This is a photie of my ISA savings book. I'm not long back from a visit to the bank. The girl I was speaking to was drop dead gorgeous, probably from Malawi, called Aggi. I would have asked her to marry me, but I had already told her I was retired so had already given the game away, though I don't look a day over fifty nine. Anyway, they let me take out five hundred spots and will sort out the mistake the council made over the next few days.
I'm giving up the drink today and will commence my alternative addiction by lunchtime. Hurrah!
12:20 p.m.
Turns out it was my fault and I gave them the wrong number!! Just as well I got out of the jobbie when I did as I'm obviously far too old and doddery for gainful employment!
5 comments:
I say!
Wilson is taking a rather unhealthy interest in all of this. He started drooling when I calculated how much that was in Kwacha, and he wants to know if everyone gets this amount for doing nothing in Dear Old Blighty.
MM III
Mingin'! I've no idea how it works. Apparently, if you do a proper useful job like being a bricklayer, they just give you the sack. Bizarre. Hotboy
What a shame it was your fault. The Malawi lass might have made it up to you, if you know what I mean.
Albert? I sort of suspected it was my fault all along, but I still wanted to murder somebody! Hotboy
If only you were a bourgeois you'd be filled with loving kindness.
Post a Comment