Diary of a Grumpy Old Git by Tim Collins Page B

my arm. Unfortunately, I then stopped off on impulse at the corner shop to buy a
chocolate bar, and the owner accused me of stealing the paper. I tried to explain that I’d already bought it from the supermarket, but he asked why it wasn’t in a bag. I couldn’t
really be bothered arguing with him, so I paid for it again.
    I felt obliged to read every section of the paper after paying for it twice, when all I’d really wanted was the crossword and the TV guide. So I lost half my morning and most of my change
as a result of trying to help the environment.
    I hope the environment realizes I’m expecting the favour to be returned soon. It could start by striking the corner shop with lightning.

     
    I just had an enjoyable evening of going through my spam emails. Every time I click on ‘spam’ to see if an actual email has ended up there by mistake, I’m
confronted with a bizarre menu of mankind’s unspoken longings. It appears we’d all like larger wangs and a bucket of Viagra so we could ‘experience pleasure like never
before’. Then we’d like to buy genuine Rolex watches at knockdown prices and gamble the money we’ve saved in online casinos. We’d like to look younger, lose weight and be
awarded fully recognized degrees based on our current knowledge and life experience. Then we’d like long-lost relatives, Nigerian princes and heads of Chinese banks to transfer millions of
dollars into our bank accounts.
    Someone somewhere is clicking on this stuff. There are people out there thinking, ‘You say you want to give me some free money, eh? Tell me more.’ And these people have bank
accounts.
    If I were a billionaire I’d pretend to be a Nigerian prince and email random people to ask for their bank details. If anyone ever gave me them, I’d transfer a million quid into their
account right away. It would make one gullible idiot very happy and everyone else in the world feel like they’d spent their lives discarding genuine opportunities for wealth.

M ONDAY 25 TH M ARCH
    We won the pitch! Hooray! That means I’ll have to do more work. Boo. I must try and make our presentations crapper in future. I want the company to win enough business to
keep going, but not so much that I have to stay until nine every night.
    Josh took us all to the pub for champagne after work. I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to Jo, as she was sitting down the other end of the table, while I was stuck talking about the
pitch with Jen and Josh.

     
    I didn’t say much because I knew my voice would take on a sarcastic tone just to spite me, and I didn’t want to upset Josh and Jen. I don’t really know why. They were drinking
champagne and braying at the tops of their voices. I should have been annoyed, but they were so excited about winning the business I actually felt pleased for them. I must be going soft.
    Jo left after a couple of hours and I said I’d walk her to the tube. We passed the Red Lion and I asked her if she fancied something to eat. I must have been feeling courageous after all
that champagne.
    I was expecting bar snacks, but it seems that the Red Lion has been turned into a gastro pub. The silent old men with their pints of stout have been replaced by smart couples drinking wine, the
pork scratchings have been replaced by vegetable shavings and the ‘ladies’ and ‘gents’ signs have been replaced by ambiguous squiggles designed to confuse everyone into
wetting themselves.
    The waiter showed us to a candlelit table and handed out menus with words like ‘confit’, ‘infused’ and ‘jus’ on them. I suddenly realized that we were having
an actual, proper date in a posh restaurant. This was it. I’d been gifted another chance after screwing everything up last week.
    And it’s a chance I would have done something about if one of Jo’s friends from university hadn’t spotted us.
    ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘You must be Jo’s dad.’
    And that