Scrapheap
Challenge
By
Dominic Horton
Having
taken voluntary redundancy my career of many years at Barclays Bank
is finally over and its end was timely given that it was stuttering
more than the tight-fisted shopkeeper Arkwright at the sight of Nurse
Gladys Emmanuel in the ever popular sitcom Open All Hours. But
I didn't have to fetch me cloth to wipe away any tears when I walked
away from the office for the final time last Friday as I was
delighted to be departing as an egg is an egg, or an oeuf is an oeuf
as our French cousins say and it felt good to leave the greedy world
of banking behind.
 |
| The cow at Waseley Hills |
With
regards to the knee injury I was referred to a specialist named Mr
Learmonth and his name sticks in my mind (which is unusual for me)
due to an unsavoury and embarrassing incident in his consultancy
suite on my first visit. On entering Learmonth's surgery the usual
pleasantries were exchanged and I was invited to sit down, which I
duly did to take the weight off my knee. After a few seconds I
noticed a strong, repugnant smell and after realising that I had not
broken wind I looked at Learmonth and thought, “you haven't have
you?” But I was then suddenly conscious that the smell was
emanating from my shoes and looking down I found to my eternal horror
that I had trod in dog sh*t and what's worse trodden it into
Learmonth's expensive beige carpet. My footsteps could be clearly
seen from the door to the chair like those of the mythical Yeti in
the Himalayan snow on a third rate documentary on the Discovery
channel.
Gesturing
towards the footsteps I muttered to Learmonth, “I'm afraid that
…......” but I didn't need to complete the sentence as being a
true pro he was already on his intercom explaining the situation to
his secretary and within seconds a cleaning lady appeared from stage
left and with half a snigger she removed my shoes before quickly
scrubbing the carpet. At least the dog mess was fresh and had not
dried out, making it easier to clean up.
 |
| Codger Mansions |
Minutes
later the cleaner had returned my shoes and they were significantly
cleaner than before I had put my foot in Fido's finest; such is the
attention to detail and quality of service of private health care.
It is one of the benefits of my banking remuneration that I will
miss. Lord only knows what would have happened in similar
circumstances if I had been under the NHS. I probably would have
been added to an eight month waiting list to have my shoes cleaned up
by which time the poo on my shoes would have been so encrusted that
it would have taken a four hour surgical operation to remove it: “We
have got the worst of it off Mr Horton, it was touch and go at one
stage but I think your shoes are going to pull through. They are
going to need significant after care and attention but I have to warn
you that they will never be quite the same again.”
Anyway,
I am glad to have left my unfulfilling job; the upside is that I am
at last free of the Barclays shackles but the downside is that I am
also free of the shekels, that is, I will no longer have regular coin
coming into my coffers. I did of course receive my redundancy payout
but when I looked my bank account via online banking it struck me
that the money was just numbers on a screen so it almost seemed
illusionary, like it could just disappear any minute in the flick of
an eyelid, which was a discomforting thought.
Of
course the overwhelming majority of money these days is electronic
accounting entries in bank's computers and only 3% of all money is
actually hard cash issued as notes and coins by the Bank of England.
So 97% of all new money is created by commercial banks in the form of
loans and not by the Bank of England at all, which in turn means that
great power is vested in the banks and that the economy of the
country is at the behest of financial institutions, who of course
want to make as many loans as possible to maximise profits.
According to the group Positive Money while this power is vested in
the banks the economy will never be properly stable and the
government are effectively powerless to control it. To find out more
go to www.positivemoney.org
or go and visit the oracular Landlord of the Flagon & Gorses,
being my crony the Pirate, who will provide you with an expert
opinion on any subject you choose for the price of a pint of
Nottingham Don's Pale Ale.
 |
| The Mexican & The Phantom on the roof of One Snow Hill, Birmingham by request of Toby In-Tents |
I
had the temerity to miss both my leaving meal and p*ss up as my
mild-graines illness had crescendoed to a peak and I was so dizzy
that I thought momentarily that the Earth's gravity machine had been
turned off. Also disappointingly I was unable to go on the keenly
anticipated trip that the Mexican had arranged to the roof of our
multi-story office. The Phantom took my place on the trip to see far
reaching views of Birmingham and although Villa Park could clearly be
seen The Flagon & Gorses, Codger Mansions and the Rhareli Peking
could not, which is just as well as otherwise through his binoculars
Mex might have spotted me valiantly trying to make my way up Furnace
Hill to the Flagon, only to turn back giddy and defeated.
The
landlord's agent supervised the roof visit and Mex and the Phantom
were expecting her to point out interesting local landmarks and say a
few words about their histories but as it was all she pointed out was
the Lickey Hills and explained that the car park is a hotbed for
dogging. Although the Phantom hasn't got a dog he was apparently
sighted yesterday in Birmingham Dogs Home asking for a cocker spaniel
and for directions to the Lickey Hills.
In
the fullness of time I will need to hoodwink a philanthropic
benefactor into bestowing a job on me but these things can't be
rushed, especially with the World Cup upon us. As part of my
redundancy package the Bank have employed the services of a leading
employment consultancy firm who have assured Mex and I that once they
have finished with us we will have to turn prospective employers
away, such will be the flood of job offers. Call me a pessimist (or
more accurately a realist) but I was viewing the job hunt more of a
challenge to stay off the unemployment scrapheap, a scrapheap
challenge if you will.
My
new life hasn't started exactly as I had planned mainly because of my
ongoing mild-graines illness which has lead to me taking things easy
but I think I am starting to slowly get better as on Wednesday I did
complete a gentle three mile walk up Waseley Hills, the most exercise
that I have been able to do in a long while. I felt fairly pathetic
only being able to meander listlessly around the paths like an ailing
octogenarian and things quickly took a turn for the worse when it
started to absolutely bucket it down with rain meaning that I quickly
became a drowned rat. At least the torrential rain kept other
walkers away leaving just me and a cow to keep each other company and
as I often enjoy being alone I milked it, the solitude that is, not
the cow.
I
was absolutely saturated on return to the car and all of my clothing
was completely drenched so I decided to strip off on the empty car
park and drive home wearing just my underpants and shoes. On return
to Codger Mansions at lunchtime I was so eager to get in the house
and get dry and warm that I was unaware of my surroundings and on
emerging from the car I was greeted by the sounds of tittering school
children heading down Furnace Hill to the chippy; the sight of me
half naked in just my boxer shorts will have done nothing for the
kids' appetite and I would wage good money that none of them ordered
a saveloy. Getting soaked to the skin and being mortally
embarrassed in front of a group of giggling children meant that it
was not a day for the scrap book but I can wholeheartedly say without
hesitation that it was still a great deal better than sitting
miserably at my desk within the confines of Barclays Bank daydreaming
of some other Eden.
©
Dominic Horton, June 2014.
*
EMAIL:
lordhofr@gmail.com
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