Everything’s going up!

“Two bob a Pint!”

I was having a pint in the Bridge a few days ago with Dougie Glenn; He’s Norah’s friend. I don’t think they’re up to anything; they stayed friends from being in the ‘Bandass’ home when they were kids.
Anyway, we were talking about the price of beer going up by a whole penny from April, not a ha’penny… A full penny. One and elevenpence, nearly two bob. Blimey, who’d have thought it? Two bob a pint! Everything’s going up… And they’ll get rid of the ha’penny next, mark my words… They’ve already thrown the farthing on the tip… the next price increase will be thrupence! You see.
Dougie was moaning about petrol going up to five and four a gallon. Not something that bothers me, though… My old bike gets me to work and back. Eric reckons we should get a lorry, van, or something… but the hand cart does the job perfectly well, and it looks great now he’s painted it… Bright red, though? I’m beginning to have serious doubts about that grandson of mine. He said it was the only paint he could find, nothing to do with the Busby Babes, but… I don’t know… It’ll end in tears. Getting back to it… The hand cart is fine for what we want, and if there’s something far away, Jose’s got vans; I can always ask him, although the last time was a bit… well, embarrassing. He let us use one of the new vans they were replacing the horses with.

How was I supposed to know what that little switch below the dashboard was? I didn’t even realise I’d switched anything; I must’ve caught it with my knee when I got out. All those bloody kids? At that time of night? They must’ve come from miles around the place, and Mrs Darby wasn’t happy…
I thought we were moving stuff for her… to another house. She never said she was doing a ‘moonlight.’ “Diddley dum dum, Diddley dum dum, Diddley dum dum… De!” Full blast! All the way to Wythenshawe and back until Jose’ managed to turn it off. If she’d been truthful, it might’ve made a difference… Then again, probably not. It was an accident, simple as that… she didn’t want to pay, though, and arguing a point in that racket was hard, I can tell you, not to mention kids everywhere trying to buy a cornet when they should’ve been fast asleep in bed. I’ve not asked Jose’ since that; he wasn’t ecstatic when I drove into the factory yard at ten o clock with his siren waking Lucy Street up. I thought it might bring him extra business, but what do I know about selling ice cream?
Then there’s always Eric’s mate, Cudge, well, Cudge’s dad, the local totter… he has a horse and cart. A bit on the slow side for anywhere more than a mile away, but there’s no petrol or road tax… just a bag of oats, and then if the beast takes short? A quick scoop into a sack, and there’s a couple of pints, courtesy of the bloke who owns the allotment next to the Bridge. It’s a bomb site of a house, but he’s made a garden out of it. I could go on forever… The differences between living here in the fifties and where you are, do make interesting comparisons, don’t they? I promised to keep these chats short, so I’ll see you next week.
Have a great week, stay safe and count your blessings.
Percy