Imagine my surprise last week when I noticed that several thousand pounds sterling had disappeared from my online building society account.
It was set up just before I came to China three years ago so I could keep track of my modest savings and meet any unexpected bills in my absence back in Britain. It seemed a tech-savvy way to bridge 8,000km and retain some kind of a financial safety net.
Panic rising, I found a link titled 'Is any of your accounts missing?' and went through the complicated process of reporting the lost loot. A day or so later, I received a reassuring e-mail from the support staff 'delighted' to report that my accounts were all intact, but offering no explanation as to why they had gone on a short walkabout.
I logged on again and, sure enough, all was well. But the damage was done. The seeds of doubt had been sown a month or so previously when I had difficulty accessing my Lloyds TSB bank account back home. I was told I would have to 'reactivate' the account with a phone call to customer support 'to answer some security questions.' That was when I seriously started to question just how convenient this 'permanent' access to my accounts really was.
After five long minutes listening to several options and looped segments of Mozart, I was put through to 'Ross', who said he would ask me a random computer-generated question to confirm my identity. Already I felt like I was on trial for trying to check my own bank balance. Ross then gave me the number of a cheque I had written and asked me to confirm what the amount had been.
Simple enough - unless your cheque book happens to be 8,000km away and the last cheque you wrote was five months ago. I could sense growing suspicion in Ross's voice as I tried to explain this. 'Er, could you ask me another one?'