I HAVE a very serious case of the collywobbles – I am waiting to hear if I can get a mortgage – even though I already have one.

My Bold Broker is more like a magician and was the first person to tell me to stop worrying when I took out a six-figure loan 14 years ago.

But things were different then, as long as you had a pulse you could get a deal.

But now things are different.

Bold Broker remains unfazed. When I told him the situation, all he said was “sell your house”.

Now sold, I have left it to him to sort out a new deal, which seems to be taking him longer than the three minutes it took last time.

“Are you having costly medical beauty treatments?” he asked yesterday after I sent him my bank statements.

“No I am not. If I were I would be looking much younger than I do.”

“Well, you look about 12 on your blog.”

“No. If I was having Botox or anything I would be having them in Harley Street or at a hospital, not my local beauty salon.”

“True enough, but you are not hirsute, or at least you weren’t the last time I saw you. So what are you spending all this money on?”

“Normal girly stuff.”

“Bate. If you move, this salon is going to go out of business,” he almost choked on his tea as he laughed at his own joke for a very long time indeed.

“And while we are on the subject, you seem to be spending a lot of time at the farm shop,”

“It’s where I buy my food. Now please crack on and help me buy my dream cottage.”

That’s where we have left it. In the meantime, I cannot sleep.