Penny-pinching bankers just don’t understand my predicament

BY MAIRÉAD WILMOT
THE last straw came when Claude tried to kill me. Had he not tried to murder me, I would possibly consider not having to murder him, but a pound of flesh and all that Shylock jazz.

When he spun out of control, did a U-turn and ground to a halt by crashing into a ditch, thereby causing the side airbag to explode, I decided that he and I were over.

Well, being the fair-minded and forgiving type, I actually decided to give him a second chance (because I had no other option), but then he took yet another turn.

This time, because he is utterly lazy, he just decided to lose all power. So I am currently driving around with three orange lights flashing on the dashboard lighty-uppy part and a car that refuses to go over 20km an hour.

Even I know that is not good. I decided to go to a garage to enquire about the cost of fixing Claude, just out of curiosity.

I was expecting to hear a figure of ... oh, I don’t know ... €5 or possibly more.

No! €800 to €1,000. That’s what they told me – €800 to €1,000 to fix Claude the bloody Clio.

“I’m sure he’s not even worth that much,” I told the garage man, using exaggerated hand movements to show how exasperated I was.

I added a loud sign, too, for dramatic effect. He just stared blankly at me.

It was then that I decided Claude and I were really, very much, officially over.

“I’m getting a new car,” I announced to the only person who would be interested in such a thing – my dear Papa.

“So this is what I’m thinking: maybe an Audi TT or a Mercedes SLK – they are very snazzy. I would also consider a new Hyundai Coupé or perhaps a new Mini or maybe a new Peugeot 206 CC. Any of those would do, I suppose.”

“Right, what kind of money do you have?,” he responded. “Hmmmmm?” I said. “Money, to pay for your new Merc, what money do you have?” “Oh money, yeah, money, well, eh, I had sort of forgotten about that part. Eh ... I don’t have any money actually ... eh, would you have any, I wonder?”

My polite question was greeted with an expletive, followed by silence, so I took that to mean “no”.

I quickly realised that if I am to get a new car, I actually need money.

The problem, of course, is that I never have money. There are two reason for this: I just don’t get enough of it, and when I do get it, I spend it.

Savings and myself have never been on friendly terms. And anyway, how am I supposed to keep myself in the lifestyle to which I aspire if I have to save? Hello, like. It makes no sense. I wish people would realise this.

Anyway, where do people get money to buy things? I asked myself.

The bank, that’s where. So I applied for a loan. Previously, this had been a remarkably easy process but not anymore.

They are like Nazis now. You would swear I had asked for $1 million dollars to take over the world.

Don’t they realise my car will not exceed 20km an hour? They better give me my money soon, otherwise I’ll be forced to travel the roads on a bicycle, and I do not want to have to deal with helmet hair.