I have to confess, I’m not a political animal. I generally try to stay clear of any political debate on the grounds of not knowing enough to present a convincing argument. My viewpoint is very simple: it doesn’t matter who you vote for, the government always gets in. And that will always create division. Animosity, even. And I’m a lover, not a hater. Anything for a quiet life.

But I was bored. I couldn’t think what the heck to write about for my blog this week, so was killing time on Facebook and trying to figure out how Twitter works. I know …

Anyway, probably because a news headline caught my attention, I  absently undertook a Google search using the words ‘government,’ finds,’ and ‘extra.’

Blimey! Regardless of the country or currency, it seems governments are very adept at this. The top three results on the search page reveal the Irish Government ‘found’ an extra three hundred million euros a year past Christmas. The Canadian Government discovered an additional four billion dollars in its coffers while the UK’s local government secretary managed to scrape up an unexpected hundred and sixty-six million pounds the year before last, to ease spending pressures in social care and rural areas.

What do they mean when they say they ‘found,’ all this dosh? And why were we not told they had lost it in the first place? I lapse into a cold sweat if I feel I’ve misplaced a fiver, for goodness sake! Mind, that’s perhaps down to my Scottish genealogy. Short arms, long pockets and all that.

Until some fateful day in October 2004, I was employed in the Branch Banking sector. That was the day the HBOS decided they could dispense with my twenty-eight years’ experience.

Ha ha! I still wet myself when I think about it. The Banking industry was even at that early stage bailing out a sinking ship with a hole- riddled bucket. Still – they knew best. The big ‘financial crash’ followed a few years later, and even a half-wit can see the two events were connected. Possibly.

Anyway, before the building society decided to play in the big boys’ field of Banking, us young whippersnapper tellers in Bank of Scotland would balance our cash till every night. To the penny. If it wasn’t balanced, we’d sometimes be hours trying to trace the mistake. Most times the error would be found, but if we ended with as little as a tenner discrepancy, it would be placed on record. And in absence of anything else, used as proven justification for redundancy some twenty years later.

At least the politicians do eventually ‘fess up – even if it is really just a means of ingratiating themselves to the voters. Not like my wife, and I suspect married women the world over who also have a knack of ‘finding’ things:

“I like your new dress,” I’ll say before we head out to a party.

“This? Oh no, it’s not new – I’ve had it for ages and just found it at the back of the wardrobe.”

Oh yeah, I’ll be thinking. That’ll be in dark recess of your closet, just this side of the portal to the universe, through which the dress fairy periodically slips with expensive, designer clothes.

“Ah, yes. I remember. It does look familiar, now you mention it,” I’ll lie.

Isn’t the human brain wonderful? In a flash, it can weigh up loss of face against potentially a fortnight of the silent treatment. Anything for a quiet life, as I said. Just not that quiet, perhaps.

Me? I find nothing. I’m more a loser than finder. I can lose time; lose face; lose patience; lose weight; lose tennis matches (I’m particularly good at that one) and lose money. In fact, I’ve been known to even throw it away.

A few weeks ago, while watching my football team, I bought the traditional cup of Bovril. It’s what you do in UK at football matches. Like having a chilli-dog at baseball. I handed over a five pound note for my one pound purchase. So I was given four, one pound coins as my change. These I placed in my left hand. With my right, I stirred the drink with spoon provided and then placed that between my lips so I could carry the cup in my right hand to the bin.  Still with me?

With a piping hot drink in my right hand, I pulled up the bin lid with my left, at the same time throwing away what I thought was the wooden spoon. There was an odd sound. Like metal on plastic. It prompted me to think what was still in my mouth. The spoon. So, what had I just thr …..

Aaaaargh!

The point of all this? There is no magical money-tree as has been alluded to by governments – only incompetent financial planning. There is no portal to the universe, though which the dress fairy periodically slips – only mail-order catalogues.

There are only stupid people who throw their money away. And sock drawers containing only socks.

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