Money

Money, money, money.  Where have you been all my life? 

That kind of makes it seem like it has now made a surprise entrance.  It hasn’t.  And I can’t see it making one any time soon.  I have been perpetually poor for the last God knows how many years and have had all my ridiculous needs and wants funded by the amazing Bank of Mum and Dad. 

Cash machines are a real worry every time I step up to one.  Check balance?  As they say, ignorance is bliss.  Just charge on and go for broke.  This brings the worry of: are you going to eat my card?  Will the cash machine just start laughing hysterically at me for thinking I may have more than £5?  Then, obviously, everyone in the queue would join in just like the hellish feeling of a naked dream.  Luckily none of these things have happened…yet.

I always find it amusing and insulting that cash machines have the cheek to ask if you would like an advice slip.  Would I like an advice slip?  No, of course I do not want an advice slip.  It would simply tell me I am a moron who should not be allowed any of the magical paper inside the machine.  I clearly am not responsible enough. 

On the other hand, I sometimes wonder if it will just give me actual advice; Your room is so untidy; I would maybe clean it if I were you; Seriously, you are actually wearing that.  CHANGE!!!

When I do go for an advice slip it just confirms my suspicions (if you can call actual knowledge suspicions) that I am, still, poor.

Yesterday, however, the money fairy was definitely looking in on me.  Hello there big envelope from the tax man.  Automatic thought was I cannot pay whatever money you want from me.  On closer inspection I find that they in fact owe me.  A whopping £700.  How?  I have no idea.  Am I going to enquire?  Hahahahahahaha NO!  What if it is a mistake?  I’ll pay it back in teeny, tiny instalments that will last my entire life. 

What are you going to do with this money? I hear you ask.  Well as you have probably guessed, I realise I have to do something good with it; cut my overdraft down to size; pay my credit card; put in into a savings account.  This is sensible and I know I should.  So why is my over-riding thought SPEND IT ALL?  Buy everything your heart desires (in the bracket of £700, obviously.)

I, as yet, have no idea what I am going to do with it, but I shall most definitely keep you posted.  Unless you happen to be behind me in a cash machine queue one day and hear the machine laughing.  Then, I think you know what I did.