Poverty and my feet are killing me.
Mood:  don't ask
Now Playing: How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb-U2
Topic: Skint
I got up with a spring in my step this morning as today is the holiest day of my month -payday. Upon getting to the cash point I discovered to my horror that my wages were not in. I had a grant total of 18 pence to my name. As a result I learned that it takes one hour and fifty minutes to walk from my house to my work. And what an attractive journey that is, passing through Haghill on foot being the highlight. Honestly I was close to tears by the time I got to Easterhouse. A work colleague very kindly slipped me a tenner although I don't actually know where my salary is or when I'm getting my mitts on it. Boing go the direct debits, rumble goes my stomach. My feet are horribly blistered and I feel like the Little Mermaid -every step on earth is agony. However I may have been saved by a rather unlikely source. I received an e-mail this evening from someone acting on behalf of exiled former president of Liberia Charles Taylor offering me quarter of a million pounds in exchange for a few personal details. Apart from the obvious ethical dimension -I don't accept blood money in quantities of less than one million, How fucking stupid do these people think I am?