So folks the double dip recession finally hits, GDP has dropped as we have gone down to one income and The Chancellor has implemented a series of stringent austerity measures all of which are rubbish.
'Only one bottle of wine a week?' I ask the little man as he shovels a large quantity of toast into his mouth for his breakfast. His face is still covered with the industrial adhesive that is dried porridge. He responds with a nanananana wahmama which I think translates to 'That's nothing Dad wait until you have to pay £9000 a year for my University fees and I'm calling you every weekend for money to get drunk.'
'I see your point Son' I reply. 'Go speak to your mother.'
Oh to the life to which I am accustomed. I suggested to The Chancellor that I become a male escort. I told her not to worry that all I would do is wine and dine ladies. For a hefty fee of course. I'm sure I could pull in enough money to take us on a great holiday or pay down some debt. She did not seem too enamoured with this idea as you would expect. It would also be hard to tell my son later in life that I was an escort. However on the other hand could he find it cool and think of me as a God? No, probably not. I must get away from this idea, it's no good!
So we'll go for our morning walk and sit for free in the local park and talk like men do of the global economic crises and try to explain to him how Greece is a hell of a lot worse off than then we are, so not to worry. He will just look at me and blow a raspberry which I think translates to 'What is Greece and I've just filled my nappy.' The question is easy to answer the statement is always a lot more complicated especially now he can crawl away.
jpr
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