Some people just don’t trust the banks at all, do they. And you can’t ruddy well blame them either, I suppose. They say that they are full of ruddy fat cats wearing red braces, smoking cigars and doing what they like with your money and then making you pay through the ruddy nose if you accidentally spend any of theirs. Then again, whenever I went into a bank in recent years they seemed to be full of helpful, polite young women in nice clean clothes who didn’t seem in the least bit grasping or horrible. Perhaps they had been enslaved by the fat cats, who were all in the back room, with rolled up ten pound notes in their ruddy noses snorkelling ruddy cocaine or something. Only them women didn’t look very enslaved. And one of them used to live on the next street but one to my nephew Michael, and she had quite a nice car and hanging baskets outside of her house, which doesn’t really go with the image of enslavement.
Any road. My friend vera never used to hold with banks, what she did was, she put a slit in the side of her mattress and every time she had some spare money, she pushed it inside there, saving it for a “rainy day” It must have played ruddy havoc with her posture springing. We used to tell her that the first place that burglars would look would be inside her mattress, but she told us not to be so ruddy stupid. besides, she liked the way that it crinkled when she rolled around on the bed. Any road, she never used it for years. until one day her twin tub broke down, and her Richard, (thats’s her oldest lad, the one with the facial boils) decided that he would take her to Dixon’s to get a new washer drier.
the thing was, that part of the reason that the washer drier had gone in the first place was that she had be using it nigh on every day, because of the fact that she had recently developed problems with her waterworks and had started peeing the bed most nights. So when she came to fishing out all those tenner and fivers, they were all damp, and stank to high heaven. She pegged them out on a rack in the airing cupboard, and they eventually dried. but they still ruddy stank, and so did the rest of the house by that time.
You should have seen her Richard’s face, and the salesman’s an’all, when she emptied them out of the carrier bag to pay for her new hotpoint. I think that they had to fumigate the branch of Dixon’s afterwards. And they never even bothered asking her if she wanted to give them another fifty quid for an extended warranty.
Any road. The bloke in the four of pentacles is the sort of bloke who stuffs his cash under the mattress. He isn’t going to spend it unless he comes up against a major crisis such as his twin tub breaking down. He isn’t going to put it in the bank, and he isn’t going to go out and have a good time with it. More fool him. Somebody should point out to him that you can’t take it with you when you go. All that will happen is that it will end up heavily devalued and stinking of piss.
Four things that you might do this week. (i) Take your ruddy copper jar to the bank. Its only cluttering up your mantelpiece, and the nice ladies there will help you to count it out and open a proper account for you. You night even get a free gift. I seem to remember getting a pen off the lady at the National Westminster on the Hight Street in the 1980s. It was a nice one too, it came attached to its own stand, with a silver chain. (ii) Change your mattress, or at least turn it upside down. if you got it second hand, check inside for bank, notes. Wear rubber gloves though, because you never know what else could be lurking within. My Raymond’s brother Bernard got a septic arm by putting his hand in an unhygienic mattress and scratching it on a broken spring. The doctor said it was like injecting himself with his mothers piss. (iii) Spend some of your ruddy money. Theres no point in saving up for a rainy day, you might get run over by a bus tomorrow. If you have no money to spend, then stay in, or if you must go out, avoid the major bus routes. (iv) If you are buying anything from Dixon’s this week. or any of those shops, and the salesman asks you if you want to pay fifty quid or so extra for an extended warranty. Tell him to go tittle. They aren’t worth the paper that they are written on and besides, you won’t want your washer drier mending if you have just been run over by that bus, will you?