So it transpires that NatWest are indeed fuckfaces and have completely raped my finances without a second thought. There’s a reason why ‘banker’ rhymes with ‘wanker’.
Now I have no money to go and visit the famille de Ville this Easter. Instead I shall be left rotting in a call centre where the lift smells like bad sandwiches and the drinks machine serves tea with granules of coffee floating on the top. Delectable!
While we’re on the subject of tea, I URGE you to go out AT ONCE and purchase yourself the biggest big box of Whittard’s Spice Imperial tea you can find. It is quite possibly the most lovely cinnamony, orangey, vanillary, clovey beverage that will ever pass your lips. I only have four teabags of this stuff left and this makes me very sad. And afraid.
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