Three missed calls. Two answer phone messages. The bank manager. He needed to see me. Would I make an appointment and come in to see him as soon as possible? His tone of voice suggested it was a matter of some urgency. Had some energetic, enterprising person fraudulently obtained my password or pin number and cleaned out my overdraft facility, I wondered?
Normally I don’t need to have anything to do with the bank manager. A couple of years ago, however, this current one’s predecessor had smartly intercepted me on my way out of his bank and offered to lend me money. He led me into an office, candidly confessed that a recent change in the bank’s ethos now meant that he was little more than a glorified loan shark, and said how much would I like? Was there anything I wanted to buy? A new car perhaps? Surely a long-haul holiday wouldn’t go amiss?
I liked the young man’s open, cheerful style and borrowed ten grand, I think it was.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in