I like my financial adviser. He's well-spoken and sweary, the combination of a true English gentleman. In fact I phoned him earlier today:
ME: Sorry, I've been meaning to call you, but every time I thought of it, I looked at my watch, and it was a minute past six.
FA: Well that doesn't matter. You can call me any time.
ME: Oh, cool. Thanks.
FA: You could call me at three in the morning if you want.
FA: I'd tell you to fuck off though.
ME: Well sometimes I probably need to be told to fuck off.
FA: There you are then. Just call me at three in the morning.
ME: You really do provide all the services, don't you?
FA: Ho yuss.
Marvellous stuff. If it sounds a bit hoity having a financial adviser, it's not particularly. Being self-employed I need one of them, and an accountant an' all. It's like having a widely-dispersed posse, especially when you take Agent Ginny into consideration. And someone needs to, mmm-hah.
I've lost the thread now. Anyway, I'm going up-London tomorrow for a potentially interesting meeting, the details of which I will post later, for fear of a-jinxin'* it.
* Sorry about the strange archaic diction, I've just watched Went The Day Well and I'm feeling rather black and white today.