So.
Who is Kayessjaykay? Well, the answer is a four headed creation, currently stalking the cold grey streets of a Northern town. With four very separate personalities (quad-polar?) and four very separate strategies for the great game of life. But all inextricably linked by the conviction that a frying pan to the face is the funniest sound in the world. Here are the four quadrants.
1) I am Kay. Or K for short. The 'titular head' of the family, although this often seems to be abbreviated for some reason.
2) Ess. Or S, the power behind the throne.
3) Jay. J, which will always come right before K. J which is as close to K as could ever be. Like someone lifted the needle and dropped it back at the outer edge, he's just me, started over again.
4) Kay(2), now known as K2. The most beautiful little cotton bundle of smiles to grace the planet since J did. Since she appeared the only reason I want to leave the house is to earn money to buy her stuff.
So that's the 'who', now for the 'where'. We are currently crammed into Kay Towers, our own Orwellian garret with a beautiful view of acres of greenery. Well, maybe one acre. And it's a graveyard. But it is green. And the neighbours are not really any problem. There's barely enough room for two people, let alone four, (in the garret, not the graveyard, there's hundreds in there) but at the moment we are undercover commoners in the overprivileged West End, and we're still getting away with it. J even goes to their affluent and educationally superb school, and goes to play in the other kids mansions, while telling them he can't return the compliment because we have the marble engravers in re-doing the entrance hall, or we're having the art revalued, or the drawing room floor is being reinforced for the new Steinway, etc. etc.
So until our wheeze is rumbled, we plan to enjoy the benefits of this well-heeled area as long as we can get away with it. A bigger place is obviously the long term plan, but in the current climate we only really have two possible options. The first involves 6 numbers and a bonus ball (aka 'The Torry Pension'). The second means finding a different well-heeled society out of town to cuckoo. And it seems our friends have already booked all the cool surrounding villages for themselves, their appearance obviously sending the property values soaring wherever they go. So here we are, for the forseeable at least. To be honest we still love the little place, but, well, y'know, bring on the crash...
