"apparently, thomas has bought a very nice little starter home in reigate," she says, nodding toward our next-door neighbors. "he commutes." she says this with an air of satisfaction, as though she's telling me he's won the nobel peace prize.

"well, i can't afford a flat," i say. "or a starter home."

not yet, anyway, i think. not until eight o'clock tonight. hee hee hee.

"money troubles?" says dad, coming into the kitchen. "you know, there are two solutions to money troubles."

his eyes are twinkling, and i just know he's about to give me some clever little aphorism. dad has a saying for every subject under the sun - as well as a wide selection of limericks and truly terrible jokes. sometimes i like listening to them. sometimes i don't.

"c.b.," says dad, his eyes twinkling. "or m.m.m."

he pauses for effect and i turn the page of my brochure, pretending i can't hear him.

"cut back," says my dad, "or make more money. one or the other. which is it to be, becky?"

"oh, both, i expect," i say airily, and turn another page of my brochure. to be honest, i almost feel sorry for dad. it'll be quite a shock for him when his only daughter becomes a multimillionaire overnight.

after lunch, mum and i go along to a craft fair in the local primary school. i'm really just going to keep mum company, and i'm certainly not planning to buy anything - but when we get there, i find a stall full of amazing handmade cards, only