What a way to spend a bank holiday. I am completely skint. As in completely.

Pay day is Friday, and I have completely run out of cash. I paid the (£130 something) council tax bill this month, and was hoping that therefore my SO would owe me some money to tide me over. But no, he produced the bills he'd paid this month, (TV licence, gas and electricity) which means he owes me the princely sum of £7.50.

So I am sat at my PC eating pot noodle I unearthed from the back of the cupboard, which I think one of us must have been given as a freebie at some point. On the plus side, it doesn't appear out of date, but that's because it's so old that the the best before date is partially rubbed off so it says 'Best Before: Ma' on the side. March? May? Sod it, who cares it's probably 2001 anyway, so what's few months between friends?

One of the ironies about my job is that everyone thinks it's brilliantly paid. In fact, a friend of mine sent me a cutting from the News of the World a few months ago which said that the average salary of journalists is £26,000 a year. Now someone out there is getting paid my share of that as I am on less than half of that - and actually damn lucky because I know people who haven't even breached the £10,000 a year marker. And they wonder why journos take up all the freebies going! (although in my case I'm so far down the pecking order I don't get much in the way of decent freebies. Oh well).

Off to have a grump and watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding on DVD. And eat the pot noodle.