• 

13 SEPTEMBER 2006

‘BANKRUPT 130 of 2006’: the defining moment

My sixth sense backfired on me yesterday. No news from the official receiver. My anxiety levels are now at an all-time high. The medication is now more frequent, in an attempt to keep me on Planet Earth.
A brief trip to a very popular and expensive deli in Colchester brought it all home to me this morning. Desperate for a cup of strong coffee, I called in at the smart store designed only for the rich. Groups of wealthy, chic women who daily ‘do lunch’ were huddled together around tables too small for their individual pots of Earl Grey tea, apparently ‘doing breakfast’.

Casually dressed in classy cashmere sweaters and well-tailored slacks, their slim, well-toned bodies exhibited expensive trinkets and accessories which spoke volumes.

The immaculate women donned designer sunglasses upon their recently coiffed hairdos and modeled exquisite timepieces around their delicate, bronzed wrists. The twinkling of diamonds upon their long, slender fingers highlighted their perfectly manicured nails.

Each looked fresh–faced, from either a pampering session with a very good beauty therapist or perhaps a Harley Street plastic surgeon.  Either way they looked fabulous. It was a club to which I no longer belonged. My membership had expired.

As I climbed the final steps to the restaurant I was well and truly pigeonholed. Slowly ‘the bankrupt’ moved, as graciously as she could, towards the waitress.
‘Cappuccino to go’.
Only the poor ‘take-away’, I concluded. I should have guessed when I entered the car park. The posh paraphernalia was a dead give-away. The parking lot was brimming with brand new Range Rovers and Mercedes convertibles with the odd Porsche thrown in – it left a bad taste in my mouth. I should have stayed at home today.