I got into the office this morning and thought it was my birthday. There on my desk was this beautiful hand-written letter in a cream envelope with red bow tie. It even smelled of cheap aftershave, so I though it might be from that rich uncle of mine. I was very disappointed though when I opened it, and saw it wasn’t a birthday present at all, but a letter from my bank manager Merv.
He said he was sorry but inflation was higher and blah blah blah. It’s just another thing that labour have done to make my job a nightmare Phillip. I mean, they emptied my bank account, got me into debt and now they’ve made Grape Fanta more expensive. You can’t even buy it in this country anymore. I have to import it from Brazil. And they’ve gone and devalued the squid, so its really expensive to buy stuff. B**tards.
I showed the letter to Daveo who seemed pretty un-interested. He had his smelly feet up on his desk and was reading a copy of the Evan’s Cycles catalogue. I guess I shall write back to Merv and tell him not to write to me again, at least not for a few months anyway. I’ve had enough of bad news.
