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[ 4 Minute read ]
Claim the Bike!
I had the most embarrassing fun in my village shop today. I went there to buy something specific but on the way I stopped to collect some quince (or quinces) - two units of quince anyway. I have never seen a quince before and was quite puzzled what to do with them. This year, many people are sharing their surplus fruit. I would be pleased if my 'good neighbour' policy has enhanced the desire to share, from how it used to be in my village.
Realistically, it could only be a better attitude in my road that the residents take with them to other roads. Who knows what futures we change by being friendly?
I get on pretty well with the local shop keeper. Well, at least he doesn't watch me on his CCTV monitor....I think. I went into his shop and then couldn't remember why I was there, so I went back out. Outside, I noticed a woman go to the bin where the really, really out of date stuff gets, well, binned. I couldn't see what she was doing so I just waited for her to come back out. When she did. I told her where the shopkeeper puts his free out of date stuff in the shop. She didn't want that; but you never know.
She was after a water-butt and a couple of storage boxes that the shopkeeper had dumped. She had gotten permission from the shopkeeper to take them. There was also a cranky bicycle, sullenly slumped in the corner. I wanted that.
After a long and drawn out conversation with the woman on how to pronounce 'tat'; she had said 'tuurt'. Do you mean 'tut', I asked. She meant, 'tat'. Strangely, she did not have a northern England or Birmingham accent. Glo'll (Glottal) stops and all, I placed her as coming from South London and Sussex. She said she is local. Anyway, she was keen on cornering the shopkeeper and bending him to the idea of letting me take the bike. I knew that I could just ask him and he would say yes, or no. No amount of negotiation or wheedling would change his mind. I quickly escaped her, went into the shop and asked for it. He demurred a bit. I found out why later. The 'Tat Gatherer' woman followed me into the shop and brow-beated him for probably five minutes.
'It's falling apart!' she claimed. 'You don't need it!' and other pushes, and she never asked an open question.
'If I give it to you, are you going to give it to him?' he asked, meaning me.
'Yes! Yes! Him!'
'You can have it then.'
I have to hand it to him, he entertained all of the woman's strident claims. I couldn't get a word in edgeways, except, 'We don't need to do this.' and 'He doesn't need to hear it!' and finally, 'I'll talk to you in a bit,' before I went to find a jar of Marmite. The woman followed me apologising if she had interfered. I told her not. Interfering wasn't what she had done; She had displaced me. I assured her that everything was fine, so she left, but not before trying to make me put the bike in her open-top car and take me and it to my home. I wasn't sure if she liked me or was just bent on ironing out her stress, somehow. Maybe, she was familiar with the lyrics in The Eurythmics, 'Love is a Stranger' song. (Love is a stranger in an open car. To tempt you in and drive you far away). I taught myself to dance to that when I was in love with a beautiful and exotic Russian woman. No, I wasn't going in this woman's open car, and I certainly wasn't going to show her where I live, even though I don't keep rabbits.
At the counter, the shopkeeper and I smiled at each other. I told him that I didn't need the bike but intended to repair it. I suggested he reconsider giving it to me when he said he was thinking of keeping it, but he added that it had been rusting in the same place for over a year. He said I should take it. The conversation was calm and respectful; just as it should be, and we both expect it to be so. I don't do manic persuasion, and he doesn't do spiteful or selfish refusal.
Half an hour at home with the bike and I had it ride-able, after I rejoined the chain and secured the wheels with spare wheel nuts. I will probably fix it up with spare parts after I have resprayed it, and give it to him as a gift, if he wants it. But it will be in a queue for about a year because I have others to mend, use for donor parts, and just move around my home, until I make a decision to do something more expensive than I can afford to do, with the worst of them. They need a lot of attention.
Claim the Bike!
All my posts: https://learn1.open.ac.uk/mod/oublog/view.php?u=zw219551
or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' to eliminate caldwell returns (take note of the position of the minus sign) or 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser.
I am not on YouTube or social media
[ 4 Minute read ]
Claim the Bike!
I had the most embarrassing fun in my village shop today. I went there to buy something specific but on the way I stopped to collect some quince (or quinces) - two units of quince anyway. I have never seen a quince before and was quite puzzled what to do with them. This year, many people are sharing their surplus fruit. I would be pleased if my 'good neighbour' policy has enhanced the desire to share, from how it used to be in my village.
Realistically, it could only be a better attitude in my road that the residents take with them to other roads. Who knows what futures we change by being friendly?
I get on pretty well with the local shop keeper. Well, at least he doesn't watch me on his CCTV monitor....I think. I went into his shop and then couldn't remember why I was there, so I went back out. Outside, I noticed a woman go to the bin where the really, really out of date stuff gets, well, binned. I couldn't see what she was doing so I just waited for her to come back out. When she did. I told her where the shopkeeper puts his free out of date stuff in the shop. She didn't want that; but you never know.
She was after a water-butt and a couple of storage boxes that the shopkeeper had dumped. She had gotten permission from the shopkeeper to take them. There was also a cranky bicycle, sullenly slumped in the corner. I wanted that.
After a long and drawn out conversation with the woman on how to pronounce 'tat'; she had said 'tuurt'. Do you mean 'tut', I asked. She meant, 'tat'. Strangely, she did not have a northern England or Birmingham accent. Glo'll (Glottal) stops and all, I placed her as coming from South London and Sussex. She said she is local. Anyway, she was keen on cornering the shopkeeper and bending him to the idea of letting me take the bike. I knew that I could just ask him and he would say yes, or no. No amount of negotiation or wheedling would change his mind. I quickly escaped her, went into the shop and asked for it. He demurred a bit. I found out why later. The 'Tat Gatherer' woman followed me into the shop and brow-beated him for probably five minutes.
'It's falling apart!' she claimed. 'You don't need it!' and other pushes, and she never asked an open question.
'If I give it to you, are you going to give it to him?' he asked, meaning me.
'Yes! Yes! Him!'
'You can have it then.'
I have to hand it to him, he entertained all of the woman's strident claims. I couldn't get a word in edgeways, except, 'We don't need to do this.' and 'He doesn't need to hear it!' and finally, 'I'll talk to you in a bit,' before I went to find a jar of Marmite. The woman followed me apologising if she had interfered. I told her not. Interfering wasn't what she had done; She had displaced me. I assured her that everything was fine, so she left, but not before trying to make me put the bike in her open-top car and take me and it to my home. I wasn't sure if she liked me or was just bent on ironing out her stress, somehow. Maybe, she was familiar with the lyrics in The Eurythmics, 'Love is a Stranger' song. (Love is a stranger in an open car. To tempt you in and drive you far away). I taught myself to dance to that when I was in love with a beautiful and exotic Russian woman. No, I wasn't going in this woman's open car, and I certainly wasn't going to show her where I live, even though I don't keep rabbits.
At the counter, the shopkeeper and I smiled at each other. I told him that I didn't need the bike but intended to repair it. I suggested he reconsider giving it to me when he said he was thinking of keeping it, but he added that it had been rusting in the same place for over a year. He said I should take it. The conversation was calm and respectful; just as it should be, and we both expect it to be so. I don't do manic persuasion, and he doesn't do spiteful or selfish refusal.
Half an hour at home with the bike and I had it ride-able, after I rejoined the chain and secured the wheels with spare wheel nuts. I will probably fix it up with spare parts after I have resprayed it, and give it to him as a gift, if he wants it. But it will be in a queue for about a year because I have others to mend, use for donor parts, and just move around my home, until I make a decision to do something more expensive than I can afford to do, with the worst of them. They need a lot of attention.
My local shop is so much fun.