College has finished for the summer holidays and he has decided to return to his part time job working in the forest.
In these days of rampant health and safety rules a pair of steel toecapped boots are a necessity. No boots, no work, is the mantra. George is a growing boy he needs new boots, and hereby hangs a tale.
Which is good news for me, because I have something to write about, and hopefully good news for you because your visit to 'don't unplug your hub' has not been a waste of time.
Let us go back to Saturday last. George and his Mother Tricia, drove into the beautiful West Sussex cathedral city of Chichester. Their purpose was to buy a new pair of work boots for George.
If only they had told me they were going. I could have persuaded George to try the new boots on. He tends to listen to me. His Mothers entreaties on the other hand tend to be overlooked. I have no idea why, except that it is a boy thing. I was a boy once, but it was a long time ago, and I have forgotten why boys don't listen to their Mothers, if I ever knew.
The boots with which the intrepid duo returned home were, as boots go, quite beautiful. Black matt leather uppers with polished toecaps. The soles and heels were sturdily crafted from the finest rubber. Designed to deal with all kinds of situations. The uppers where they encased the ankle were softly padded. Blisters would not be a problem. Personally I thought they were a bit overpriced, but I think everything is overpriced these days. All things considered though they were good boots. But in the end whether good or bad was academic. They were the wrong size.
Disappointing? Yes, but a situation such as this is easily rectified. Simply a case of returning to the shop and changing them for the correct size. But not today. Nobody feels inclined to take another trip to town. Remember it is Saturday, the traffic will have built up by now. Trying to park will be horrendous. It will have to wait now, until Monday. Which as it happened, turned out to be a good decision.
Unfortunately, another incident involving the same cyclist occurred further down the road, when as she was overtaking him, another car coming from the other direction, forced Tricia to cut in sharply, and without warning, across said cyclists path. Tricia does not lip read but she thinks from the expression on his face, as viewed in her rear view window, that he may have been saying rude words to her. She didn't stop to find out. Or apologise. She wanted those boots.
She got them too, and they fitted my extremely handsome son George perfectly. So all is well that ends well.
Except. As she returned home Tricia forgot to check before she opened the car door. Just at that moment a cyclist was passing by. He had to take swift avoiding action. Forcing a car coming the other way to brake sharply. The driver of which wound down his window and told the poor man exactly what he thought of bloody cyclists. It was the same hapless cyclist who had already had two unfortunate encounters with her. Apparently his language on this occasion was even more appalling.
Tricia was quite ashen faced as she related these incidents to me. I dread to think what colour the poor cyclists face was. Or his trousers!
* 'On your bike' is similar to the American expression, 'get outta here'.