Be careful with your money

Earlier this morning I had a phone call. Naturally I was as far away from the phone as I could possible be without actually being in a different postcode, but I managed to get to it, and wheeze out a greeting before it rang off. From the other end came a voice that sounded like ‘our Graham’ from Blind Date.

            ‘Hello, are you aware that over a third of the population are struggling with debt? This is a free public announcement…’

            So that’s what happened to him, I thought, before cutting him off. But before I’d put the receiver down I was thinking about money – and Big Brother – not that crappy TV series for the mentally insane (I’m referring to both the viewers and contestants), but the all seeing, omnipotent Big Brother. Both of which came into sharp focus when reading some top tips my travel agent had kindly committed to paper.

            Just under the sage advice that Russian customs officials are always right, she suggested a little preparation when it comes to the currency declaration. Russia, naturally, needs to know what money your arrive with, and how much you are leaving with. In between these two administrative events, you can do what you like with your money. As long as you keep all the receipts and can account for every penny. I rang her for clarification:

            ‘Would a nicely formatted Excel spreadsheet do, or should I invest in a full Sage accounting package?

            ‘Oh, no Mike, in practise you just need to jot down an approximation – but don’t count your money out in front of them. You have to remember the amount you’re likely to be carrying may not mean much to you, but it will be a fortune to them.’

            Don’t these customs guards know a third of the UK population is serious debt?

            All this talk of intrusive, Big Brother bureaucracy, re-ignited my memories of the old Soviet Union. I grew up in the 1970s. OK I never spent much time thinking about the Soviet Union, although I was always struck by the fact their leaders appeared to be dead. I was too busy trying to grow my hair over my collar without my dad noticing, and not looking like I’d cacked myself when walking in my platform shoes. No, in the 1970s if it wasn’t sensational (your thinking Tony Blackburn aren’t you?), it was unlikely to make it onto my radar.

            Which is why I was eternally thankful to The Sun, who sensationalise for a living, for pointing out what parts of the country would be obliterated if the USSR decided they’d had enough of the Rubettes. It showed a map of Aldermaston and Greenham common, I think, and drew concentric circles from the centre every 10 miles. Then it explained what would happen to the inhabitants in each of the circles when the bomb landed. My survival odds were pretty good, but only if I didn’t mind rubbing along without my skin.

            So you could say I’ll be carrying some historical baggage with me to Russia, but I’ll try to keep an open mind. Its not like we’re enemies anymore. Not since they controlled most of Europe’s oil supplies anyway. But I’m getting into murky waters here, what I need is a distraction. Ah, what’s that I hear?

            It’s the phone, must dash…