First of all humble apologies to my missus ( and no, she didn’t tell me to write this ) When I listed my birthday presents over the last few days I gave her credit for a bottle of Balblair whisky and a badge. I quite forgot the beautiful engraved whisky glass she also bought me. We are going to drink a glass of the amber nectar from it tonight. Would have been last night, but I was in a foul mood after Newcastle completely out-played Spurs and still lost.
I had a big outing yesterday and went to my chiropodist Stephen. We put the world to rights and he puts my feet to rights. Or at least tries to. Bit of an uphill struggle. Before I had major surgery on my left foot he was always amazed that I was able to walk let alone run. Then when the tendons went on my left foot, he just nodded wisely as all medical practitioners do, as if to say, “ I told you so. “
But, I am not intending to go into any great detail about my feet. You had enough of them before I visited him last time. My subject is courtesy at pedestrian crossings. Not from car drivers, but from the pedestrian crossers.
When I was at school we had regular visits from lollipop ladies and men to teach us the Highway Code. Off we would go, hand in hand, to a nearby crossing, look right, look left and then look right again. And cross. And if some unfortunate driver had to stop for us and wait and wait and wait until the crocodile had walked over the zebra ( been saving that one since the very first blog. Sounded better in my head. Not so good on paper. But it’s there now so will leave it. As you will have guessed, I rarely edit. ) And then we had to turn to the driver in unison and raise our hands ( or a hand if we were clinging on to another kid with the other one ) in a gesture of thanks.
So, three crossings on the way to the chiropodist and I stopped at every one and did I get a thank you? Not a single one. And what did all the crossers have in common? I would guess not a single one of them was over forty. Mainly really young people, walking in front of my car, chatting and making no eye contact whatsoever. I have to say I was tempted to gun my engine and mow them down or roll down the window and tell them to learn some manners. But, I think that might have been a Victor Meldrew moment. I told myself I was better than that. And I also told myself I was stationary and any one or combination of them could have turned back, reached into my car through either the open window or roof and thumped me.
That’s the problem now. We are scared to engage. On the way back there was the usual gaggle of cars parked up on the pavement outside the three shops at the top of our road. A convenience store ( run by nice guys ) a kebab place which seems to have a defective ventilation system as fumes and smells pour on to the street and a coffee shop. Customers can park within easy walking distance but choose not to. They prefer to break the paving stones and make turning into our road a hazardous exercise. I did roll down my window this time and pointed out that they were on the pavement. The driver ( a young woman ) said nd I quote, “ What do you expect me to do, park on the double yellow lines ? “ Unbelievable.
But, we are hopefully getting our revenge because I am just about ( along with all the other residents who get woken up at 4.00am as the first car roars past at seventy miles an hour ) to get gates put into the road which will stop all traffic. It may stop me getting my own car in and out as well but I am working on that.
Sad little story on the radio as I drove. Little Harry aged 5 lives on a farm and set up his own honesty shop called “ Harry’s Honesty Shop “ It consisted of a sign saying just that and a table. Every day he put out eggs and other stuff from the farm with a little money box and then collected it the next day. Only this week he had been robbed. Cleaned out. All stock and all money. They left the table and the sign and that was that. Somebody tweeted the sad story and he has been inundated with new stock. So much he could open his own “Harry’s Superstore “ I doubt the thieves will ever read this blog, but I hope they hear of the tweets and hand their wretched heads in shame. If the Big V was selective they would be my first pick.
Just one of the little sad stories of our times albeit with a happy ending. I’ve suffered a few major setbacks myself these last few months. No Grand National. No Wimbledon. And now no Brooks Brothers. Well, they are clinging on, but they are in administration or whatever they call it in the States. Chapter XI I think. This is a major problem for me. I wear nothing but Brooks Brothers shirts. I don’t mean I go out wearing just a shirt . I do have underwear and trousers ( often Brooks Brothers too ) and socks and shoes, but I love their shirts. My missus pointed out that I have over fifty of them hanging in my cupboard and I could probably rotate them for the rest of my life. She hates ironing them. Prefers my £5 cotton Marksies t-shirts. Marks and Spencer owned Brooks Brothers for a while. Even sold button down shirts they had cloned from them ( all my shirts have to be button down… it’s my preppy, Mad Men look… no comments about one Mad Man please… the cast did dress almost exclusively in Brooks Brothers clothes ) but Marksies’ efforts didn’t ring my bell.
Let’s hope somebody rescues them.
I did mention a South African cricketer the other day who was subject to racist prejudice all his life. The story was in “ The Cricketer “magazine which is my preferred reading as it contains very little about the Big V, face-masks or any of the other utterly boring stuff that fills the news on tv nowadays. But then, I saw a headline that said, “ Cricket’s Isolation 1920 Style “ and reading on it seems that on board the ship taking England’s cricketers to Australia for a tour in 1920 a case of fever was discovered and the entire team were ushered into isolation upon arrival in Fremantle. They had to stay in army huts at a place called Goodman’s Point ( sounds like a fielding position to me ) for eight days and amused themselves swimming, fishing and playing football. No mention of any cricket practice which is odd because you would have thought there would have been no shortage of nets by the sea. ( that’s my second net joke in two days. )
Anyway, whilst you are splitting your sides laughing I will leave you and if we are spared I will see you all again tomorrow for Blog 100. Will it be the last ? Have we come to the end of Blog Boulevard ? Am I leaving you in suspense or will you all breathe a sigh of relief? Watch this space.