No head for numbers

I had a meeting with a branch representative at the bank this week. Apparently managers are too busy these days so they have understudies. For some reason best known to such financial institutions and my loyalty to one for 30 years, I had been classified as a V.I.P customer and therefore qualified for a private tete-a tete. Bless the young chap, he was incredibly enthusiastic about what the bank could offer me as such an important customer, yet I couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at the same computer screen as I was. And after an hour of numerical mumbo jumbo and illegible finger signatures (because no one uses a pen and paper anymore), I walked out with a lump in my stomach that could only be described as fear. I am clueless when it comes to finance.

En route to the afore mentioned confab and having dropped off my car for it’s winter health check praying that I wasn’t going to get a hefty bill because something had or was about to fall off, I stopped by the estate agent next door. Might as well get a valuation on the house done so I booked one for next week. However, once the eternally dull session with Mr Optimistic was over, I almost cancelled the agent. What do I know about selling a house let alone buying one? Is there a course I should enrol in? What happens if the house sells quickly and I haven’t found somewhere for the widow plus woofers? What happens if no-one likes it? Ha, it’s a beautiful house so I would be very affronted if anyone offended i and the ‘hoo’ would have something to say no doubt. Actually the ‘hoo’ has been quite active of late. I lost my keys in the car (don’t ask), I had an argument with the found keys as replacing the battery involved elfish fingers, I got a stye in my eye (I spent the entire week with teabags dripping down my nose) and to cap it all, Arry head-butted my right hand. I surprised it’s not broken. My hand that is, I don’t think anything is capable of breaking bone head’s skull. And I’m lacking sleep because due to all of the above.

Whoever said sleep was over-rated lied. After a week of punching pillows and rearranging the duvet, I was actually worried about my ability to drive to work yesterday. Once again, Sundays to the rescue and a full 9 hours sleep last night for me and the bed hog dogs. Why? Because banks and estate agents have Sundays off and hopefully the ‘hoo’ too…..

“If you think dogs can’t count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then give him only two of them.” (Phil Pastoret. Author)