Incoming revenue - oh, what to do?

Whilst sorting through some VERY IMPORTANT paperwork yesterday morning (and it WAS very important, and in no way a displacement activity to delay the start of my writing day because I was feeling devoid of any creativity), I found my P45, presented to me when I left teaching. I've never been in permanent possession of a P45 before, having always passed it straight on to my new employer as I've gone from job to job. Anyway, I noticed it said on the P45 that if I was no longer in paid employment or claiming Jobseekers Allowance I should call my local tax enquiry office and ask for a form (P50) in order to see if there was any refund due on income tax paid last year.

Well, I thought, I should do that as my bank account is looking very poorly at the moment and I'm reaching the point where I shall have to sell the children or the cats (not the chickens, they are providing eggs and therefore earning their keep) or Andy's VAST collection of Doctor Who tat...er, ephemera in order to pay the next round of utility bills. So I telephoned my local enquiry office. As it was before 9 a.m I wasn't holding out much hope of getting through to anything other than a recorded message but no, my call was answered promptly by a real human being. I requested the above mentioned form. After I'd been asked a series of 'security questions' - NI number, date of birth, last employer, name of my first pet rabbit, do I still believe in fairies etc - the nice lady said she could arrange the refund over the phone, sans form, using the information on my P45.

Wow, I thought, that's very impressive. And within three minutes, (one of which I was put on hold with some nice classical music) the whole thing was sorted and I was informed by the highly efficient and polite lady that she would e-mail the accounts department and a cheque would be issued and sent forthwith.

'Thank you,' I said. 'You've been very helpful and efficient. Er, you couldn't tell me how much I'm likely to be refunded, could you?'
'Oooh, about 5 or 6 hundred pounds I should think,' said the lady. 'Maybe more.'

I nearly fell off the stairs! Cor! Well worth a bit of important paper sorting, I thought.

Within seconds I was thinking 'What can I buy? What can I buy?' This, I believe, is called the irrational consumer response. It is inherent in most human beings, especially when in receipt of an unexpected windfall. Then I thought, calm down. Think carefully. Don't be frittering it away on a pair of 5 inch high purple satin Jimmy Choos with diamante trim. And then I remembered I don't like shoes so that was okay.

I could buy a polytunnel, I thought. Oh no, already got one of those. Or a fruit cage. Much fruit looks getting ready to appear this year and there's no way the birdies are having it. I have serious jam and icecream making planned. Or a bee-hive. In fact, I could get three or four beehives for that kind of money. Our friend Jean has already confirmed we have use of her garden to bee-keep in. She quizzed me briefly about killer bees and killer bees swarming and I assured her that when we get our first hive we shall be getting the kindest and quietest brand of bees possible because I too had no desire to be stung to death and she said 'That's okay, then.' I think she was marginally worried about her husband being driven into the river at the bottom of their garden by an angry mob of crazed insects.

Or we could go on holiday, I thought. Andy will need a holiday when he's finished his stint as temporary senoir vet. He's not having a very happy time of it. I am trying to teach him how to be hard and ruthless via a series of role plays (useful skills in the teaching world), but he's too nice and doesn't like to think he's upsetting anyone by some of the decisions he is required to make. So a holiday is likely to be needed to aid recovery once the permanent senior vet is installed and Andy is able to return to the relative safety of the ranks of the general masses.

Or I could put the money in our savings account. But where's the fun in that?

How many pigs can one buy for several hundred pounds? Or land? Could I get a small field, maybe? Ahahahhahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa!!!! Not in Kent, not with the way the Government seems hell-bent on building houses all over the place. We could get a field in Scotland, probably. But my aunt lives there and whenever she visits down south, she always mentions the cold and the rain. And the wind. And the rain. And the darkness. And the rain. So perhaps not.

And then there's my laptop. My basic and slow but ever-so-faithful laptop, now 3 (or is it 4?) years old and prone to severe bouts of screen flickering, curable by me firmly waggling the screen back and forth but not for much longer I fear. Which reminds me, I must commit 'Indigo Antfarm, Violet and Blue' (30,000+ words and rising) to a memory stick, just in case, only don't tell Andy I haven't done this yet because it will agitate him that my best-selling novel might disappear due to a future failure of my flickering laptop screen revival waggle method.

I ought to wait until the cheque arrives and is in my hot little hand, I suppose. I mean, the nice lady at the enquiry office might have made an error in calculation, for all her efficiency and I'll end up with £2.97. Because yesterday might have been 'Have a Laugh At the Taxpayer's Expense Day,' at the Inland Revenue. Better to be safe.

And now, having amassed 37 eggs this last week and a half, and with Miggo and Pumphrey both at work in their respective nestboxes as I write, I am off to do some egg-related cooking. Sausagemeat and egg pie, cheese and onion flan, sponge cake (s), fritatta, buns and meringues. And before you ask, this is in NO WAY a displacement activity in order to delay today's writing because I am currently devoid of creativity.