In Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, Mike Campbell is asked how he went bankrupt. “Two ways,” he replies. “Gradually and then suddenly.”
Mike is Scottish, which is something else we have in common.
The other thing? His way with words. Of course. And then there’s his way with money.
I am not bankrupt – not yet – but on top of everything else that the coronavirus pandemic has brought me, there is the almost complete ruin of my finances which are now, to use a technical term, completely screwed. In the words of the brilliant country singer Brandy Clark: If we had a penny we sure couldn’t spare it / Sitting on the porch drinking generic Coke / We’re broke.
I am in rent arrears for the first time in my life. I owe thousands of pounds to family and friends. My credit card is maxed out as I’ve missed too many minimum payments. Direct debits bounce from my bank account like an orgy on a trampoline. Every time I go to the supermarket, which is not as often as it should be, I prepare my “bemused and slightly irate” face in the event of my card being declined. When the card isn’t declined, I conceal my teary relief behind a mask of nonchalance. After All This is over, I’ll have a credit score worse than Venezuela’s.
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