This morning I packed my large suitcase up with my ill gotten gains from trannie week last week and went to pay it into the bank.
Oh says the young lady behind the counter, 'I see your account is up for review'
'Review' says me, 'what does that mean?' (gulp, have the found out about my grey imports of illegal jam or possibly my back street chicken flavoured ice cream business?)
'Oh purely for your convenience' (phew!) 'its just to see if we can give you any help or financial advice, shall I make you an appointment?'
'Oh that's... hang on, you want to give ME financial advice?, excuse me but I'm not the one that's just lost 500 billion trillion pounds. I don't think banks are in any position to advise anyone on anything quite frankly. I may not have that much but at least I haven't brought the entire world economy to it's knees...'
'Well maybe we can help, like house insurance' (they don't fluster easily these bank girls - they are given special anti sarcasm training)
'I don't pay it'
'Oh, well car insurance then'
'I can't drive' 'You just want to sell me stuff. Thanks but no thanks'
Actually there is one hope from all this, I've been with the same bank for an age, you always wonder what they know about you, what they can infer from what you spend and where, what they can pick up... well nothing at all it seems to me. If they had they wouldn't have bothered asking..