Conversations with my bailiff: 18th November

I am not feeling very good today.   A bailiff came this morning.   Not Barry.   Come to think of it, I have never met Barry.   This Bailiff, a stocky man with a red face,   answers to the name of   “Council Tax Bailiff.”  It appears that the Ex has not been paying Council Tax.   He was supposed to pay Council Tax as part of the financial settlement.    He has not paid for three years and I owe £5,000 and if I do not pay them they will bankrupt me. 

Michael, distracted from sleep and displaying rather elegant legs beneath his toga like towel arrangement, descends the stairs to discover me, in tears, trying to stop Bailiff from entering the house!  The  Bailiff says he will be back with a warrant.   I ring the Council. 

Lady in Council Office asks “why didn’t you open our letters?” 

I didn’t because I though the Ex was dealing with all that.  I had mentioned that I had letters but he told me to ignore them.  

“Yes, well, as far as the Council is concerned you are living in the property, you pay the Council Tax.  I am afraid you are responsible.”

Michael said he had an early appointment and he was gone before I could butter him a slice of toast!   I telephoned the Ex.  He says he has problems.  He’s already told me that the car scrappage scheme is no good for second hand car deals.  I point out that his failure to pay council tax predates car scrappage!   He said I should have chased him!

I know its my fault.   I should’ve chased him.  I should’ve opened the damn letters.   But they went behind the clock in the sitting room, along with the rest of the letters I couldn’t face opening.   My stomach is in knots.  What the hell am I going to do?

Barry’s £1500, the lapsed mortgage payments, electricity, gas, phone, and token credit card payments have depleted the Armed Robber’s £3,000 advance.

I am going to see him tomorrow, to begin work.   I am feeling very very depressed.   His cuttings files have revealed him to be a pathological megalomaniac.  How can I turn a man who set fire to a bank, knowing that the staff and customers were still inside the building, into a loveable rogue?  I can’t.  And what’s more, I don’t want to turn him into a loveable rogue.   But I am not sure how well he is going to take to me withdrawing from the project, and I’ve spent his money!    Why didn’t I listen to Barry.    Barry,   Barry, I need to speak to Barry.  He’ll know what to do about the Council Tax!

“Madelaine, Madelaine, stop babbling.  I can’t make out what you are saying?   Are you trying to tell me a Bailiff came to the door and tried to gain access? “

Yes

“What for?”

The Ex hasn’t paid the Council Tax.

“Oh bloody hell.  Not the Council Tax!  This is serious, Madelaine.  Now listen to me.   Under no circumstances are you to let the Bailiff in.”

He says he is going to get a warrant.

“Of course, he said he is getting a warrant!   I say that all the time.  Mind you, Council Tax …. We can get a warrant for Council Tax”

There’s no money left from the advance from the armed robber.  And…. I’ve read the cuttings and the man is frankly….

“Didn’t I tell you?”

Yes.   Oh, Barry what would I do without you….

“That’s all right, Madelaine.   We’ve just got to get you straight, that’s all.   Tell you what?  Do something nice, cheer yourself up.”
He’s not going to tell me to have a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits is he?
“Look at something you would like to buy.  And save up for it.  Women like a bit of retail therapy.   The wife told me that.     Got to go.  Speak in the morning.”

Retail therapy?    Me?   Has Barry gone mad?

I go upstairs to my laptop.   I look up Council Tax.  Failure to pay could result in a custodial sentence.   Suddenly a bailiff is nothing to worry about.   Who would look after the daughter?  How would I cope with prison?  Images of a pipe smoking boiler suit clad cell mate come to mind.   I feel sick.  I know the armed robber is my only way out of this cycle of hell.    

I hear the friendly plop of an email.  A job?   Please, let it be a job?   No, it’s not a job.  It is a spot of retail therapy, an email from Aspinal of London, luring me to their site.  I can’t resist, I take a look.  Their handbags are a decadent secret vice.  I look. I salivate. I comfort myself.  Barry said I should indulge in retail therapy. Looking on line is free retail therapy.  Oh, but the Buffalo Clutch - the bags are as divine as ever.   I can’t help but notice that there is twenty per cent off a shopping basket full of goodies. With that i could buy all my Christmas presents!

Of course I’m going to share my find, just click here to apply the discount at checkout (promotional code AF20OFF) - valid til 30th Nov 09.