Storing Up Trouble

The beginning of the end-of-May mid-term break was always going to begin the way it all began - a slow Saturday morning in sleepy Datchet. The dogs had quit barking by daybreak, and the natives had rolled home later than that, after a night of hooch at the Morning Star. The postman wouldn't knock at all that day, and nobody knew or cared whether the sub-Post Office had even opened on time. Sure, the Tesco Express checkout machines had been powered up, but nobody came.

Suddenly, just two hours short of High Noon... Pickford's Boys rolled into town. An outrider cut a path into the Lawn Close cul-de-sac, and was followed in by the main wagon... These boys had obviously done this sort of thing before. The sleeping dogs began to get twitchy, and their owners' curtains too. I reached for my kettle.


Pickford's Boys circled their wagon as best they could in the 'sac, and set up camp outside Andy's place. Soon they were headed straight over the driveway - they didn't care that it was the meanest looking driveway in the Close, and they just put the boot to the weedy concrete. But they were no cowboys - they talked business like they meant it, had a cuppa, and began dismantling the place...

They took my furniture to pieces, boxed my [b]ears, and other stuff too. The strangest thing was that nothing was busted by the time they'd finished. Don't get me wrong, these guys were no angels - and they could have smashed up everything if they'd had a mind to. But they knew that I had them covered - my trigger-finger was on my pen barrel the whole time, and my eye was sizing up the small print. That was my insurance policy.

"Awright... Let's git yer shifted then, mate!" (but in Polish)

Easy does it... Hup!

By the time it was all over, Pickford's Boys had pretty much cleaned me out. I didn't know when I'd see the family jewels again. Sure, I knew they'd be holed-up in Pickford's stash-house over by Reading, but I couldn't imagine that I'd go sticking my nose into that neck of the woods, at least not until I'd repaired the roof over my head. The insurance company had long ago stopped talking about renovations being completed by mid-March, and even mention of it being completed by late June was someone speaking with forked tongue - I was just hoping it wouldn't end up in an Indian summer. Anyway, at last the reconstruction workers had room to swing their lead and get plasterboarded - all the ceiling-less rooms they wanted, and the floorless attic too.

When all was said and done at the end of that long day, Pickford's Boys had stirred the brown stuff plenty, and one even took three sugars with his. At least I still had my kettle - Pickford's Boys couldn't take that away from me, and they knew not to try...