Do you love it? Do you loathe it? Do you care?

No, no, not miserly ... discerning.

 

One has to be very careful to whom, where, and how one complains; the world is (and has always been) full of disguised troglodytes and, regardless of rights and wrongs, if you get stabbed in the belly, you can assert your rights on the roofs’ tops all you like – be they moral, ethical, or legal – it won’t help you much as you bleed to death in the gutter.

Let me tell you what happened to us at the Wandsworth Sainsbury where, before the major renovations, they had a huge carpark divided into various one-way systems; we were exiting (Mme Lab on the pillion), going in the correct direction when, at a turn, we suddenly had before us a giant SUV; both car and bike stopped dead and I then made a series of mistakes. One foot on the tarmac, I raised my arms in a gesture that was meant to appeal to logic; this was greeted by an irate look from the driver (I’ll keep this gender-neutral); on the back seat of the car were two young children; since the driver neither budged nor offered a rationale, I made a second mistake, saying: Are you aware that this is a one-way system? The driver screamed at me: Did you make the road? Uncharacteristically, I was flummoxed by the remark, not understanding its exact meaning. Then came my third mistake: I asked, Will you please move back and let us through? I saw the driver’s eyes momentarily lose all remnants of sanity as she slammed her foot down and came straight at us. Luckily, I was still in gear and could jolt the bike onto the area reserved for pedestrians which, luckily for us all, was deserted.

There had been no way of seeing this coming, especially as there were children in the car (when you would have thought example would have been a prime consideration). But then again, who knows what pressures, situations, traumas, bereavements, bankruptcies (and goodness knows what else) this driver might have been under.

We were taught a lesson, in no uncertain terms, that it is far better, at the first signs of irrationality, to imitate the proverbial bullrush who, before the oak, bends under the storm (*).

(*) yes, I had studied the fable at school but, stupidly, decided to apply it after the event!

 

I had an incident driving a bus in service. As I was driving past parked cars on my side of the road a BMW X5 came from the opposite direction and drove up to within a few feet of my now stationary bus. I just applied the brake and turned the engine off. The BMW driver got out, came to my window, and told me to reverse back as the obstruction was on my side. I told him I was not allowed to reverse (standing orders were I could not reverse without a banksman). He started swearing so I closed my window and phoned the depot, explaining the situation. I then shouted back up the bus that we might be delayed for a spell.
Two minutes later a Panda car arrived and the bobby went over to the BMW and had a word with the driver. He then came over to me and said the chap was refusing to back up. I said if he would guide me back I would happily reverse but he said no, he had radioed for a nearby traffic car and they would sort it out. The traffic car, also an X5, arrived and the two officers went over to the car and a conversation ensuing. The next thing I see is the driver being helped out by a burly bobby holding his upper arm. The other traffic cop got into the BMW and reversed it back up the road. I was then waved through and as I drove past the beetroot-faced driver the cop was writing in his little book. I never heard any more about it.
I did check with my traffic manager that I was in the right and he said very much so.

 

Hello, shiney, good morning, hope you are well!

Sorry to disturb on what must be a peaceful Sunday morning, but Mrs Lab wants to know (and what Mrs Lab wants, Mrs Lab gets!) if you go far back enough to remember listening to Michael van Straten on LBC.

Should your borders in Essex, roses and secateurs allow, please let us know.

 

Whilst hoping you are back “on course”, we are delighted to confirm that you have an excellent memory, the radio in those days was indeed designated as 97.3 FM.

Mrs Lab is thrilled by your recollection because it means that you might remember her dulcet tones dating back to the days when she was still a desirable Mademoiselle (don’t get me wrong, what I mean by that is that she is no longer a Mademoiselle) and, for some three years or so, “appeared” every week on Michael van Straten’s Sunday Afternoon programme as its resident Theatre Critic (don’t ask!); she did her stint and then was unfailingly asked to stay behind to appraise, respond to, or comment on a whole variety of subjects she knew absolutely nothing about; this has had serious repercussions for me because she was thus corrupted to a high-flying way of life which I have been trying to keep up with ever since! “So, tell us what you think of this highly exclusive Beluga caviar, Martina” or “Do you think this Ruinart is quite up to the Bollinger?”

You can imagine she remembers those heady days with great fondness, as the programmes gave her a lot of pleasure, although nothing like as much pleasure as she now gets on her pleasure platform. But still, she regrets — to this day — that the idyll ended when the programme was axed to make way for the then somewhat unknown Frank Skinner; “Who is this young upstart who is going to replace us?” they said bitterly ... well, they know now!

One fond memory was that, on their final day, they all sang together “We’ll Meet Again” with Vera Lynn who was the last studio guest.

The abrupt ending which, for Mrs Lab, had seemed a bit of a storm soon turned to the fairer weather of the Weather Channel.

When I referred to your busy morning, I had no idea it was quite so hectic! That you can you keep it up (for a man who retired last century) is quite remarkable. And the washing up on top of it all. I also do the washing up; it’s such a relief to find it so diminished when the children are away ... and I recycle Mrs Lab’s lunch plate for her dinner.

 

Unless you suffer from insomnia, that, to me, sounds like a dream come true; all these extra hours to indulge the causes and effects of all those countless unexplored passions.

As I say, if it is on sufferance, then I commiserate. But if not, I want the secret.

 

I was amused to be reminded of something you wrote when, this morning, I came across this:


How apt!

 

I'm intrigued....what are these pets that are supposed to be trodden on? Chihuahua spring to mind but whenever I did, the owners got inexplicably upset
Hamsters? No....much too squishy.
Perhaps tortoises in the dormant state? They'd make excellent stepping stones in a Japanese garden....