I have spent the day with my father at Shipston in Warwickshire. A landslide somewhere near Worcester meant that my route was a the “scenic” one but we have enjoyed a happy afternoon chatting about various family matters. Our conversation was, however, interrupted by a series of phone calls and knocks on the door – my father is a victim of his inability to say no.
First up was some bird trying to persuade him to fit new plastic windows and plastic doors. Given that his house was built in 1692 this was clearly a pointless call. Of course if Dad had told her that last time she called rather than just listening patiently and saying eventually “ this is not a good time” she would not have bothered with this call. Next up was Christian Aid to whom my Dad already gives a fortune by Standing Order. Christian Aid called to say it needs more to help starving people in Africa, blah, blah, blah. Unluckily for it, when it asked for Mr T Winnifrith it got me. Sorry no extra cash from this household this week for those in Africa kept poor by their kleptocrat leaders. Tough luck.
Just as I was trying to explain to Dad why Nigeria does not actually need his money since it has the 8th biggest oil reserves in the world there was a knock at the door. Some smelly old man greeted my Dad as an old friend and within two minutes my father had bought for its RRP £9.99 ( he told the bloke to keep the 1p change) a smear free Eurochamois cloth ( Cost on Amazon £5.34). Amazingly the my father resisted the offer of some Christmas wrapping paper of the sort that has masturbating Santas on it. I have a feeling that when my father passes away I will discover a vast pile of things bought from the smelly old man who, I am told, his a former convict. You don’t say.
My step-mother has just got back from a day at a Monastery ( don’t ask) and confirms that the household now owns four such cloths despite having given a number away to my sisters.
My father also tells me that he is the biggest customer of the Bulgarian gypsy who sells the Big Issue outside the Co-Op. And then there is the cleaning lady. She is a hopeless Pole who is so inept that Dad and my step mum have to clean the house before she arrives. After the cleaning lady has cleaned, step-sister Flea comes to clean up after her. But since she has been fired by the rest of the village ( I just cannot think for the life of me why) the deluded lefties that are the Winnifrith family continue to give her gainful employment.
And now to light the fire using Polly Toynbee’s column.