On the Cheap

I like going on cheap holidays, preferably at someone else's expense. Just the thought of spending my hard earned to peer out at the ubiquitous rural drizzle (which I can do perfectly well at home) is enough to put me off packing my smalls in anticipation of a jaunt to parts distant.

Thankfully the accommodation and most of the food in the Lake District was provided by gullible and much too well off for their own good relatives. I may even have smarmed enough to ensure a favourable outcome when it comes to the reading of the wills in a few years time.

I was, on the whole, quids in on the deal. Unfortunately I went and blew it by buying an old Daimler (that's a Jaguar with bells on for you ignorant Yankees) from a classic car dealers forecourt. It had been owned from new by an old geezer who did 4000 miles a year, washed and polished it every week, and religiously serviced it annually.

It goes like a cheetah with a wasp up its rectum and has enough leather to make an elephants scrotum tremble with envy. I'm not deluding myself that it will aid my prospects with the laydeez though. Everyone knows that they prefer scruffy blokes who tootle about in ancient Lanci Fulvias and old Morris Minors that smell of blue cheese.

Sometimes there's just no accounting for taste.