It might be my age, but I have serious problems with this. Most of toiled at our labour, whether we were butler, baker, carpet -maker, undertaker, teacher, or what have you. Once every seven days, usually on a Thursday, a jolly man would come around and had you a little brown envelope stuffed with notes and coins (the quantity varying according to the value you master placed on you). It was then up to you what you did with it. Teenagers such as myself were under strict orders to bring the wage packet home UNOPENED, as indeed were many husbands. The chatelaine would then extract what she considered necessary to run the household for the coming week and graciously return a few coins to the male providers as "beer and baccy money".
During the late sixties and early seventies we were encouraged for reasons of "security" to draw our wages via a bank. Fair enough, but I am not going to throw good money after bad by paying charges to get my own money out of the bank simply because the boss is too lazy to be arsed to send someone round with the dosh.
You may think me a bit bitter and reactionary. If you do, then you are probably correct. As I slide slowly and inexorably towards my grave I can but reflect that life as a youth in the sixties held far more attractions than those on offer to today's youth.
It is sad to grow old and infirm, but my one consolation is that I can look back to the early sixties and know that in those days I could at least walk down the street with a Woodbine in my mouth and not have some silly crazed health nut telling me that it was bad for me.
Rant over (till the kettle's boiled)