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ARKWRIGHT - THE INDEPENDENT VOICE
The holiday didn't quite go to plan but once I'd been discharged from hospital things seemed to pick up. The flight went fine; I wasn't that nervous surprisingly and as a believer in accepting in-flight hospitality any shaky moments I did have soon evaporated. Scheduled flights definitely work out cheaper for someone like me who likes to have more than their share of the drinks trolley! Disappointingly spirits are no longer available on the early morning flights apparently (dawn had already broken so not that early really) but wine sufficed.
Blue skies welcomed us in Geneva and I could feel my joints ease, things were looking good. Then it struck! Aahhh! As we left the baggage hall a whirling luggage trolley broke lose from someone's grip and crashed into the back of my ankle. The result being that before I'd so much as put my big toe in a ski boot my leg was in plaster but on the plus side, despite an unplanned excursion to the hospital and missing lunch, we were in Chamonix in comfortable time for après ski. High on painkillers I was left in the corner of a bar singing, "Always look on the bright side" while the others went off to get their skis and boots.
During the stay I drew on the skills gained at my French classes and that proved enormously successful until one afternoon I nonchalantly asked a waitress for "deux chocolates chats" instead of "deux chocolates chauds". I don't know what came over me to make such a mistake but she was obviously used to idiot English and before I could correct myself she said, "I can do chocolate eggs, chocolate rabbits or chocolate chicken" (it being near Easter) "but chocolate cats, mmm, not really that popular". Not wishing to lose face I started to bluff that cats are a traditional part of Easter in England. With that the waitress lost her smile, dropped her order pad and said in perfect English "I can see you've hurt your leg but did you hit your head at the same time? Cats have nothing to do with Easter, except possibly in your would-be bi-lingual mind. Now, do you want two hot chocolates or will you hop off like the chocolate bunnies?" I suggested she might enjoy a refresher course at the charm school before taking my custom elsewhere.Back from the holiday I was shocked at the new England shirt unveiled while I'd been gone...
Back from the holiday I was shocked at the new England shirt unveiled while I'd been gone. But if the world can have the wool pulled over its eyes for years by a load of bankers and politicians why should I be surprised at this embarrassment being passed off as "an innovative design philosophy" and the rip-off price that goes with it. Much of my cynicism now rubs off on Saturday Boy, he was equally appalled at the new offering and is adamant he won't be getting one. In fact his view is that if only all supporters would wear their lucky knickers when England play results could improve dramatically and, even better, if the players wore some lucky knickers too (their own or their WAGS as some of them have been reported having a penchant for), 1966 would no longer be the only year when we stood tall in the beautiful game. I gave up stocking the replica shirt when Umbro shafted us all a few years ago but with some old aertex shirts I found at the back of the stock room, a couple of waterproof felt tips and the help of next door's six-year-old (correction: six and a half as he reminded me when he explained why he had numbered one of the shirts thus), I've made some pretty good copies. Most find them hard to tell apart from the real thing and any misgivings are soon dealt with once they hear my bargain price.
What I consider was a design fault at the time our premises were built means the chippy created an overgenerous window ledge and as a consequence people think they can use it as a resting place for their bottoms or a foot rest while they tie their laces, much to my irritation. I've tried asking them nicely to desist from doing so, tapped the window and motioned to shoo them away and on occasions even shouted at the most annoying; all to very little co-operation. I was ranting about it again recently when Saturday Boy said, "Calm down Sir Alan," (he likes playing The Apprentice) "I'll fix ‘em". He went off to wash the windows then, shortly after he'd finished and was back in the shop, we heard a commotion outside and when we looked a couple were sitting on the window ledge. "I thought you were going to fix ‘em," I said sarcastically. Saturday Boy smirked, "They are fixed. Totally fixed. I spread Superglue on the ledge, they're not going anywhere".
