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    Banking on it

    September 29, 2009

    Eventually I had to fight myself out of the cosy embrace of the Dog Who Came In From the Cold and trudge to the Barclays &*$%£ Bank in the Village, to present myself in person to be chastised for forgetting my codes, my mother’s maiden name and my full postal address – and also to beg for a cheque book so I could actually spend my own money on such essentials as Child One’s bassoon lessons (Why? Why am I…

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