ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

The family whispers were true.

As Lucy Wilmott opened her mail this morning, the heavy thick letter at the bottom of the pile confirmed her worst fears.

Her cousin was getting married – in Spain.

“For fuck’s sake,” she said, standing next to our reporter in her apartment complex’s mail room.

“Who does she think she is? Who the hell has the time and money for that? I can’t even give Vodaphone a decent excuse not to cut my phone off. How the fuck am I going to afford this?”

When asked by our reporter if she couldn’t simply borrow the money from a family member, she replied that she wasn’t a member of the upper middle class and she wouldn’t do it anyway.

Coupled with the casual of her workplace contract, it means any time off that doesn’t ultimately result in her death, would obviously end with her losing her job.

“Suppose I could just not go?” she laughed in resignation.

“But she’s put me in the bridal party, so I have to go. Maybe I should just get a credit card and let my credit score slip further and further down that alphabet of shame? At this point, I don’t even care,”

“I might call my Mum tonight and just have a good old-fashioned bitch about my life and how fucked everything is. She’ll agree with me and it’ll make me feel better,”

“Then I might start looking at flights.”

More to come.



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