Chapter 25

My Penny? –No! - Crap job as a temporary warehouse drongo. Start of a long, long affair. Kirsty!

Probably in 1992 or 93, but I don’t remember for sure, I took a monkey job at Argos’s big distribution warehouse. All we did was unload trucks, put the stuff onto pallets so that it would fit into their marvellous multi-tiered stacking system and wrap everything in a kind of tough Clingfilm. Pickers then accessed it from numerous floors, put it into carriers and it went out to the various stores, mainly at night. Switch your brain off if you’re a ‘receiver’- it’s tedious and boring. Naturally I looked around for any potentially available or just ‘tasty’ crumpet. The majority were the dog end of Bridgwater slags, -either fat or plain ugly. One or two were ok and some, to be fair, were trim. After the preliminary health and safety crap there was a little time for some socializing before work started the next day. There she was, - my long-lost Penny!

       “ Excuse me, could you be Penny Brider?”  “My name’s Kirsty”. She was tall and straight, pretty, blond, trim and head and shoulders above the rest, -very attractive indeed, albeit subdued. We were playing ‘trivial pursuit’ and it seems she was impressed by general knowledge. (Despite the crass level of my writing here I’m told that I have a fair grasp of general knowledge!) After a couple of days I asked her out and we met in a pub one evening. She had a Yugo of which she was mighty proud as it meant independence from her ‘old man’, who was the original do nothing, stick in the mud. I was running a Vauxhall ‘Royale’ then, which was well suited to cuddles, having a substantial back seat.

           We went to what became known to us as the turnip field, and I was busily pointing out stars and constellations before the inevitable groping and langorous sex. We were quite overcome with the speed of change from mutual emptiness to lovers who couldn’t get enough of each other. The Argos drongo job, for me, mercifully ended at Xmas but I carried on seeing her frequently. I would meet her after her day’s work and hide under a blanket in her car. She would then drive straight into her garage, close the door and we’d rush upstairs. We were at it like bunnies for a couple of hours. We did the same performance reversed to get me back to my car. All good, wholesome fun. Suddenly she informed me that she had left her husband, who barely noticed, I guess. She was buying his share of the matrimonial home from him, and taking up a considerable mortgage too. This took some nerve. She started a business doing house sitting, dog walking etc which quickly became a homecare enterprise. I was able to get involved and started to get a rotary card system in place, but the speed of growth precluded cards- she needed a computer-urgently!

      I had a ‘pal’ in Hampton who was very computer savvy but who proved to be an utter conning arsehole. The business was growing exponentially and my ‘pal’ pulled every kind of stunt to rip her off. When that became apparent and then obvious, we took steps to eliminate him from the management of the company. We ran our own parallel programs for salary and personnel logistics and kicked him out soon after. What a bastard. I have had no subsequent contact with him and advise you not to either! It seems he was involved in some kind of mortgage racket, needed big cash desperately and was in the, er, crap. The ongoing affair progressed normally, and I did all sorts of jobs for the company too. I put up curtains for clients, without charge of course, wired our offices, helped elderly and disabled clients, provided transport for people as required etc. Plus, in the early days I did the wages and interviewed staff. I sent one lady straight out to a ‘panic’ client when I was about half way through her interview. She had the relevant experience and strangely proved to be one of the longest serving ‘carers’ until the company was ultimately stolen from Kirsty.

       After some years of exceptionally well-run care provision, the local authority ‘decided’ that providers must reapply for their contracts. Another outfit, slinging backhanders and calling themselves a ‘charity,’ was awarded the whole deal, - I could hardly believe it. They gave Kirsty a final £10k to pass all the staff over and generally co-operate with the incoming company. All the ‘difficult’ clients, the 24 hour care packages, the totally bed-bound and similar, were sent by them into ‘relief care’ as they simply couldn’t cope, and didn’t for some months. All in all, it was a monumental fuck-up, - but now there was a, ha-ha, ‘not-for-profit’ charity running things, - so that’s all right then. (Like hell! – if the council twats believed that, they are even bigger pricks than everyone thought.) Kirsty was absolutely flattened by it all. She had created a superbly run, profitable company from nothing, employing over 40 staff. She was in first each morning and left last every day. Nothing was beyond us, but we couldn’t beat corrupt council grafters hiding behind closed doors. The deals were done and dusted well before we submitted our contract renewal application. Devious buggers.

      Over the following years Kirsty and I travelled quite widely. Sailing in the West Indies (Special chapter-next) Bangkok and Bali, Florida, Montenegro, Italy, Slovakia, Poland, (including Auschwitz,) Denmark, South of France, Turkey including Ephesus etc. We always ‘travelled well’ together, having a similar easy going disposition. We almost invariably hired a car and I tried to mix my ongoing interest in archaeology with some beach time and a little excitement such as white water rafting, boat rides, skiing- stuff like that.

      Everywhere one goes creates memories by the thousand and I could bore everyone- (that’s if anyone has read this far!) with endless anecdotes from our trips, but you’re all(?) reprieved, - I’ll just do the Nightmare Sailing trip out of St. Lucia. It’s barely believable but absolutely true!