More Than Just a Cash Point

I have fallen in love with my local cash dispenser.

Not just because it has just told me I only have £10 left in my account and is therefore playing extremely hard to get.

But because it knows how to talk to a lady.

Unlike my boyfriend.

Last night I told my boyfriend that I loved him.

He gazed into my eyes and replied, ‘I love you too, my little…’

I waited, breath baited. (He’s from Liverpool so it takes a while for him to disengage from the football part of his brain and move into the romantic zone.) What was he going to say? Was I his ‘little darling’, his little sweetheart’?

No, apparently, after waiting a good two minutes while he wracked his brains, I am his little ‘roadside floral tribute’!

‘WHAT?’ I replied, pushing him away. ‘I remind you of scenes of carnage?!’

‘No,’ he spluttered. ‘I meant the floral bit – all pretty and feminine.’

‘And tragic,’ I added. ‘And tied to a lampost all bedraggled.’

‘Yes, well no, I didn’t mean- ‘

But it was too late. The damage was done. He is not going to live this one down for a VERY long time.

But this morning, this morning when I popped into my local bank, I looked at the sign above the cash point and it was like one of those moments in the movies where the picture goes all soft and gooey and the air is filled with the  sweet, sweeping music of violins.

‘I’m more than just a cash dispenser,’ it said, before listing all the lovely things it would like to do for me (like printing me a mini statement, allowing me to make a deposit etc). ‘I love it when you press my buttons,’ it finished, breathlessly.

Hmm – perhaps I should send him indoors over to Barclays for a crash course in the art of seduction?