Boracic lark   Leave a comment

Expenses expand to fill available income.

Saturday morning I received notice that my home insurer was branching out into exotic animals.

Because by asking £206 for my renewal they were clearly having a giraffe.

I hate insurance. The stupid obviously-inflated renewal quotes so you have to change almost every year, the never-ending forms where half of the questions are probably only there to dissuade you from doing so, the terms and conditions (perpetual refuge for shysters and scammers) are so all-encompassing that they’ll never have to pay out unless forced to by law. It gives gambling a bad name.

But it did remind me that I’d probably been paid, and that I should check my imaginary-shiny-token supply. So I did.

I had been paid! My bank balance was £1,800. That’s a lot of money! Hurrah! I like having lots of money, even if it does mean I eat too many biscuits. I do like eating too many biscuits. Those things could be related.

The problem with bank balances is that they are a complete and total fabrication bearing no relation to reality.

So after brief cheer, I started lopping off credit-card balances and mortgage payments and all those other bills and expenses to find out how much money I really had.

Turns out I had £150. Before food. And home insurance. The moneys, they have gone away.

Hmm. Clearly that holiday and those door-handles were even worse than expected. Not an utter catastrophe; credit-card lag would mean I shouldn’t actually go below 0, and if that seemed likely I could raid the new-kitchen fund I’d saved up, as I probably won’t need to actually buy that this year. But no Burghley Horse Trials for me next weekend. Ho hum.

The rest of the day was spent doing it myself. First nailing gripper strips to the bedroom floor. Hammer, hammer, hammer. Then varnishing the bedroom door. Brush, brush, brush.

Lidl were flogging reduced stuffed pasta, so I got a load (45p per 250g pack? With over a week left on the sell-by date? Yes please!), and one of those packs was dinner. Not feeling up to much culinology, I poked around in the cupboard for some sauce. Fajita? Bolognese? Both were in massive jars, so they’d make a good two-day bulk-cook in the week. Then I spotted some Smart Price salsa. Would that work? Looking at the ingredients I could see no reason why not; it was mostly tomato or tomato puree, so what could possbly go wrong? I shoved the pasta, salsa and some water in a pan, mixed it together and started heating it up.

When I came back to it and lifted the lid I was hit by eye-watering acidic fumes. If Ellen Ripley ever made Xenomorph Stew, that is how it would smell. Clearly the salsa’s spirit vinegar is much more impressive than its acidity regulator.
I ate the stuff anyway. It was sharp. Don’t use Smart Price salsa as a cooking sauce.

Laying in bed, I reconsidered my financial situation. I realised that my sums earlier wouldn’t make sense even if my credit card were maxed out. Hmm.

On re-calculation I discovered I was over £550 better off than I’d thought. Hurrah! Quite the mistake there, but at least it went the right way. I suspect I typed in my wages rather than bank-balance first time round. Oops.

So, if the weather’s nice this week, I can go to Burghley and pillage Fox’s Spices after all. And, if I’m careful, after insurance, the new ceiling in the spare room, the underlay and curtain poles and other bits and bobs needed to decorate the two remaining upstairs rooms, and a couple of impending birthdays, I might even have some left for Christmas presents.

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