I am a deal-maker. A mover and shaker. A fixer. A number-cruncher. A book-cooker. A sharp and deadly negotiator. Inside my own head. I can talk myself into and out of doing almost anything. By doing deals with myself. By stealing from Petra to pay Paula.
If I want that pile of Hobnobs, I will go to the gym later. If I fail to go to the gym later I will have bolognese with spinach rather than pasta for dinner. If I fail to have spinach rather than pasta I will have vodkas and soda rather than wine.
If I buy that Stella McCartney blazer then I will not buy anything at all from Zara or &Other Stories for six months. If I do buy really quite a lot of dresses from Zara and &Other Stories over the next six months I will take on a freelance job to earn the money to retrospectively pay for the Stella McCartney blazer (jobs that I predict will be won by the dazzling quality of the Stella McCartney blazer) and then I will hand-make all my Christmas presents. If I fail to hand-make all my Christmas presents then I will impose a £15 limit on all Christmas presents.
Sometimes it gets weird. If I throw this piece of balled up paper and it lands in the bin then it is a sign that I should definitely take a taxi home rather than the tube. Because God has told me to. So it’s a deal. Oh. Best of three?