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Arkwright - The Independent Voice
My parcel wrapping skills are about as bad as my window dressing abilities and they are little short of a car crash. I hate both tasks, having little patience for either, so avoid them whenever possible. The family groan at Christmas when I share out my offerings, last year they thought I surpassed myself when I distributed presents roughly wrapped in newspaper; it wasn't the fact I'd used newspaper that caused shocked glances but that I had actually bothered to attempt wrapping them at all that stunned my nearest and dearest. For me there's something so souldestroying about spending considerable time on crimping paper then trimming with ribbons and bows, knowing that it will take only seconds to have the thing ripped apart, and then watch all my hard work go straight in the bin so I just don't bother.
But gift-wrapping was not what my small packet mail out ploy was about; no this was an exercise to register my disgust at the unfairness of scrappage schemes. Over the years governments of differing political persuasions have subsidised the car industry in varying ways, the latest having even given away an entire car company to be plundered by four doubtful characters, so why shouldn't I and other small retailers have a little scrappage payback? To make my point I sent off a couple of "scrap" items: Gordon Brown got a well-worn jockstrap, the elasticity shot to pieces with a note attached saying, "Give retailers the support we need". I found an old accounting book, from the days before I computerised our bookkeeping, thankfully no parcelling up necessary for that as it slipped conveniently into a recycled envelope along with a billet-doux to wing it's way to an MP saying, "Double-entry bookkeeping is a method which was intended to ensure the integrity of financial records, try it, rather than making double-entry claims on your expenses". I couldn't resist sending Lord Meddlesome, Jacqui Smith and various others a compass each; too late for them to see the moral point but recommending they find an honest direction when hopefully they are kicked out of politics.
Ever since I found myself in a rather embarrassing situation at the local rugby club, when I'd mixed up who was married to whom with two couples there that led to a lot of misunderstanding and one divorce, I've been extremely careful to avoid getting involved in other peoples' affairs, in all senses of the word. So it was quite a surprise when Mrs Angry stormed into the shop demanding to know where her husband was. Amidst all the accusations of how could I do such a thing and it was all my fault I established that my crime was to have sold a large squash bag to her husband and that, apparently, was the key to his disappearance. She added, by this time the anger was replaced with sobbing, that she was sure I knew more than I was letting on. Explaining that once we've removed the security tag we do not then install tracking devices or SatNav to our sports bags in order that partners can be traced did nothing to calm her and I quite thought at one point Saturday Boy's sexist squash jokes were going to send her right over the top. "He always used to just take a small backpack and his racket but on Thursday he went off with that enormous new bag and I haven't seen him since!" she said once she'd gained a bit of composure. It did seem a bit strange until I suddenly remembered the giggly female who'd been with her husband when he bought the bag but I thought it better not to mention that as it could be a complete red herring and would probably only drag me into more trouble. Though she had my sympathy I did explain that a refund on the bag wouldn't be possible if her husband did come back. In business you have to be hard but fair.
I'm still enjoying my regular swims first thing in the mornings and some days the gossip you hear over the changing room walls is staggering, certainly more entertaining than most soap operas. Today's revelation wasn't gossip but a health tip: two senior citizens talking about various friends and their ailments, then one lady said, "Thankfully I'm OK. I put that down to swimming and scotch". There was a pause then her friend said, "Does it work with gin?"
