User avatarMrs Miggins thinks big

What’s that crafty (and also hugely desirable) old property tycoon up to now?

Last we heard of Mrs Miggins, some years ago, she was fitting out her properties with those chrome fittings and understated (yet ostentatious) gardens. But the other day I was in Farringdon when I stumbled across the fateful property where we first encountered her.

75 Farringdon Road: 25,000 Sq Ft of Exceptional Office Space

It looks like the house where I, or possibly Ian, it was never really made clear in the lyrics, first fell for Mrs Miggins, has been pulled down and is going to be replaced with some stylish offices instead.

My first thought, of course, was sadness: sadness that a place that meant so much to me, or possibly Ian, had been swept away in the blink of an eye to further expand the Miggins real estate empire.

But then I thought no, let’s embrace the change. I propose that we immediately put in a bid to rent some office space there for the official Pouring Beans offices. We’ve been working from home much too long; it’s time we established a base for ourselves. And there could be no more appropriate address than 75 Farringdon Road. I’m ready to chip in my fiver.

23 comments to Mrs Miggins thinks big

  • She never told me (or you). I (or possibly you should) feel so betrayed!

  • I know. It’s incredibly sad for either me or you, whichever it is that should be sad. Elton John got it right when he wrote that song about Mrs Miggins: “it’s a sad, sad situation”.

    I think he called his song something other than “75 Farringdon Road” in the end, to avoid it being confused with the Papples classic, but we all knew what he was on about.

  • Yeah, it’s like when David Bowie wrote that song ‘Oh My God’ and then called it something else that had nothing to do with it.

    I do love ‘It’s a sad, sad situation’ by Elton John.

  • Yeah, that’s a great song, and that’s definitely its name.

    I’ve chipped in my fiver now. Is anyone else chipping anything in? I don’t think a fiver is going to be enough on its own to take out a long-term lease on an office in this swishy new building. I reckon £15 will get us there.

  • As we did, or did not, I can’t remember, learn in the previous post I am no good with business. I will have to leave it to you Big Men types and settle up later.

  • Can you just send me a fiver?

  • When did I ever ‘just’ do anything, Chris? Tell me one instance where you gave me a simple command and I followed it without any nonsense or any songs, or any jibber jabber?

  • I… no, you’re right, that’s never happened.

    On the other hand, none of your nonsense/jibber jabber/fol-de-rol has ever ended up with you giving me a fiver, so if that is actually going to be the outcome, I’m prepared to put up with it.

  • Whether it is you and I whom should be receiving a fiver for the betrayal of Mrs Miggins is still unclear. So why don’t you give me the fiver first and then, if necessary, I can always hand it back to you later?

  • No no no. Don’t start confusing matters. The fiver is to pay for the office space at 75 Farringdon Road. It’s unrelated to your, or possibly my, heartbreak re. the Miggins affair. Fiver transfer is a one-way street around here, from your wallet to my greasy palm.

  • I don’t remember how this conversation started so cough up the dough ray me far so la tee dough so I can go get my nails done.

  • I though you only just got them done? They looked good with those little unicorns on them.

  • Thanks mate. I like to ensure that even if my face isn’t up to scratch that at least my nails are.

  • None of this is getting two fivers from your wallets into my bank account.

  • If you could prove that the very same £5 note I gave you from my wallet would be sat in a vault (or designated area of a vault) specifically given over to the storage of the money in your accounts, then I shall hand it over.

  • Nooooo. A bank will stick my fiver in the cashiers till and add a 5 to the balance of his account. I want my exact fiver to be stored in his account. THE EXACT ONE.

  • I am willing to agree to that, but in return I must insist that you do not ask for any proof whatsoever.

  • I’m sorry, I just don’t have any faith in you or your business idea. I’m out.

  • Well… then… I don’t have any faith in your fiver.


  • My fiver is solid. Solid I tells ya. Unlike your shifty business ideas.

  • What has your solid fiver does for us lately though, Kev?

  • Fivers shouldn’t be solid. They should be flimsy. The flimsy ones are the best ones.

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