The ghosts of school days long past still seem to be reappearing wherever I turn. On Saturday night, I bumped into both Sharon and Hopey and a bloke whose mate used to stalk me on his 50cc motorbike when I was about 13, and a very early developer. There was no use trying to tell them that I had become a rather successful lawyer and respected Housing Board Director, as I happened to be serving pints behind the bar of the local sports club at the time, wearing a polo shirt with "STAFF" helpfully embroidered across my chest. I just smiled and made sure they got served straight away to avoid any embarrassingly lengthy conversations.

I'd forgotten all about the ad for casual bar staff in the post office window which I'd answered at the beginning of January, when I was feeling the pinch of Christmas expense particularly keenly and panicking slightly about the next instalment for Jack's rugby tour. I certainly wasn't expecting a call at 6.30pm on Saturday night, just as I was unloading the shopping ( from Netto, I really am taking this economising seriously) informing me that my application had been accepted and could I please be there by 7pm. I've never been able to say "No", which is what got me in this mess in the first place.

I worked until 1.30am, servicing approximately 200 increasingly inebriated local footbally-type folks who had turned up to watch an ageing Stax sound-alike band. I was feeling rather tired and emotional by midnight, not helped by the fact that I'd spent the previous evening and best part of the day on incredibly tedious Bored Member training. I got paid at the end of a very long and continuous night - £35.55 before tax. At that rate, I just need to work a 6 hour shift once every month for the next 3 and half years and I might just be able to cover the cost of Jack's trip.

I'm not giving up hope yet. I've got a potential sponsor coming to meet me on Wednesday and if that doesn't work I could always call Slimey Simon and see if he has room for a new novelty act at his executive entertainment club. 10 minutes writhing around a pole in sequinned candy floss knickers can't be that hard, can it?