I’m not sure how the subject came up, after dinner. Tim and I chat and one thing leads to another. It was something to do with pocket money and the buying of records and that I couldn’t because I didn’t receive pocket money.
My parents were quite well heeled when I was a child and they were generous and I certainly could have received pocket money, except for one wretched child called Bob the junior conman. My sister took the school bus from the age of five, which called at the bottom of the drive up to the hotel my parents ran. Our father took her down the drive on the back of his motorbike. Helmets were not involved in 1953. Once Wink was a schoolgirl, she was given pocket money, which was hers to spend without supervision – there was a little village shop and garage at the bottom of the drive where she could go and buy sweets or a comic while she waited for Daddy and the motorbike.
After a few weeks, it was noticed that she never had anything she might have spent her money on. She didn’t mention it until delicately questioned when, wide-eyed with anxiety, she told our parents all about *poor* Bob. He sat next to her on the bus and let her know all about the poverty of his family, they had nothing to eat and dressed in rags and…..kind, gullible Wink handed over her pocket money every week.
Once this deception had been uncovered, Wink was never entrusted with pocket money again. More importantly, non-gullible Z, who was taken to school by car as there wasn’t a bus, wasn’t given any either.
This is the preamble, darlings. I don’t seem to have touched on the substance of the post yet. I’ll add 1 to the title and come back to it tomorrow.