Christmas was fast approaching. Not that Tom was feeling very festive as he hurried down Sloane Street, past the fashionable designer shops, towards where he’d parked his car. A sharp cold wind caused him to pull the collar of his old brown leather coat tightly around his neck. It had a rather worn look, not unlike its owner. In truth both had seen better days.
He lowered his head and focused his eyes just a few feet ahead on the pavement, to escape the worst of the biting wind’s force. He drew small breaths through tightly clenched teeth, protecting his lungs from the frosty night air. He could just glimpse, out the corner of his eye, the shop windows screaming out their messages of goodwill, their brightly lit decorations illuminating the pavement. No doubt a lot of creative thought had been put into designing those windows, in an attempt to grab the attention of passing pedestrians.
It wasn’t just a result of the cold weather that Tom didn’t linger to look closer at what was on show. Even though he didn’t have many to buy presents for, he couldn’t afford to shop in this part of London without taking out a second mortgage on his home, or more accurately speaking what would be in fact a third mortgage. And Christmas or not, he had more pressing financial challenges than just buying a few presents.
His bank had seemed to take delight from pointing out to him that, even before the further recent plummet in house prices, he had no remaining equity in his house to secure any additional borrowing. He hated the way banks always made him feel like Oliver asking for more food.
He had laughed at the suggestion he could meet with one of the bank’s business advisors, who somehow might be able to help. Tom knew from previous experience that would probably be someone much younger, who had never owned a business, or worked in the real world outside a bank. He had replied as politely as he could that perhaps, given the bank’s recent performance, they might have greater need of his advice. In truth, given the amount of sarcasm in his voice, he wasn’t actually all that polite.
He fondly remembered the days when he could pop into his local bank and have a chat with a manager he had known for years, and who shared a common interest in racing. Now it was a call centre and an impersonal secure message informing him of the bad news. Tom was certain if he treated his customers with the same contempt exhibited by the banks, he would soon have no customers. The problem was everyone needed a bank and they were all as bad as each other.
As a result, presents this year would once again have to be measured more by the thought than the value. Not that that was an entirely bad thing. It was more in the original spirit of Christmas and he actually quite enjoyed shopping for presents on a budget. Out of necessity he was creative in his selection of presents and generally it was appreciated by the recipients.
A heavy overnight frost had been the prediction and for once it seemed the weather forecasters would be right. That in turn was expected to lead to at least a week of snowfalls and icy roads, which in turn would bring chaos to Britain’s eternally ill prepared transport system.
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