It's a rich man's world...

...regrettably, I am neither rich, nor a man.

I'm having one of those slightly panicky days where I check my bank statement and add up all my outgoings, compare the result with my income and hyperventilate. I do this only occasionally as it's, well, a bit scary really. Today's panic-option is to move; my flat, although reasonable enough in terms of rent, costs me a fortune in council tax and utilities, owing to its size and number of draughty, ill-fitting windows. I've just about got in credit on the gas, but once the heating goes on I might as well give the HR department British Gas' bank account details to pay my salary into. Thing is, this town has more dodgy areas than you can shake a stick at, and I actually don't want to move - the thought of uprooting Small Person once more is more than my guilt can bear. I've just been turned down for a pay rise and, regrettably, all rich relatives remain in excellent (if slightly batty) health.

So, the remaining option is one that causes me pain. Namely, to stop spending all my wages on beer. I've just given up the fags again, which will help. But lately we've been out eating and drinking up to three nights a week, and last month I spent a staggering four hundred quid in random cash withdrawals. Ouch. As the Ex is busy at work at the moment, I'll have Small Person five nights a week which should also help cut back on the going-out spends. I just wanted to go on record and say that I really, really fucking hate being a grownup. I'm rubbish with money and resent not being able to buy shoes when I want. Actually, I blame shoes....a large chunk of money also goes each month towards the loan I took out in order to pay off my credit cards.

And I'm getting a mortgage next year?