I have these old friends, married more than 30 years, and she is thinking of leaving him. He has this really annoying habit that has been driving her mad for 30 years, despite repeated complaints and moans and threats.
Every night, as he undresses to get into bed, he empties his pockets and places all his loose change on top of his chest of drawers, with a clunk, a clatter a jingle, a jangle — until she could almost scream.
What should she do, oh wise ones? Chuck him out, refuse him, run away, hire a hit squad? I suggest he gets a little container and empties his pockets the moment he steps through the front door. That’s what I have done for 50 years of married life. Explains why we are still together.
On the hall shelf I have a little black tin, with a painted number on, ex railway, in which, at one time, railway workers got their wages, two of these tins in fact, and I keep one in London and one in the Lake District.
The moment I arrive home, even before I put the kettle on, I plop my loose change in the tin, all the odd coins I have acquired during the day, plus any I have picked from the pavement, for I keep my eyes skinned all the time.
Advertisement
You’d be surprised how quickly change builds up. Why the other day, just by emptying one of the tins, I bought two bottles of beaujolais at Sainsbury’s in Cockermouth. They were not amused when I plonked a ton of coppers on the counter and were still counting long past closing.
I suppose it’s a male thing, having loose change about one’s person, but not knowing what to do with it, without a handbag or purse. Millions of men don’t even pick it up when given, especially those of a young tendency. They fear loose change will ruin the line of their trousers or weigh them down.
One of the joys when our children left home — joy, of course for them, fleeing the nest, though of course we were distraught — was to go into our son’s room and find that all his life he’d been dumping any loose change under his bed. Took for ever to get it downstairs. Now what did I spend it on? Either a new Jaguar or a Med cruise, can’t remember which, but I was well flush that year.
They say cash will go, now you can pay for stuff with your mobile phone, your fingerprint or a flick of your eyebrow, but I am sure there will always be a need for people to carry some loose change.
I don’t know why that excellent series Fame & Fortune on the back page does not ask the question “How much loose change have you got?” as well as “How much in your wallet?”
Advertisement
People say they need pound notes for taxis or coffees — in the case of coffee, you now need a £50 note to get a half-decent cup — but there is also a need for coins, for less expensive stuff such as a postage stamp or a newspaper.
One of the things I don’t miss about being up here is having to fork out 50p for a FREE newspaper. The London Evening Standard clearly states on the front that it is free. Not at our local NW5 newsagents it isn’t. What a liberty.
I am also saving 20p coins as I suspect I have a slow puncture, if not several, and need to keep blowing up the tyres. Can’t understand it, as all four tyres are new. I did query it, and the smart aleck at the garage said “dust”. You what? Oh yes, he said, keeping it in your garage means dust gets into the bla bla bla.
Garage men are like doctors and farmers, managing to keep a straight face while giving you some explanation they have just made up, but they are the experts and you are not, so you just accept it, while they go away laughing.
I do bitterly resent having to pay 20p for air at a garage, when it always used to be free. Free as air, remember. And I especially hate the sort with the complicated computerised pump where you fix the pressure, then it goes ping when you reach it. Either my stupidity or their useless machine, but it always seems to run out and I have to search around for another 20p.
Advertisement
Yesterday in a garage at Wigton, home town of Melvyn Bragg, I was over there worshipping, I spent £1 in 20ps — and still didn’t get all the tyres inflated.
I also lost two of the little plastic valve cap things — and nearly got run over crawling under my car, and several other cars, trying to retrieve them while my wife was screaming at me to hurry up, stop being so stupid.
Have you seen the price of valve dust caps? Well then. Good job I keep a stash of loose change . . .