Maybe my contribution of £12.80 gleaned so far on my internet auction of rubbish handbags isn't quite enough to secure our future even though the bidding isn't yet over. I am going to the seaside today to make monumental decisions. I need to make my seaside flat pay for itself as it costs a fortune to keep (service charges and council tax and heating bills). I am meeting the agent - which sounds frightfully grown up but in reality means getting pissed with Clamydia Lydia down the pub then making some rash decision which she will then sort out the next day.
"Change the sheets, clean the bathroom, make mushroom soup, see the plumber and walk the dog" demands Mr Smith. Oh God, he must be a captain of industry again or at least rehearsing for the role. I haven't got time to do all those things before I drive to Sussex to sell my beloved little bolt hole so he can lie in the lap of luxury for the rest of his life. "Well, you need to get up earlier then." Yes master.
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