don't look down cos it's far to fall

This morning I received a letter, and one of the things on the list of 'Things to not quite get around to during my holiday' suddenly shot to the 'Emergency! Deal with now or lose loads of sleep!' section. I hate it when that happens.

Remortgage. Heavens; how grown-up. I prefer cake and bike rides. However as my mortgage provider wants me to furnish them with an extra hundred plus quid a month and charge me an eye-watering 7.39% on my loan, it seemed like a good time to read the thirty-page document on remortgaging which I've had kicking around the dining table for a couple of weeks; and to learn acronyms such as SVR (standard variable rate) and BoEBR (Bank of England base rate: are you asleep yet?).

So I've rung my lender and asked for a redemption statement (sadly little to do with my sinful life), and I've called a mellifluously-voiced broker named Damian who promised to ring me back at 4ish and tell me how I can keep my hard-earned for necklaces and meals out. He hasn't rung, of course. They never do. I'll hassle him tomorrow.

Then I rang the plasterer for good measure, and got up a ladder to steam scraps of wallpaper from my ceiling. It's all go here. Nothing would get done around here were it not for my talent with the diversionary tactic.

I reckon I've earned the right to go to the Ukulele shop though, eh? While I can still afford it, like.