Monopoly

Not the kind big corporations have, the game. Or, specifically, the piles of 'money' we use to play the game. It's what I've come to realise this week is my OPH fund. Here I am, spending hours trawling the shops and 'net to find bargains, save a tenner here and maybe £50 there (yay for me), when all of a sudden along comes a completely unexpected expense that blows the whole idea of budgeting out of the water. Whoever said, "save the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves" clearly hadn't ever built their own house. Put another way, whoever said that can bite me.

Let me explain the Monopoly money analogy. A few months ago we started digging out the foundations for the house, foundations which ought to have rendered a house at level X, resulting in us being able to connect to the public sewer very easily and for a cost of just a few hundred pounds. Dodgy engineer + inattentive architect + inexperienced me = foundations lower than necessary and the need to connect to the sewer at a different place, and at a significantly higher price. We're talking something like £10K, people. Yes, it stings. Yes, I'm shaken. No, not even glimpses of my beautiful door and oak feature frame can make me smile now. I've been told this week I'm too dramatic. Can you forgive me, considering?

And can you understand the reference to Monopoly money? What's the point of scrimping on worktops and flooring when the derriere's been blown out of our potential profit? I say bring on the prime walnut and the reclaimed oak, let's have the range cooker and the long-coveted Smeg retro fridge. Hell, bring on the bespoke kitchen while we're at it.

And if I'm going to be a drama queen - and I really, really am - then I demand the delivery and immediate installation of the Priscilla mirror ball to its rightful resting place: dangling sumptuously from the newly boarded ceiling above the oak staircase.

Thank you, and goodnight.