The name is Cash, Paying Cash.

So, I went to John Lewis to buy some stuff for the downstairs flat (expenditure in past five days, £550; progress, not very much). That flat is fast becoming my own personal substitute for owning a Formula One Team.

I did this, might I point out, despite suffering from a cold. Forget this crap about "working through it". Yesterday I tried that and I nearly killed myself. Today I just had to stay at home. I got the newsletters out. I knocked off enough hands on Party to keep me up to schedule for the deposit bonus, and I've done nothing else except sleep. I'm not as young as I was.

Purchases at John Lewis were a roller blind (now fitted) and bathroom mirror (still sitting under desk at work). Sales assistant starts ringing up the purchase.

"Name?" asked my Arabic looking sales assistant.

"I'm paying cash", I said, admittedly in my somewhat lazy South London accent, rather than in my more businesslike 'I'm doing an interview' accent or my "I'm talking to a foreigner in Oxford Street telling them where they can go" accent.

Pause, slightly puzzled look.

"How do you spell that?"


Sigh.

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