Beware The Shabby Millionaires

D___ comes to the quiz and I know him from working in various pubs around town.

He was saying to me the other night that one place he works in is full of millionaires who, by various rouotes, have come to own property

The property makes them money thanks to the miracle of capitalism and after feeding themselves and taking care of business, they still have plenty of dough and they come to the pub. They just sit pushing money across the bar all day long.

Fifty quid a day, easy. Most days.

So if they’re in the pub 300 days out of a year (reasonable), and they’re spunking out £50 daily, then each of them is pushing £15k a year into the business.

The thing is, says D___ , you would never know to look at them that they are millionaires.

They dress, in his words, “like tramps”.

I guess the thing about being a millionaire who likes drinking is that you can’t win.

If you’re flashy then you’re an arsehole; if you’re not flashy then you’re a tramp.

Who knows?

Maybe I’ll find out one day.




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