I went to see a Financial Advisor today, primarily to set up a pension. Yes. You heard me. A pension.
Well - I am 42. Some might say I'm 20 years late. Well, (I might say to them), let me tell you this; I've already got a bit of a pension when I was a real human being before having children. And now I'm properly back at work - time to pretend to be an adult again.
Three things did I learn from the Oily but rather Lovely Financial Man. 1. I will probably not draw my state pension until I'm 68. That means I'm not even half way through my working life. *shudder* 2. His four children go to private school thereby proving that he takes his own advice - and probably knows what he's talking about, and 3. Really, all things considered, I'm not all that badly off.
So with all this new found knowledge, I mailed my ex with yet another financial proposal. At least this one had the foundation of advice from someone a gazillion times wiser on money matters than me, and - as it turns out - my solicitor. If he rejects this, I need to take him to court.
I do not want to go to court. I might as well take all my savings and set fire to them.
So I sit here, with my fingers, legs and eyebrows crossed, hoping that he will see sense, give in, admit defeat. The unexpected can happen - the lovely Raffa Nadal will tell you that.