The Emperor’s new mortgage
The plain-English version, for anyone who doesn’t speak lawyer.
A day out at the High Court
On 21 August 2025 I went to the High Court with my bundles of papers. The Co-operative Bank had already written down its version of my story, and we all know that if a bank writes something down, it must be true. I wanted my version on the record too.
In 2025 I sent at least 58 emails to the Co-operative Bank/MAS5, many expressing dissatisfaction. I spoke to MAS5 by phone on three dates that year and made further complaints. On 14 August the Co-operative Bank’s legal department replied: “Please note that we will hold future correspondence of this nature on file and it will not be responded to.” The same day, according to Topaz, the Bank emailed Topaz and called my challenge to the transfer a “complaint”. Despite all those emails, it had not referred me to the Ombudsman. So I did what every other customer does: I went for a chat with a High Court judge. It’s a free service, and I’ll probably use it again.
(By October, with a different judge involved, the Bank seemed to have lost all those emails. Its solicitor had told the court, in a witness statement, that the Bank “will provide all disclosable documents”. Documents followed in batches; my emails were not among them. So I put them all on a USB stick for the FCA to read. But that bit comes later.)
Since my head injury in 2019 I often don’t recognise faces, which makes Ubers interesting. A driver pulls up, says “Hello Jon, how are you?”, and I haven’t a clue who he is. A lot of them know I don’t drive, but that I used to: I was a paramedic, working from a response car based at my home just south of Cambridge. They know the whole story because I’ve told them. Then I forget I’ve told them, and tell them again. I’m getting better at not doing that.
I don’t get out much: about once every six weeks, if I’m honest. (My medical notes describe me as “housebound”: getting through the front door is a challenge, and often it doesn’t happen.) Going out makes me anxious, so on go the headphones to block out the noise. The train should have taken a little over an hour. I got on two wrong trains, so it took a bit longer.
I found the Royal Courts of Justice, and a judge agreed to see me. There wasn’t even a queue. It was all new, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Writing things down was very hard for me back then (it’s a bit easier now), which I told the Financial Ombudsman Service many times. They didn’t seem to believe me. Talking is another matter. I have every detail in my head and I can talk for hours, though sometimes I know the words and they take a while to come out. I would have done, too, but the judge had other cases to hear. So I handed in my bundles and my witness statement, had about half an hour in court, and my work was done.
The Emperor’s new clothes
The Bank’s legal department was not happy. I was very happy. It need not have come to this, they barked at me. (All right, I’m imagining the barking. It was an email.) I had done the one thing you’re not allowed to do: I’d pointed out that the Emperor had no clothes on. In my statement I said I thought the Bank might have known I didn’t owe it the money it was chasing me for.
The Bank was fuming. I was smiling. And from then on, things got worse.
Read on: the rest of the story →