An expensive trip!

Dear Bloggie,

                     Our sport has become an expensive pass time. Gone are the days when a pair of pumps, a used pullover and some old rugby shorts would do for a trudge here, there and everywhere, and even an occasional race. Now you have to look like a cat walk model with the de rigor gear before you dare venture out of the changing rooms. The price of shoes, racing and training, continues to spiral. I don’t lycra the increase in the price of clothing either. But it’s the expense of training that really grates me. Take for example; last Thursday I wrote to you telling that I had trudged home from the track training night for my session. And I had taken yet another tumble on the way. And the cost … ? I also informed you that I had damaged the plate which houses my false teeth. And the cost …? I had my teeth in my glove as I hit the ground running. And, although not biting myself as has happened in the past, I did manage to dent cum twist the plate as I hit the ground running.  And the cost … ? At home after showering, I tried to eat but the pain in my mouth from my remodeled plate made it impossible. The removal of a shard of metal from the plate which was sticking in my gums helped a little but the damage was done – to my gums! They just wouldn’t fit in my mouth without intense pain. Mouthwatering pain with a capital ‘P’. Over the weekend, repeated attempts to eat with my plate in place proved fruitless even though it was softer and easier to eat than steak! My gums were cut too badly and my food had to be cut, sadly so I could avoid starvation. So it was to the dentist I went. Very nice of the receptionist to fit me in at thirty minutes’ notice. Up the stairs I went and explained to the dentist man that I had had a hand in the plate bending. He looks and he sees and saws the plate down. Eight seconds maximum it took him to grind my plate down. It fit like a glove when it was fitted back into my mouth, just like the one I was wearing when I took a tumble and damaged the plate. Ironic? Walking back down the stairs to the receptionist, I thought that I should have given him a couple of quids for a drink for performing such a satisfactory job so very quickly. I gave the receptionist my signed form still procrastinating as to whether I should tip £2 or £2.50, but as that nice Mr. Cameroon’s friend, Ossie Osborn has just reduced the duty on beer, I had virtually decided on a £2 tip when the receptionist asked me for £17:50 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Stone me, I was thinking of treating the dentist to a drink not booking a bloody three course meal for him and his missus (plus wine). And then the trouble started. I don’t do money. Never had. Never. No need. As a kid I never had any. As a University student at the Pink Panther University, all my fees etc. were paid by the Local Education Authority. And when I started to work, along came the future Mrs. Kirkham who took charge of the family finances, even before she was family. Never needed quids.

           Luckily I had my credit card with me. Not that I have ever used it. My wife got two from our bank and she kindly gave me one. Don’t know why!! I only happened to have it with me today because I keep it in the same pouch as my O.A.P. bus pass. I gave the receptionist the card (credit not B.P.) and she messed about a bit behind the desk and gave me a machine with my card still attached. I thought it was stuck fast and she was unable to release it. So I gave it a tug and it came out easi peasy. No problem there then. As I was putting the card back in my pouch she told me that she wanted my pin. My pin??? Yes my pin number. Sorry missus, I don’t have a clue about my pin number, I have never used it. Blog, I would not lie to you. I have never seen a soap on the television set. Blog, would I lie to you? I have never made a withdrawal of money from one of those holes in the wall things. Blog, would I lie to you? I have never eaten in a McDonalds. Blog, would I lie to you? So I would not lie about my usage of my credit card, would I Blog? Sorry Missus, no can do. ‘Have you any cash to pay with???’ She does not really believe me when I tell her I do not carry money around the country with me. I don’t do money. Never had. Never. No need. As a kid I never had any. As a University student at the Pink Panther University all my fees etc. were paid by the Local Education Authority. And when I started to work, along came the future Mrs. Kirkham who took charge of the family finances before we were a family. Never needed any quids. And now I cannot contact my dear wife because she does not keep her mobile phone switched on. Never. Never has. No need. And even if she had her mobile switched on, which she wouldn’t have, it would be of no use because I don’t know how to use a mobile phone. If I said that I gave up such modern paraphernalia with the four pennies in the slot and press button A, Blog, I would not be lying to you. So it was a standoff. The “O.K. Corral” all over again. She wanted the money and I didn’t have any money. Simple. Who would be the one to leave Tombstone standing? Me or the receptionist? The other lady behind the desk could see things were turning nasty. She grabbed the machine which had nearly eaten my credit card, pressed a few buttons, and then asked me to sign several yards (metres to you Blog) of paper which came spewing from the machine. ‘It is like when we take your credit card number over the phone’ she explained to me as if I were a child not understanding what was going on. I explained to her as if she were a child that she wouldn’t be taking my credit card number over the phone because I don’t use a credit card over, under or without a phone. I rarely use a phone and never a mobile phone. Never. No need. She smiled. Bless. I did not bother to explain to her that the dentist had spent eight seconds rectifying my plate problem and I had been charged an arm and a leg. If the dentist happened to work the same hours as the average British work man, every week for a year allowing for two weeks unpaid holiday with his family to visit Blackpool like the plebs tend to do, he would have a salary of £800,496.50 per annum (‘each year’ to you Blog. ‘Per annum’ is your actual Latin. I had to do Latin at my Northern Grammar School instead of woodwork which I preferred; but the staff at the said grammar school put me in the top set and it was only the plebs, as in plebeians, that did the woodwork and chiseling and stuff ‘cos it was essential that in later life they would earn many more quids than I did teaching their sprogs, while they ripped me off building my new kitchen. You can’t amas a fortune teaching but amo spent building a kitchen can amount many quids )

So Thursday’s 6 mile (9.5 kilometres to you Blog) trudge cost me nearly twenty quids!!! A taxi would have been cheaper?

                                         Colin

P.S. In the past, I have given you some hot tips from my friends in high places before the press and the general public has been informed. So, hows about this then Blog? Keep it under your hat but remember where you first heard it ….. in the next edition of Burke’s Peerage validation has been established that Michael Ibsen, the Canadian living in London who provided the D.N.A. which was used to confirm the identity of King Richard 111, is really the true heir to the English throne, the direct descendant!!! So it’s King Michael and none of you Queen Katie nonsense stuff after all. A court case to establish King Michael’s claim is scheduled for the High Court next January. Would I lie to you Blog? Apparently, there is consternation in Buckingham Palace. Her son believes the former Queen Elizabeth has made a right Charlie out of him. Meanwhile, the former Prince Phillip was reported to be going back to Greece until he heard about their debt crisis. He has decided to move his personal wealth to Cyprus instead. And the corgi’s are reported to be off their old chum. Ibsen, Henrik not Michael, could not conceive of such a plot for one of his plays!!!!

P.P.S. Did I ever tell you about the sculptures scattered over my estate Blog? Thought you might be interested. The yoiks in the village are. Come up and gorpe at them quite often, they do. Here’s one of my favourites entitled “Black September”. Enjoy!