News from Norfolk: Young Uns

October 21, 2013

2012-09-09 17.36.47

Well Len, there i’nt nothing going on in these here parts so I were right glad to be getting your letter. The blooming tennis is on and everybody’s fallen asleep in front of the box sozzled on that lemon and barley rubbish they sell at Spar now. No bugger would touch the stuff if they weren’t overcome with the horror of seeing grown men running around in white short shorts. I said to Joan no right minded man would be seen dead in shorts shorter than their longs in my day and she had the nerve to say she quite liked them tennis men and their shorts. Well that was that, I had no bloomin’ choice but to go and stand for a while in the back garden. I spent a bit o’ time sorting through the fag butts in my pockets and had a good look at that old wheel I’ve got propped up in the far corner behind the shed. Now you’ll be glad to hear that wheel is coming along nicely. You can only just make it out in them there nettles I planted a few years back and there’s a good amount of rust blooming on the hub. I reckon it will be ready to roll out of there and have a proper look at some time next year.

So you’ve got the Hertfordshire lot there have you? He didn’t come down in the Renault again did he? How’s that rear axle coming along on it? It must be nigh on 3 years since David and that boy of his stuck it together with a tube of Araldite and an old boot lace. We’re right lucky to have someone that mechanically minded we can turn to when there’s a motor that needs fixing. I’ve heard of that formage frais muck they brought you down. My Marion was here a couple of months back and said she were thinking of getting some of it for tea when Sandy and Paul next called. They always bring bags of Fisherman’s mates and them splintered up bit of seaside rock in colours that nobody’s got round to naming yet. Marion feels obliged to match it with something a bit different, but I soon put her straight – You don’t want to go encouraging them by giving them stuff. They’ll start thinking you’re pleased to see them and then you’ll never be shot of them. She called me a grumpy bugger, but I told her – You’ll a see, a few more years down the line and they’ll be turning up at your hospital bed and it’ll be too late to get out of it then. She wouldn’t take any notice though, blooming girl, she only went and said that some people like to have friends. Friends I said, you don’t need friends, you’ve got me and your mother, how do you think you’re going to look after us in our old age if you’re off gallivanting with blooming friends?

Sometimes Len, I look at that gal of mine and I think maybe I should of put me oar in a bit more with her. Joan has given her too many high fluting ideas. It’s the young. They don’t understand friends. I told her me and Wally got sat next to each other first morning at school by old Biddy Woodley and that was it. We were friends. None of this trying to find out if we liked each other. None of this trying to be interesting or nice. Like it or lump it Biddy Woodley had put us together and together we’ve stayed and what, I said to Marion, is wrong with that. Well of course there weren’t nothing she could say to that was there.

Yours Wally


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