If you see someone with their face pressed up against the window as you eat your dinner, with a longing look slapped across his mush, if so, then that sad sap is me. While people are buying Christmas tress and pointless tacky tinsel ridden objects (which on normal occasions I’d approve), I’m camped behind my front door, eyes focused staring where the letters magically appear. To struggle like an old decrepit pensioner to my point, the student loans company have yet to grace my person with money, any money. I realize the staff are having a hard time focusing on the this national problem, with spending the £2million in Bonuses they got last year, but between their weekend trips to Honolulu, I would love it if they sat down and did a little work.
As I eat into my brothers savings, I wonder, how will it all end? I’m not starving, I’m not sleeping in a shop window hoping my shoes are still on my feet when i wake up, but I am a little miffed at building up a dept that stock brokers would quiver at. Even with a student loan, these days University is gamble, so as I sit at the roulette table with my chips on red, I have a hopeful stare at the croupier, and I wait with bated breath.
who doesn’t love a bit of self-wallowing humour?