Before I start my usual nonsense on the usual whinging about how I have to eat value mince and scrape up road-kill cats for the kids breakfast I will relate a shining light of rare genius. Also, I do realise that the title is better placed for a 0930 weekday advert for an ITV show but, let's see where it leads us.
After spending the allocated £20 at Asda, smugly coming in well under budget (56 pence), I joined the queue at the kiosk on the route back to the car. As I viewed those standing before me, a flash of snobbery and superiority overwhelmed me for more than a few seconds. This was when the idea of fag kiosk bingo was born.
A full house is when the Jez Kezesque loser in front on the queue buys: fags, a lottery ticket (or scratch card) and pays a utility bill with a plastic stick. The bonus ball, thunder ball, whatever, is if they are eating something, preferably a pasty, bought in the store. I was somewhat unfortunate as I saw all of the above but in different customers which meant no full house. The fat little girl stuffing her face with a steak slice while she stood beside her nan, probably, as she bought fags and a lottery ticket, was the closest to a full house but no cigar
Yesterday was the lowest day we have had as a family for some time; the cupboards were bare, honestly, and we returned to the days of Portland; tinned food and toast. Then, this morning, it turned around; I am getting paid this week, Will received his inheritance, Sam sold the remaining Cub and Emma has another editing assignment. We may get through this...whinge over ;-)
We had considered the position as desperate and all of us, adults that is, applied for a Wonga loan. Ironically, I was the only one who was refused. Emma, Sam and Will were all accepted but turned it down as a matter of smugness and principle.
Todays photo, a masked Mexican wrestler;