I have spent the last two days in meeting with lawyers. Not too fun, but dad has insisted, so I have firmed my stiff upper lip, and have braved the legalese jargon that’s whizzed right over my head and have signed a lot of papers.

Why, you ask? Well, my affairs in the UK are being undone. That sounds more dramatic than it is. I’m not going anywhere, but my savings are. They’re being moved from UK banks and financial institutions, and all because of a little referendum up north. You may have heard about it. Dad worries about the situation and have decided to move it all to a safer location.

Dad has also come to an agreement with Mark’s parents to buy the house. That way they’re not stuck with a worthless bit of property if the politicians’ games in this referendum tanks the pound and the property market. It has also meant sitting with a very glum Mark who sees his house slip into the orbit of my savings, which he has tried to keep at arm’s length for all this time. He has kind of been overruled by his parents, but he’s also told me he doesn’t mind. But he does. I can see it. But he accepts it, glumly.

Nothing much changes though. We’ll still pay rent, and we’ll still live here, and outwardly everything will be just the same – but Mark’s parents won’t be so exposed financially if everything goes to shit. Dad can sit on the house for decades without having to sell it. So, it’s safe. Dad has even offered to help Mark’s parents get a little bit more from the house money than if they stuffed it into a bank account. He’s really good at that sort of thing.

Otherwise school is on, the rut is on, it’s just the whole country that seems to be falling apart if you go by the papers. So much for our socialist credentials, eh?

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