Mrs C has been getting twitchy again. She’s seen some of her mates hit rock bottom and needs to keep me on my toes. One of them is even driving an Audi estate, which is a big comedown from a Range Rover and an Aston Martin DB9, but that’s property for you.
Her botox and plastic norks clinic will scrape by, but the resi property stuff is rubbish. It’s probably going to lose us £50K this year. But I reckon if she didn’t have so much to do she’d only end up spending double that much at Hoopers.
Now she says she needs some more “substance” in her life – and she doesn’t mean the kind she used to shovel up her nose when I first met her and she was shaking her bits at the Purple Door in Yesterdays in Alderley.
She set me a target – and I love targets, I’m a winner – to meet royalty. She wasn’t impressed with getting an invite to the new shopping centre in Liverpool, even though “His dis-Grace” the Duke of Westminster was going to be cutting the ribbon on the Capital of Culture’s new “Peasant Crescent”.
My next route was to join this mob called Business in the Community - basically, it's the icing on the shit. Pay up and everyone says what a great guy you are. I went to an unbelievably boring day of speeches last year and signed a few forms pledging to cut our carbon footprint – it’s alright, no-one checks – and then we got invited to go to old Charlie Big Ears gaff down south.
You’ve never seen sharp elbows like it. All these mad witches falling over themselves in an orgy of brown nosing and I’ve never seen anyone look so bored in his life. She was trying to tell him he had an “exquisite garden” – like he doesn’t know that already and all he wanted to do was go on about the polar bears.
She was well happy for a bit and all was good, but rather than thanking me, she wanted more. That’s why I got a ticket for Queen’s last trip to these parts. We got offered slots in the welcome committee for her trip to Warburtons off Jonathan “Warbie” Warburton, but I thought we’d get more “quality time” at her visit to Leigh Sports Village. To cut a long story short, I don’t know if it was something I said, or Mrs C said, or maybe Lord Peter Smith went on a bit about Wigan, or congestion charging or whatever, but the poor old dear nodded off. I didn’t know where to look. Even Mrs C was lost for words and she realises she’s probably been too pushy on the social climbing scales even by her standards.