Tuesday, 8 October 2013

Entrepreneurial Spirit...

... Well the title would be a positive spin on today's happenings.

I was sorting out the eldest's school unifrom before school when out of his shorts pocket popped a gold pound coin.

Now my eldest is not the best at retaining money - usually as soon as it enters his grubby little mitt it is soon passed over to the local shopkeeper, either for sweets or stickers, or as was the case this week, a pair of novelty vampire fangs - which he keeps in his mouth all day - I even had to stop him trying to eat his spag bol with them last night.

So I knew something was up.

"Where did this come from," I asked him at the breakfast table.

I was given a plethora of explanations, "I found it on the floor at your birthday lunch,"

"No you didn't."

"I erm, had it left over from pocket money ages ago."


"I got it off TJ."

Now that wrang true.

Where the Sprog spends his money as soon as he gets it, TJ - whom the Sprog now 'lovingly' refers to as the Worm (I don't know why - blame Horrid Henry) hordes his - he is curently saving for a Skylander. We have a deal, if he can save half then I will top up the difference.

"Does TJ know you took it?" I asked, trying to avoid the 'stealing' word.

"Yes, I swapped it!" came the indignant reply.

"What did you swap it for?" I asked.

"You remember that hair grip I found on the floor of the school bus yesterday?"

I was silent.

"So you sold TJ a hair grip that you found on the floor of the school bus for a pound?"


"And he agreed to this?"

"He wanted the hair grip."

By now I was torn with admiration for the entrepreneurial skill of my eldest to acknowledging that he had in fact 'conned' his brother out of his pocket money.

"Give him back the pound," I said.

"Ok," came the sullen reply, "But I want my hair grip back."

"Fine." I said, "If TJ wants to buy hair grips he can buy loads of new ones with his pound."

Lecture over I took the Sprog to school.

TJ then woke up and the first thing he asked for was his hair grip.

"I've given it back to Sprog and put the pound back in our money box," I said.

"But I wanted a hair grip," he wailed, "Then I can look like a footballer."

That confused me until he went on, "Sprog told me that all real footballers wear hair grips - and I want to be a real footballer."

So Sprog had indeed conned his younger brother and apparently me!

I shall have to deal with that one later. Until then I am off to the supermarket to buy hair grips for our fottball mad son. 

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