No money in the bank holiday

My younger sister came down to London to visit me this weekend. Which is lovely, but unfortunate timing because I’ve never been so bum-skin skint in my life. So, she arrived on Saturday morning filled with glitzy London living optimism and the first thing I did was hand her a granny wagon which I use to cart the stuff I sell on my stall to and from Netil Market. She calls them ‘crappy wagons’ because she respects my life choices.

Piggy Bank

I informed her that I only had enough money for walking this weekend. And staring at things that I’m monetarily disallowed. The highlight of Sunday was walking along Regents Canal and looking at the bits of London Zoo that are so thrillingly not-amazing  that London Zoo doesn’t really mind you not paying to see. These included a sparrow flying in and out of the atrium which also had big unknown white birds in and a really exciting enclosure of long grass.

On Monday I taught her the important life lesson of finish your water porridge because the only thing we have for lunch is the four pack of bourbons from the 99p shop and the large bottle of water I’m going to make you carry around all day.

This was the kind of weekend where going on the tube is a real treat.

She had to buy me lunch. She doesn’t even have a job. I have three. But mine are London jobs, and most are ‘freelance’; a word which I’m beginning to think I should be using more and more synonymously with ‘imaginary’.

It is now Monday and I think Mollie is fed up to the London Eyeball of my maxim, ‘Fun is Free’. I think her favourite bit of the weekend was where I fell over and hurt myself. She found that very funny. Maybe I should have charged her for her viewing pleasure.


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