It Ain’t No Fun…

Since turning down the Elfin Diary job, we haven’t got a lot of money to spare. The bills are never-ending and now there’s never quite enough to go round. So, a couple of days ago, when B mildly suggested that it was time I bought myself a new dress, I shouted at him, which made me feel still more miserable. That evening, by way of a sort of apology, he read me out a line from the novel he was reading: “Definition of poverty: When your entire weekly budget is less than the amount your MP regularly spends on a single lunch.” That’s about right, I reckon.

Yesterday morning, while walking back from the village, I found a £20 note lying in the road – soggy from the night’s rain, it dried quickly enough in my hand. I graciously accepted it as an apology from the universe.