The Philpott Philes (Senior Citizen Not Erased): January

Popstars not exactly pushing the boat out in the Christmas Presents Department

 

We have over the years become quite friendly with the son of one of our long-term bingo partners Kenneth Horton-Bowles, who regularly drops off and picks him up from ‘Eyes Down Tuesday’ on account of his father’s failing eyesight. We were quite touched therefore, although slightly embarrassed given that we had not bought him anything in return, to be told just after the full house that young Colin had bought us something for Christmas. Thankfully, or perhaps not, our awkwardness was assuaged when he produced two plastic mock terracotta window boxes from the boot of his car, wrapped in a bin liner and with the price ticket still on. Perhaps unbeknownst by our benefactor, I am fully aware that he is ‘between jobs’ at the moment and working as a cashier at Poundland, where I recently spied a job lot of sixty or so similar stacked amongst washing up bowls, laundry baskets, a (non methanol soaked) colander, two wheelie bins filled with various floor squeegees, a moulded child’s garden chair, mop buckets, storage boxes of various sizes (with and without lids), and a net bag full of footballs displayed outside.

 

Not dissimilarly, amongst our Golden Wedding Anniversary booty of some years ago was a DC-10 paperweight and set of creased serviettes depicting Concord. Initially confused given that my wife Jean and myself have no interest in commercial avionics, we later discovered that my nephew had just done an office clearance very near to Heathrow.

 

In both instances, not only were no prizes to be won in the creative stakes; Colin and Roger were not exactly pushing the boat out in the wallet department either, considering that the commodities gifted had not been purchased at all but were unwanted items already in their possession.

 

Along the same lines, Mr. Brown, having announced on Top of The Pops 2 recently that he is the God of Hell Fire, continues that he will bring me fire. Once again, forgive me for sounding ungrateful, but coming from the owner of a “Crazy World” which could presumably accommodate all manner of surprises, this seems a somewhat unimaginative and budget-dodging gift, and one most certainly not on our ‘must have’ list when considering that our property is gas centrally heated, we have an electric oven, and are both fervant ex-smokers.

 

Even were we still to be tobacco indulgent, I doubt that being bestowed a box of matches or a ‘throwaway lighter’, both of which flame-creating devices are also on offer at Colin’s afore-mentioned ‘ironmongers’ for less than twenty pence each at the moment, would be construed by any recipient as over generous by any means.

 

Moreover, Mr. Brown is correct in his evaluation that I fought hard and I saved and earned (although I must take issue with the accusation that I have been living like a little girl). My years as a proofer were indeed often fraught with union disputes and unrealistic deadlines, and I did indeed do my best to make the maximum allowable monthly pension contributions even at the worst of times. Therefore, given the opportunity, I would regretfully inform Mr. Brown that his malicious intention to burn both my good self and all of my property and chattels would render his presence at Philpott Place most undesirable under all circumstances, except perhaps in the event of a power cut whereupon he would be welcome to stand in the corner as a makeshift standard lamp, on the condition that he first promise not to indulge in any malevolent activity aforementioned.

 

In the meantime, and as a gesture of magnanimity, we would like to congratulate Mr. Brown on his ‘psychedelic sound’ and wish both himself  and his wacky microcosm the very best in their pop careers and scheduled performances at all outdoor and high-ceilinged events.

 

Bye Bye For Now And See You Next Month!

 

 

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