His name is FW Meggitt for a start. In my mind he is grey and wizened and stooped and elderly with clawed hands. In fact he’s nothing of the sort. He is grey haired, it’s true, but he stands nice and straight and has an unlined face and is only, probably, in his late 50s or very early 60s. Today he was wearing a collarless shirt with no tie (and trousers -- of course he was wearing trousers).
But his office is in a building which I’m sure has magical disappearing properties. I only ever see it when I am looking for it by appointment. He sits behind a large, leather-inlaid desk. He has an ancient receipt book and a paper ledger. He requires currency rather than cheques for “small” amounts. And he makes the most taciturn of men appear positively loquacious.
Today his building was indeed apparent, for I was there by appointment, bearing my signing pencil and a wad of used ten pound notes. He was positively chatty, by way of a change. I was in his office for, oh it must have been at least seven or eight minutes, during which time I signed a contract agreeing to buy the land at the back of our place, we counted 65 ten pound notes, he rang The Speculator’s solicitor and told her that he had a signed contract and a 10% deposit and agreed a completion date, told me what was to happen next, photocopied our money-laundering credentials, wrote me a magnificent receipt, added the cash to his ledger, shook my paw and ushered me out. To the point, is that man!
He rang later this afternoon. “Fred Meggitt here. You’ve bought that land. I’ll send you a bill when we know the final total for the land. Pay by cheque. I’ll have some paperwork you both need to sign. I’ll post it to you.” Grand, said I. Thank you very much. “You’re welcome,” said he. “Goodbye”.
You don’t waste money on meaningless pleasantries with him!
Got into work to find that someone had handed in a wages envelope they had found lying about on a library table. It had £700 (!!!!!!!) in it. Luckily the name of the person whose money it was, was on the envelope. Luckily the person who found it was not tempted to put it in their pocket. I must say, though; when I was wandering about with 65 ten pound notes in my bag I kept a very tight grip on it. Clutched it tightly to my bosom. At no point whatever would I have allowed the envelope to sit, unchaperoned, on any table at all. Certainly not an Adsetts table. And if I had been foolish enough to do this, I would never had walked off and left it there. I do not like carrying large numbers of bank notes about!
We shall be having a Land Clearing Party sometime in January to clear the ENORMOUS heap of rubbish off the new land. And the extraordinary number of plastic tricycles out of the shed. Who’s coming to help? (BYO gardening gloves and gum boots. Roast chicken and liquid refreshments will be provided)
Memo to self: It is a bad bad thing to buy chocolate money to add to the grandchildren's Christmas Packages. And then to eat them!
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