Tableland (7 page)

Julie made delicious beef goulash for dinner today.

‘One of Una's recipes,' she said. ‘You'll have to let Una have your special Christmas trifle recipe,' I replied. Am sure that Julie is as good a cook in her own way as Una.

Decided to go for walk in the afternoon as we were all feeling rather full and had a pleasant stroll round the estate remarking on all the gardens in various stages of development and the cars, caravans and boats. Saw one or two familiar faces which made us feel as if we really belong in Weston now.

Have put my name down for a course in “New Selling Methods” to take place in September in Manchester, and hope this will not go unnoticed by the “powers that be”.

Totally unexpected surprise in the post today, note from Derek Wineglass inviting us over to visit him and his wife, Marlene, at their new bungalow at Heaton Moor. Felt very flattered as only met him for the first time last month at the building exhibition in Liverpool.

As his telephone number was written at the top of the letter, I was eager to ring him at the first opportunity this evening and accept, but was thwarted every time I tried. That wretched man Butt apparently speaking to his bookmaker.

Whoever slipped that pair of lady's frilly briefs (or whatever one calls them) in amongst my samples had better look out! It was not funny. I can take a joke as well as the next man but this was over-stepping the bounds of decency and I was highly embarrassed as they fell out of my case on the aforementioned neo-Georgian housing estate, where I was trying yet again to impress O'Hooligan with my wares.

I tried to roll the panties up and lose them in my sleeve and was almost successful but unfortunately they fell out when I was waving my arm at a door case.

Quick as a flash, O'Hooligan's old Alsatian appeared from nowhere and ran off with them – thinking no doubt that it was all part of some game.

‘What's that dog got now,' O'H shouted. ‘Don't worry, it's only an old handkerchief,' I said. ‘Don't bother – really.'

‘Drop, Slasher, drop,' he persisted. ‘There's a good boy.' Slasher obliged, rolled over on to his back and waved his legs in the air.

A few bricklayers, working nearby, happened to glance up as O'H seized the by now tattered pink garment from Slasher's mouth and held it up for all to see.

‘Yours, I believe,' he said and there were laughs all round at my expense. It quite put me off my stride and I couldn't concentrate on the business in hand after that. Although I explained, at some length, about it being April Fool's Day, I don't believe O'Hooligan was convinced and he said, ‘I understand' in a way which I can only describe as meaningful.

Will be heartily glad when Avery leaves on the 24th as I am sure this was his idea of a joke and typically childish.

Spent a tiring morning at large packing-case factory and tried to engage the interest of a Mr Cadwallader with specific reference to our new line in soft woods for their pallet making. Nearly talked myself hoarse extolling the virtues of our deal but ‘I can't make any definite promises, I'll let you know in due course' was all the response I received. I wouldn't call myself an ill-tempered chap, in fact I've always been renowned for my pleasant and easy-going disposition, but when I arrived home this evening feeling justifiably weary and Trev immediately launched into yet another thousand and one reasons why we should have a dog, I really saw red.

Julie did not help matters by taking his side. She kept saying, ‘A boy really needs a pet' or some such foolish words.

‘Why not a hamster then or a goldfish?' I replied. ‘You can't take a hamster or a goldfish for walks,' Trev said in a sneering manner.

‘And have you thought about when we go on holiday? Have you thought of that, eh? Oh no, nor the cost.'

There were raised voices, I'm afraid, and, to crown it all, in the midst of all this, who should knock on the door but Steve.

‘Hope I'm not interrupting anything.' It was perfectly obvious to everyone that he was but I put a good face on it, I hope, and replied as cheerfully as I could, ‘No, nothing at all.'

It turned out that he wished to buy some wood for an outdoor barbecue eating bench and wanted some advice. I must say it was the last thing I felt like discussing but I gave the matter some attention, for which I think he was grateful, and I also promised to see if I could get some hard wood off-cuts from the mill for him.

Our tempers were cooled somewhat after this diversion but I stuck to my guns. We are not having a dog and that is final.

I find it hard to understand that after all I said yesterday, Trevor is still persisting with this wild notion of having a dog. I would never have dared to go against my father in this way. I am no dog lover – possibly due to the fact that I was bitten on the ankle by one when I was a small boy.

Called round at the Downes' this morning to see how the patio is coming along. Ken Dugeon turned up and there was the usual jocular banter between us as we had a beer in the kitchen.

‘Yes, I think we should have many a convivial summer evening out here. A few bottles of plonk – the old sausages and kebabs sizzling away, the soft sound of music and the girls wearing their Laura Ashleys. I can see it now.' We stared at the pile of paving slabs as it rained steadily.

Watched the Grand National in the afternoon on the television. We were pleased to be sitting by a warm fire as the race course looked wet, windy and cold. Had a flutter on the horses amongst ourselves. I never bet more than twenty-five pence myself as the story of Great Uncle Bill and how he lost the family fortune, such as it was, on the horses has become a family legend.

Recalled the name of a horse I had heard by accident the other evening when attempting to phone Derek Wineglass. Butt had repeated the name Spunky Lad frequently so decided to put my money on this one. None of us won – Spunky Lad fell at the first fence.

Feel so angry after what happened today that I can hardly bring myself to write about it.

I shall start at the beginning. I was just settling down for forty winks after dinner when there was a knock at the door. It was Trev's friend Craig, who said, ‘I've come for Trev. We're doing bob-a-Job week together.' Trev dashed upstairs to put on his uniform and they banged out of the house.

They reappeared at supper time and I should have realised by Trev's air of excitement and flushed face that something was up. As indeed it was. They nudged each other, winked and giggled over the meal until Julie said sharply, ‘Now, stop it, you two. If you've got a secret, why can't you let us all share it?' Trev, choking over a digestive biscuit, finally gasped out ‘I've got a dog!'

I remember shouting, ‘You've got what?' twice I think.

‘A dog.'

‘Yes – he has really,' Craig said. ‘We went to this house and asked this old woman there if we could do a bob-a-Job and she said, “Yes – I'll give you fifty pence if you get rid of this dog for me.” So we did.'

Trying desperately to keep my temper, I asked as calmly as I could, ‘Where is the animal?' And then came the coup de grâce.

‘In the garage – in your car.'

That did it. I swore, jumped up from the table, knocking over my chair, and rushed out to the garage, where I heard whimpering and scratching. Out of my car leapt a moth-eaten, mangy, smelly cur, then it vanished into the night. I think I have rarely been so angry.

My first concern, naturally, was for my car. The inside smelt terrible and the upholstery was covered in hairs. But the worst thing was the dashboard, which was badly scratched. How I will ever get it to look good again, I really do not know.

By this time, Julie had joined me and was saying, ‘Don't be too hard on him.'

I replied ‘You should never have encouraged him in the first place.'

‘If you'd been more reasonable and had promised him a nice little dog, this never would have happened.' I have never been unreasonable.

When Trevor appeared and yelled, ‘Where's my dog?' I felt I had had enough and retired quickly to the Cock and Bull for a quiet drink and a little reasonable company.

Returning home, I found Butt on our doorstep being most offensive to Julie. ‘What's this all about?' I demanded. ‘Your dog has wrecked my new rose bushes, dug up half my lawn, scratched the paintwork on my boat, bitten Lulu Belle's leg so that my wife has had to take her to the vet and…'

‘Stop!' I protested. ‘It is not my dog.'

‘Oh yes it is – I heard that boy of yours calling it – so you needn't try to get out of your responsibilities that way. I shall calculate the damage and you will get a bill in due course.' And with that he stormed away.

It was useless to explain anything to the man in such a mood (his language was very strong and I have obviously censored this entry for my diary). I hope my slamming of the front door told him exactly how I felt about his outburst. What on earth will the neighbours think?

Julie was quite upset so I put the kettle on for a cup of tea. The saga, however, was not yet finished. The front doorbell rang and it was Trevor – breathless but triumphant, saying, ‘I caught it.'

My eyes travelled downwards and there was the offending creature being held by a piece of string. I was horror stricken, ‘It's not coming in here.' Another argument ensued. It was raining by now and quite late. A desperate compromise was reached whereby I moved my car from the garage, we tied the dog up in there so that he could do no more damage and I told Trev quite frankly that I would take the animal to the police station first thing tomorrow morning.

As I write, I can hear whining from the garage and am just waiting for one of the neighbours to ring up and complain. Julie said, ‘Do you think it's given us fleas?'

Was as good as my word and first thing this morning – despite Trev's protestations – I took the dog to the police station in a cardboard box.

‘We found him wandering in Springcroft Meadow. He is obviously lost,' I explained to the officer as he took my name and address.

‘Right, sir, we'll see what we can do. We'll keep him here for a fortnight and if nobody has claimed him by then you may keep him.' And he vanished with the dog through the door before I had time to say, ‘No way.'

Anyway, the whole matter is off my mind now and before I went to work I visited a garage to see what could be done about the dashboard.

‘We'll need to have your car in for a whole day,' said the assistant. ‘How about Wednesday?' ‘No, impossible I'm afraid,' I replied. ‘Can we make it next Tuesday?'

I shall have to arrange for Brimcup to pick me up from the garage and return me there in the evening. I hope he will be able to do this.

Feel quite shaken by recent events and after ‘phoning Derek Wineglass and arranging for us all to go over to Heaton Moor next Saturday – which will be Easter Saturday, decided to have an early night.

April 7th – Tuesday

Bumped into Brimcup this morning as I was about to go on my rounds and was able to arrange the visit to the garage next Tuesday – he is a good chap.

Had not forgotten to enquire about some off-cuts for Steve at the mill and contacted Mr Treddle, the foreman, who was most obliging.

We could just make ourselves heard above the noise of the circular saws whining.

‘Will this be enough?' he said as we loaded it carefully on to my roof rack. ‘I think this will be ample, and thank you very much for your trouble,' I replied and slipped him the price of a couple of pints, which seemed to please him.

Steve was delighted with the wood. He was just off to squash when I called. He said, ‘Just leave it in the garage, there's a good fellow.'

Received a letter written on personally printed notepaper this morning from our old friends the Elkes.

Dear All,

As we shall be passing quite near you on our way up to the Lake District on the 20th, we thought we'd stop by and say hello. Looking forward to seeing your new home and having a good laugh about the old days in Southmere.

Should be with you about six.

Joe and Pam

What a cheery couple they are. It will be good to see them again and talk over old times.

Julie and I started to reminisce. ‘Do you remember our trips to Knock-Offs Discount Stores and the funny little Chinese restaurant nearby?'

‘Yes – the night when the lights went out and all the waiters started hissing'

‘You can laugh about it now, but I remember you being terrified at the time and nearly poking Jo's eye out with a chopstick,' I reminded Julie.

Kept awake last night by sounds of revelry coming from the Butts' house. A very noisy party with discotheque – made our whole house vibrate. Would most certainly have gone next door to complain but, remembering the incident with the dog, thought it wise to keep silent this once. Thank goodness they are off to Majorca tomorrow and there will be some peace and quiet in the road.

Slack day at work as everyone is in the Easter holiday mood including myself.

Spent most of the day tinkering with the car, in readiness for our trip to the Wineglass' tomorrow. Trev helped me to polish the chrome and the only thing which mars the appearance is the ruined dashboard, which I hope will not be noticed.

We were due at Moor Top at 12.30 but were somewhat late due to Easter traffic and, more especially, Julie's hopeless map reading. Derek had sent a fairly detailed plan of how to get there but we took a wrong turning twice. In desperation I handed the map to Trev but that wasn't much better.

‘There should be a church there,' he announced, pointing to a pub.

I stopped the car. ‘It is now half past twelve,' I said, consulting my watch. ‘We should be ringing their doorbell at this very minute, and here we are.'

‘Where?' asked Trev.

‘That's just the point,' I said, ‘we don't know.'

We stopped some children and asked the way but they just made faces at us. We had more luck with an old lady carrying a bag of fish and chips, which smelt delicious and made us realise how hungry we were.

‘Turn right at the traffic lights, then take the third turning on the left and that will bring you into City Road,' she said.

Somehow the names Moor Top and Heaton Moor had conveyed a less urban scene than now confronted us, although I suppose we should have been prepared by City Road.

‘I imagined we'd all go for a walk over the moors and perhaps find a little stream,' said Julie.

‘There's your stream,' I replied, pointing to a sluggish, olive- coloured canal.

We found the bungalow at last and rang the musical chimes doorbell. Derek appeared most resplendent in an Aran sweater. I had forgotten what he looked like as we had only met once, however, he soon made us feel at home and introduced us to Marlene, their two sons – Sheridan and Crispin – and their mynah bird called Reg, who kept giving ear-piercing shrieks. The boys all went off to inspect a railway layout and Derek said, ‘Can I offer you two good people a drink?'

‘That's very civil of you, I must say. A gin and tonic would slip down very well as it were.'

‘Ah, we have something better than that, haven't we, Marl?' he said and, going to a small cocktail cabinet in the sitting room, he threw open a door to reveal bottle upon bottle of homemade wine – all meticulously labelled and dated.

‘Now what is it to be?' Beer freshly brewed two weeks ago some Sloe Gin or some of the boy's speciality – ginger beer?'

I gasped with amazement and admiration. Julie settled for some sloe gin and I thought I would try home-brewed beer. Very good it was too. Derek topped up my glass while we went on a tour of inspection of the bungalow.

‘And this is my brew house,' said Derek, opening the door of what I guess should have been the cloakroom. It was full of large glass containers with tubes coming out of the top, packets, boxes and paper bags marked Yeast, Sugar etc. Suddenly a bottle in the corner exploded and gave me quite a start. ‘Ah, that reminds me, the ginger beer – I must tell the boys to feed it.'

With our meal we had a choice of Chateau Moor Top (a blackberry and elder wine) or a light, dry crab apple. I ended up by sampling both and afterwards while we talked “shop” in front of the flickering logs of the electric fire, and the girls did the dishes, I had an excellent glass or two of homemade raspberry liqueur.

Derek was explaining Mr Woodnut's latest plans for expansion and the proposed visit of Mr Grappling from head office, when I must have dozed off. The mynah bird gave a sudden scream and I came to my senses. Don't think Derek noticed anything amiss, although he did say, ‘How about a spot of fresh air, then?'

We explored the small back garden, which Derek has great hopes of turning into a vineyard.

Felt that perhaps my chat had become a trifle indiscreet. Remember cracking a joke at Woodnut's expense and also at Grappling's well- known habit of picking his teeth, and hope Wineglass will have the decency never to repeat any of my remarks. I would not like details to get back to respective parties.

As we left and expressed our thanks for such a pleasant day, Derek, while promising to visit us in the near future, pressed a package into my hand, whispering, ‘Beetroot.' Thought perhaps he was referring to the colour of my face, which certainly felt somewhat flushed, but was pleasantly surprised to find package contained a bottle of beetroot and parsnip plonk.