Yesterday I received a call from my "personal bank advisor"; that's right, the same guy who sent me publicity for his own particular evangelical church whilst failing to send me information that he had previously agreed to send. Clearly the wires have been red hot, informing him that I had come into some money he could doubtless earn a tidy commission from investments he could talk me into making. Not this time Mr Pop--.
I will need all my money to be available at a finger-snap if I want to buy a new house, so any deal he has to offer must include this guarantee- and I doubt there are many of those out there. Tough cheese, Poppy...
I travelled across town this morning to pick up my cheque resulting from the sale of the surgery premises. Apparently my solicitors daren't trust the post to deliver such a substantial amount. So the cheque is put into my hands, minus the £300 deducted by the bank to send the deeds to the buyers (healthy fee, that) and the £1000 fee for my own solicitors (not wholly unreasonable, though very little work seems to have been involved). Now I can give my wife the cheque I promised her when I apprehended the real extent of the figures involved. We don't have a joint account; never have, with any of my 3 wives, so every now and then, when I'm flush, I throw some cash in her direction. And, baby, am I ever flush at the moment...
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