As I quantitatively-eased myself out of bed this morning, ready to face the day with a spot of early worm-catching, I couldn’t help but reflect on how my fortunes have changed over the past year.
While the Government prepares to inject £75 billion into the banking sector in a desperate attempt to get them to lend money again, I began to think it was time to withdraw my hard-earned dosh from the grip of the thieving banksters and slip it under the mattress. In fact, I’m seriously considering setting up my own, on-line bank – underthemattress.com. I have it in mind to offer investors a seriously good rate of 10% interest a year for five years, so long as they promise to leave their money untouched for a decade. I’m not making any promises about the capital, however, as I’ll be warning anyone who takes a punt (via some suitable small print) that this may be at risk. Sounds fair to me. So, don’t waste your money on pointless consumer purchasers. Send it to me, and I will waste it for you.
Meanwhile, I’m re-organising my assets in the expectation that I might make a jump into property later this year. One thing’s for certain, however: I’ll be by-passing the traditional route of Estate Agents, as my experience of them over a lifetime has not exactly filled me with glee.
Last year, I dated a woman who worked in an estate agency. It didn't last long. Whenever I took her out for a meal she would complain I should be spending more on her. She also seemed to think she got more beautiful with every passing day, and constantly reminded me about the long list of other blokes who were interested in her - some of whom had already viewed and were in a far better position to proceed than I was.
I called it a day when she tried to persuade me to invest in 'some improvements' she wanted to make to her 'bay window', which she thought would increase her value. I saw her the other day. She's looking a little tired and haggard now, and hasn't had a date in months. Thankfully, there are lots of other women on the market just now and, because of that, I think she'll be open to a night in on the sofa with a fish and chip supper, a bottle of Lambrini and a romcom DVD, if I pitch my offer right.
This article first appeared in the Letchworth Chronicle.
3 comments:
A fish and chip supper, bottle of Lambrini and a romcom - what more could a gal want?
How's her bay window? I bet it will need running repairs.
I would add a grab bag of Walker's cheese and onion and then that would be my perfect evening. However, I am not an estate agent (shysters), just someone else on the most-hated-people list, a journalist.
Gail - It has taken me years of wining and dining some of the loveliest ladies in the world to realise that, at the end of the day, curling up on a sofa watching some God-awful DVD beats any flash restaurant any time. If I knew then, what I knew now, I would have joined Blockbusters years ago...
Maddie Journalist Yes, it's hard being a journalist. I usually introduce myself as a solicitor. Any woman who is prepared to accept me for that is usually quite relieved when they learn I am a mere pressman.
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