“Vince, your mother asked me to have a word with you.” Grandpa had cornered me during high tea, after the morning pheasant shoot. Oh no, here we go.

“Yes gramps?” I affected my most world-weary sigh. He barked “Your mother tells me that you are hung up on material things, always asking for more money.”

“Well of course Gramps, money makes the world go round.”

“That’s what you think young’un! I started in school, wheeling two porta-potties around the old neighbourhood on a cart. Finally I could afford a third, then more. Pretty soon I was supplying events, festivals. All of the sums: one potty for every hundred people, unless they’re selling curry or there is a beer garden, then one for every 75 people, and one to 50 for music festivals; lord knows what those kids take but it sure leaves a mess!”

“Weekends, holidays, wading through sludge at midnight, work work work!”

“So Vince, that is how I started SludgeCorp, and I can assure you that for us it is not money that makes the world go round, it’s SHIT!”

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