My plans for a slap-up meal for darling Rachel are in tatters. After Clive had totted up my earnings and deducted his expenses I left the shop for the last time, better off to the tune of 47p. Even our local chip shop, good value as it is, could hardly be expected to provide a lavish romantic meal for two young lovers for 47p. It would be at least two pounds, and I still owe the Treasurer. My only hope now is the Daily Mail cheque.
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