me not to have it.  What’s that? It isn’t a physical entity, only imaginary? Well not to worry, here, have these magic beans, go grow yourself a sexy unicorn.

The point I’m trying to make, dearest Capital One, is that unless I asked for PPI, on which I would bet my life that I didn’t, then you mis-sold it to me.

For instance, let’s assume you’re a married man that is reading this, and your girlfriend pops out for fish and chips, only for her to come back an hour later, dripping in batter and 10 minutes pregnant, I’m fairly certain you’d be round the chip shop to have a word.  Would “well she wanted fish and chips, but there was no reason for her not to have some of my jumbo sausage” from Mr Chippy be acceptable?

You see my point? I wanted a credit card, I didn’t ask for, nor want, you to knock up my wife.

No, sorry, to sell me PPI.  Bit confused for a second.

I would like you to fully reimburse me all payments made during the length of my contract, plus compound interest at 8% pa, and £100 compensation for the call charges and time I have wasted calling you and writing this letter.

PLUS £15,000 for the sexy unicorn.  After all, there was no reason for you not to have it.

Yours faithfully,

Howard

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