Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

My shiny new bank card turned up and I am reconnected to my money – or at least that portion of the bank’s money they are willing to let me play with when my own runs out! This meant that I was able to wander across to Waitrose and brandish it at the cashier yesterday with all due ceremony. I can’t tell you what a relief it is for me to reconnect with the international credit crisis like this; I was beginning to quite feel left out.

Access to my account is similar in an entirely unobvious way, to a pirate digging up his buried treasure chest and showering ducats around on the sand. This rather contrived segue is my way of reminding you that today is International Talk Like a Pirate Day

Aharr…

Oh, how the venial sins compete to make life interesting.

I am torn between lethargy and a love of money, and this is compounded by the fact that it is still hot outside.

I have three cheques to cash at the bank, totalling £150. Such is my forgetfulness, one of the cheques, despite being valid for three months, only has a few days to run. I remembered to bring it in to work with me at the last so I can pay it into the bank. The trouble is, getting to my bank involves a lunchtime walk along Victoria Street in sweltering weather, and all I want to do is sleep hidden in the shade.

And I have to go to another bank completely, to pay my Mastercard bill. This is a further disincentive to go out (I know it shouldn’t be, but it is. Late payment charges don’t scare me the way they ought). Oh well, bite the bullet, I guess, and get on with it. It was precisely this kind of woolly thinking that reamed my finances in the first place, so now they are off life support and merely in intensive care, I should stop playing with financial strychnine and just get on with it.

But it is hot, and I don’t want to go out at lunchtime.