Tomorrow, Tony and me are off to Wales, on another cash-in-hand and ask-no-questions furniture removal job.
It means an early start, and a long drive before we get to our destination, but because our cash-flow is currently worse than that of a third-world nation (such as Greece, Spain or Portugal), Tony and me must make the effort if tomorrow night we want to be in the pub, drinking beer, and not stuck in our flat, drinking tap water.
Lifting heavy furniture can play havoc with one's back, and if the thought of crippling myself for a few tax-free pounds isn't bad enough, going to Wales hardly fills Tony and me with enthusiasm.
Tony said that he once spent a weekend in Cardiff when he was a small boy, and if he wasn't of a strong and robust mental character (they're his words), he would have ended up mentally scarred by the experience.
I reckon the boy's probably right, but at a push, I'd rather be going to deepest Wales tomorrow morning, than some other God-forsaken part of the British Isles (anywhere north of London falls into this category).
Anyway, if all goes well, and we're not mauled to death by any wild sheep, and our driver manages to get to where we're meant to be going, tomorow night Tony and me will be a few pounds richer - and probably very drunk!