Spondulicks

Today

The work on the Brighton flat is just about finished. Over the past month we've gone down a couple of times to sort out last minute details.

Because our friend John who's been managing the project, was in France, it fell to us to pay the builders, plumber, and various other rude mechanicals in this drama.

Now builders take a dim view of cheques and direct transfers. No, they want cash. However, I take a dim view of walking through busy city centres with wads of the readies. I realise that I'm probably no more likely to get mugged than if I'm only carrying 50p, but the loss would be greater!

However, I did want the radiators to work and the rubbish to be cleared, didn't I? Well, then.

These things have to be managed. Firstly I had to make sure that there was enough cash in the cheque account as my other account is web-based only and doesn't do cash (does do high interest, tho' so there's a trade-off).

Secondly, I had to find out where the nearest branch in Brighton was.

Thirdly, I had to phone the bank's telephone hotline to arrange for the cash to be available at the branch.

The money would be available after 2.00 pm, they said. So Paul & I set off in the car. I had my passport, just in case they wanted proof of who I was.

The money was ready and I was taken into an inner room to count it (Rather a good precaution, I thought).

A quick dash to the car, clutching the bulging envelope, then up to the flat to hand it over.

In My Day

In 1972, Paul & I could at last take a belated honeymoon. I was very pregnant with Lizzie and had been working at my new job for about 3 months. We were always utterly broke. The arrangements in the Civil Service at that time were that you could draw your salary fortnightly for the first 3 months, then move to monthly pay. The salaries were paid either by cheque or in cash. I had just moved onto the monthly pay arrangement but realised that I would be away on payday. We absolutely couldn't afford to wait until we got back - if we did there'd be no holiday - so I arranged to have a payable order that I could cash at the post office in Brendon.

I trotted into the post office. It took the form of a rickety lean-to against an ancient cottage. I walked in confidently, shoving out of the way some sheep who appeared to have wandered in to collect their pensions. An equally ancient old crone appeared and I handed her the cheque.

She broke into grin quite worthy of the witch in Disney's Snow White and cackled "Oi think you be in for a baad marning!". She started rummaging around in drawers, biscuit tins, teapots etc for enough money to cash the cheque.

At that moment I was saved! A Post Office van arrived with the cash for the day. I had my money, but I expect that all the pensioners in Brendon had a bad morning instead.

Anyway, that's the last time I'm walking around Brighton with several £1000s in my pocket!