Thursday, 22 November 2012


Being skint is pants. I know I shouldn't really complain; we're not completely impoverished to the point where Charlie has to wear his sisters handmedowns (unless I'm feeling particularly cruel), or having to sell body parts on Ebay. Yet. But as I look out the window at the rain, and our blue bin being blown across the road like it's got a motor and someone very small driving it around, I yearn to be able to afford to just sod right off somewhere hot. Being on one wage, things are tight at times, and (like many others) I've been trying to economise. Aldi is good, but I can't manage to get a whole weekly shop there so end up popping to Asda for lettuce, and come out with £20 worth of sweets and a jumper.

When it comes to the food shopping, it's quite difficult to make cutbacks when you're a) an impulsive bi-polar who has as much self-control in a shop as a dog on heat at Crufts and b) you're a bit of a food snob. I refuse to compromise on certain things, because in many cases it's a false economy. Cheap meat has more fat on it than erm, something very fat. Economy bread tastes like cotton wool. And Smartprice chopped tomatoes are basically tins full of all the cores from the tomatoes that go into the decent brands.

As I check my bank balance, I can't help but wistfully dream of what I could do with a decent lottery win. I wouldn't be greedy about it - I'd be happy with a few million. Actually, I'd be happy with twenty quid at the minute, but you know what I mean. A holiday would be the first thing on the list, somewhere very hot and luxurious, where I'd lay roasting myself while minions brought me beer and Haribo. *Sigh*. Of course, I'd pay for the very finest boarding kennels for the cats...and the kids. Only the best for my lot! When I get back I'll go shopping for a new car, and for new clothes to go new car shopping in. I'm still undecided about a new house. Part of me can see myself as Lady of the Manor, allowing the cats to live in the West Wing and a private cinema/gym/bar in the East Wing. But then another part doesn't want to leave this house. Maybe I could offer him-next-door lots of money to move out, and just have his house as well?  Plus, that way I wouldn't have to listen to his girlfriend and her excessively loud laugh. Yes, I'm liking that idea. Maybe I would buy The Husband a new car, if he was nice to me. If he wasn't nice I'd just set a bit of cash aside for him to get his aircon fixed and for the regular turnover of tyres his car seems to have. I'd pay for the kids to have proper haircuts at a top salon, instead of having to hold them down chanting "Head up! Sit still or I'll cut your ears off!" as they get DIY trims.

The only tiny thing standing between me and a life of luxury is odds of 1 in 13,983,816. Oh, and buying an actual ticket. That might help...

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