Waltzing Matilda

For the first time in its 180 year history, The Withering Heights News missed its deadline last week, as the toxic world of the banking crisis poked us in the eye with a very big stick . Miranda and I had been called in to meet our bank manager, Roger Greenwood, a 55 year old serial wearer of Boxing Day jumpers, who, although over the years had torn several strips off us for our Cavalier action in running our business accounts, had never tried to foreclose on us. Last week he was summarily retired by the banks new owners, an aggressive Antipodean outfit called Maguire Bank. We were called into the regional head office to meet our new business manager, a boy graduate called Wayne O'Connell, an inhabitant of Melbourne, with the teeth and gelled tonsure more akin to an Australian soap than the trading floor of an international banking organisation. His whole demeanour was reptilian which wasn't helped by me unconsciously humming 'Waltzing Matilda.' Miranda gave me a nudge and the boy graduate smirked. Little did I know that he had lost a grandfather at Galipoli and we were about to pay for Churchill's errors.
'The bank is calling in the overdraft.' He looked up and steepled his hands. 'And we have temporarily closed your account until funds have been deposited that will bring it back into credit.' I am not a religious man but I went on a five minute rant about him kneeling at the altar of Mammon. I stated that if 'The son of God,' were here , he would throw him and his ilk out of the Temple forthwith for their userous actions. This was greeted with another smirk. 'You have 24 four hours.' Miranda was brilliant. She calmly stated that she had been negotiating a remortgaging of our house and would have the money by close of business today. The boy wonder nodded and said. 'Great. If you can have the paper work in front of me as soon as, we can see where we go from here.' He was all platitudes and styrofoam coffee. He stood up. '24 Hours.' He went to shake my hand which I declined. Miranda however, obliged and said good bye. We live to fight another day. When we got outside I gave her a hug. We might be mortgaged to the hilt but at least those rapacious bastards at the bank won't have won. Yet!


Blog.

All phone calls and texts with ex girlfriend on hold as all hands required to fight for survival. Headline will be tomorrow, five days late but at least we're still here. No doubt the letters page will be full and thank God for that!