Now I don’t think that I am a vindictive sort of bloke.
I don’t hold grudges or try to get even with anyone for something they said that I didn’t like.
If there is something to be said, let’s get on and say it, and draw a line, ready to start again.
But there is one thing that I don’t like, and if possible avoid like the plague.
Shopping. And if I was a follower of the Roman faith, there would be a repetitive theme at confession time.
‘Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I went into Marks and Spencer on my mobility scooter just to get in everyone’s way.’
I can imagine the penance: ‘Copy out the Cotton Trader’s catalogue three times.’
I have this overpowering urge just to disrupt supermarkets. I dream of going into Tesco on the scooter and pretending to have a breakdown in the fruit and veg aisle (mechanical not nervous).
That’s the aisle where it takes the average housewife 10 minutes to decide which leek to buy for the soup she plans to make for tomorrow’s tea.
I would time this pretend breakdown to happen just after the four members of staff who hide in the stockroom with their full pallet trucks and wait for me to come into the store, have made their preplanned move to block me in. It would cause chaos.
And have you been into one of the Coop supermarkets? Now in my opinion, the staff in the Coop are the best. Shoprite staff are well up there, but the Coop crew have nicer smiles.
But the one snag is the Coop aisles are so narrow, there isn’t enough room for the customers and staff to be there at the same time.
In fact, if you were half a stone overweight, you would never fit between the shelves.
The Coop advertise that they support the Fairtrade movement, which is all well and good. All they need to do now is to make the aisles six inches wider so customers can actually get to the stuff.
But my problem is that I am old enough to remember the days you went into a grocer’s shop, and the staff were all behind the counter and the customers were all in front. The lines were drawn and we all had our comfort zone.
To compare simple things like trips to the shops in the old days with a shopping trip in the present time is like trying to compare the Ben my Chree with Odin’s Raven.
They both float and either one of them is just as likely to collide with the pier as the other, but that’s where the comparisons end.
We all suffer from one or more varieties of ‘comparisonitis’.
One of the most common types , especially affecting the elderly, is ‘nostalgeria’.
This is not like comparing two sandwiches and deciding you prefer tuna and sweetcorn to chicken and ham.
It is like comparing a Melton Mowbray pie with one of Bateson’s pork pies, still warm from the oven, with fresh hot gravy dribbled from a jug into the holes in the crust.
Try this simple test. Do you remember bus conductors? If you say ‘yes’ with a hint of longing in your voice, then you have a severe case of ‘nostalgeria’. You should consult your GP or Terry Cringle as soon as possible.
If you can remember bus conductors and their names, you have terminal ‘nostalgeria’.
There is no cure. Off hand, I can only remember the names of three bus conductors on the Pully routes, but as I’m going back about 60 or 65 years ago, I suppose that I must be diagnosed as incurable.
On a double decker bus, the driver was isolated from the conductor and the passengers. He occupied a little cabin that could only be accessed from the road, which meant that because the passengers got on and off at the rear end of the bus, we never actually saw the driver, face to face.
Whereas the conductor was always in full view. The three names that I can remember, were Josh, Fly and Hector.
Does anyone know Terry Cringle’s phone number?