Got a big letter from Ernst & Young about the collapse of Highbury House. As a creditor, I get all this bumf – like I am interested. I am only interested in getting my money. It was too early in the morning for my sleep-addled brain to read all this stuff, so the Missus read it on my behalf.
“You’re fucked,” she said delivering her summation with a succinctness I appreciate over my cornflakes.
Oh well, if by some fluke of luck I do get the money owed to me, I’ll buy my loyal reader a drink.
Today, I also got a letter from my bank with a invalid cheque in it. This was from one of my many eBay sales and this is the first time I’ve ever had a cheque returned. The reason? I don’t know. The jargon was BankspeakTM and it just said “Refer to Drawer”. What? I, the drawer, says that this cheque is fine. Cash it, you swines. Well I’ve already sent the CDs off to the chap who paid with this cheque and I am hoping that he is filled with the milk of human kindness and will issue another, more valid cheque. The funny thing is that when I looked at the cheque originally, I remarked to The Missus that I thought we’d have trouble with it. I think it was because this guy’s handwriting seemed to be of that of a three-year-old. It should have been in multi-coloured crayon to top the effect. Oh well, easy fucking come, easy fucking go? No?

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