"One good turn deserves another " we say. So what was the last good turn you did for somebody? And was it paid back?
There's a young wee fellow across the road from me who was knocked down by a milk float last month and whilst I admit helping myself to a few bottles of milk and quality dairy produce in the horrific aftermath ("waste not, want not" we also say), the gaffer and I built the young lad a treehouse while he recovered from his injuries. He was that made up when he first clapped eyes on it, I thought he was going to have a fit. The favour hasn't been paid back as yet. Mind you, woodwork was never mine or the gaffer's strong point and it collapsed after a couple of days and the poor boy ended up back in traction. But our hearts were in the right place, I suppose.
You see thats what happens when your one good turn (building the treehouse) is evened out by your one bad turn (theft of the dairy stuff).
Someone always pays in the end.....
I wouldn't call it theft as such, Master Gunn, so much as giving perfectly good (if a little soiled) food a good home. We did a spot of gardening for the milkman to even things out. The water feature we installed may have waterlogged his yard, but then plumbing is something else which never was one of the gaffer's strong points.
Folk around these parts don't seem to do many good turns! Your life will be richer for it.
"Not all wealth is in your pockets alone " is what gaffer says.
You won't catch me doing many good turns, young Rabon my lad, not unless there's a chance of some skirt at the end of it.
My brain is in my pants, y'see. But don't worry - I'm a member of Mensa down there.
"It's them folk that break hearts that are themselves heartless ", is what my gaffer would say to you Master Flashman. That's why I'm saving my heart for the right lady, when she comes along, which is soon I hope. We've a chap a bit like you in the village - Biffer Grabtree, he's called - a right romeo he was, in his day. Left a trail of swooning ladies from here to Blackhill, he did. But he's a lonely old fellow now, with dodgy knees. Caused by begging forgiveness from irate husbands, my gaffer reckons!
My knees are on their way out already, young Rabon, so there's truth in your gaffer's words. In fact I've reached that age when various parts of my body have started making all kinds of strange noises. If I drop something on t'floor these days, it can fucking stay there.
But the old pork sabre is still in fine working order, that's all I'm worried about. I hope the brain goes before that bugger does.
In an update to my earlier post, the young lad is back home now and doing well, although our families are only communicating via intermediaries. We're that torn in two, the gaffer and I - we want to put right what we did wrong (through no fault of our own, I might add), but they just slam their door on us. "You can't do right for doing wrong with some folk " says the gaffer.
We left a Christmas tree in their yard by way of apology, a big 12 footer, but we heard it set off an allergic reaction and the poor lad has broken out in spots and has started having wheezing fits. They set the police on us, if you'll believe me, but the gaffer played it cool, denying all knowledge of it - but I almost put my foot in it, offering to sell 'em a similar tree half price as we had two dozen round the back. The gaffer told them I was having one of my turns, but boy did I catch it hot when they'd upped and left! "That mouth of yours sets off but leaves your brain behind", the gaffer said. He's right enough, I suppose!
You're the rummest egg we've had on here for a long while young Rabon - and Lord knows, we've had a few. But you've got me Picasso-ed. By that I mean I'm strangely drawn to you. I ain't talking sexwise, of course. I bat for the home team, as I'm sure you're aware.
So I'll give you a proposal from Flashy for you and your gaffer to chew over...
Now I'm a crook myself, and we crooks know a straight tongue when we hear one, and I reckon you're as straight they come. It seems to me you've done all you can to put things right with this young chap and his kin, but to no avail, rot them. Before you know it, you'll be wasting valuable drinking time trying to make amends, which don't suit when the festivities are upon us and every moment is precious.
You don't strike me as the type of fellow who goes about throwing stones at windows or popping dog turds through letter-boxes - more my scene, I admit. My guess is you ain't after a spot of wanton villainy or unnecessary vandalism to put the spring back in your step - not your bag at all, more fool you. No, being a soft-hearted, kindly and most likely a romantic soul, all you ask is to see that young lad smile again and enjoy his Christmas despite his woes.
So my proposal is this:- I've an associate by the name of Blackie Whiteman, d'ye know him? He makes the best Father Christmas this side of Lapland and probably part of the way t'other. Now, I know he's got form for burglary and other petty crimes like cannibalism and serial buggery - but he's a reformed sort, with his past mostly behind him. And he barely touches a drop of the hard stuff these days. Except perhaps lunchtimes and around pay day, of course. But I guarantee: if he pops in on the young lad, it will make this the Bonnest Noel he's ever had and you can bask in the glorious knowledge that it was by your kind hand that this thankless deed was done.
"Now I know your game Flashman", you're thinking, " you're up to no good and after something, you old rogue."
Well, guilty as charged sir, and less of the 'old rogue' if you don't mind. I ain't that old. But you mentioned two dozen Christmas trees and I have to confess my eyes lit up when I saw that. I reckon I could shift those for you pretty smart with my contacts - and what's more I'll cut you into the deal. Straight down the middle - 50/50 - I'll pay you half your share up front and t'other half on completion of sale. What do you say?
Don't believe any talk you might hear about me backing out on deals and sending big buggers round at the last minute to break ankles and stuff. It's so much jealous baloney and, besides, would I do such a thing at Christmas of all times? Let me know what your answer is. You've got until Thursday.
Muuuuuhaahahahahahaha!
That last bit was just a typing error.
The gaffer says it's a sellers market this time of year, Master Flashman. "If I can't shift a few spruces at Christmas, then I'm a pudding", he says, "I don't trust this Flashman character above half. He sounds more Flash than Man."
So sling your hook!
You don't scare me Master FlashMAC, I've been reading your old posts and I reckon you're a bluffer. "All talk and no trousers" is what the gaffer would say.