A NEW LIFE ON AFTERPAY

On the weekends now I like to put on my green velvet smoking jacket and read The Old American (The Weekend Australian). It’s filled with the up-to-date wisdom of our elders.

I’m drawn to the motoring section in the magazine where they review everything from a Ferrari 812 GTS (from $675,888) down to a Mercedes-AMG E63S ($253,900). Week in, week out, there’s something for everyone. Who’s rich.

Now that I’m a retired gentleman with a smoking jacket (and a positive attitude at last) I plan to buy the Ferrari on Afterpay and set off very fast around Highway 1. Live the life I’m meant to aspire to at 370 km per hour.

Highway 1 is 14,500 kilometres of freedom baby before my creditors appear in the rear vision mirror in a phalanx of blue suits. With law suits. Who cares?

If the test drive goes well I’ll need to buy a new house too. Houses are expensive in Sydney but money is cheap. Now’s the best time in decades to overcommit. I’ll need something with a ten car garage to accommodate my planned Afterpay fleet.

I’m not going to park my basically stolen Ferrari on the mean streets of Forest Lodge. It wouldn’t be safe. Alas, I’m surrounded here by the left wing politics of envy.

If you shine your shoes here they spit on you. You might even get pushed over. I wish I lived somewhere with a harbour view where the people are invariably nice and terribly fair.

Maybe next time.

Going forward, I’ll put everything in Robinson’s name and cut off one foot for when things go wrong. I can’t remember if this tactic means she goes to jail, not me, or she gets to keep everything when I go to jail, on crutches. Or maybe we lose everything. Both of us.

She’s a Welsh peasant so she’ll be OK in prison. I’m an intellectual with poor eyesight. I could be in trouble. Surely the judge will take all this into account. Especially as I was trying to better myself by sort-of buying a Ferrari.

There’s a chance that a nicer neighbourhood is coming our way even before one or both of us goes to prison. We got a letter this week about a ‘works zone’ to be ‘installed’ in our Road which will be there for approximately 4 months while someone ‘refurbishes’ their house.

Holy shit! They must know Gladys.

I didn’t think of that when we had our kitchen redone. I didn’t even know it was a Thing. I spent most mornings out on the Road in bare feet at 7am, moving my car so the tradies could pinch my spot for the day. Loser. At the very least I should have worn my smoking jacket and put on some slippers.

I never resorted to putting my wheelie bins on the Road to reserve a spot because I’ve seen others try that on Struggle Street and all that happens is their bins get crashed into or stolen. Or gangs of youths set them on fire and have drug parties. I’ve seen them through my venetian blinds, like a proper rich old person frightened of the world.

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