I am expecting a delivery this morning and when I heard a small truck pull up opposite, I had a look.
Well it gave me a laugh!
Twenty minutes later, I’d also done a deal worthy of Arthur Daley to remove some junk from my hall.
It all shows the value of having a good name for your company and using humour for advertising.
Although some might think some of the wording on the truck was a bit sexist, as they are saying they can clear your life of wives, girlfriends, mother in laws and taxmen.
These seemed to be unique to Krakow.
But surely to stop birds emptying bins they are a good idea.
I had a rare rubbish bag failure this morning.
Despite my stroke, I seem to drop things rarely, but this was caused by a carton of chicken stock, that wasn’t fit for purpose.
I went out this morning to get my paper and collect my laundry and there was mess all over the street.
But by the distinct smell, I could identify the culprit. He’d probably dragged the rubbish from somewhere up the street. It certainly isn’t mine, as I don’t use black bags and I have a fox-proof wheelie-bin.
Whenever I go to Oakwood station, just seeing the parking in front of the station reminds me of a very funny story.
Our next door neighbour, a rather pompous Mancunian, who thought the world revolved around him, just after the Second World War, had a Rover, very much like the one you see in the James Herriott programs on television. My doctor, the wonderfully named Egerton White had one too, as doctors in those days always did. just like they had three-piece suits, a good size corporation and a pocket watch on a gold chain.
Our neighbour, had a garage that was basically a store for his junk. in the middle of the back wall, was an old chest of drawers with large round knobs. He also had the habit of going in a bit close, so that he could shut the garage doors.
One evening, he wanted to get an evening paper. The easiest place to get one, for our neighbour was Oakwood station, where he just parked outside, left the engine running and walked inside the station to get one of the Star, News or Standard.
The picture shows where the papers were sold, from the bench just inside the entrance.
Anyway, he duly backed the Rover out of the garage and proceeded to drive to the station. He always sat high in the car, to emphasise his own importance and was surprised to see people waving and pointing to the front of his car. He just waved back, as my father used to say, when he related the tail, in the style of the King.
When he returned to the car after buying the paper, he realised the reason for all the attention on the trip to the station. He had gone into the garage just a little bit too far, the night before and the bumpers of the Rover had hooked themselves under the knobs on one of the drawers. They were so firmly locked, that when he backed out to get the paper, the car extracted the drawer from the chest and it had stayed balanced there, all the way to the station.
He then took a fateful decision. He decided that as the drawer had stayed there on the journey to the station, it would stay there on the way back.
It did stay there, but as he moved off, the bottom decided to part company from the rest of the drawer and thirty years of accumulated odds and ends, were deposited all over the forecourt of the station.
This table looked all sad and forlorn on its back in the City.
Hopefully, it’s been disposed of humanely.