Heard about a fantastic wheeze the other night. (Names changed to protect the innocent).
My friend James Fearnley-Whittingstall and I dropped in at the Bells of Peover public house in Cheshire for a few schooners of sherry (James is the chap who loaned me his sheep for the book trailer footage).
We bumped into one of his cronies, Ken Grundy a jolly rubicund Yeoman Farmer type. James greeted him in his terribly posh Brian Sewell type voice with “Ken Grundy, what the f*#% are you doing here? The last time I saw you, you were preaching a sermon in church.”
Ken had obviously been enjoying plenty of liquid refreshment and he was nursing a pint and whisky chaser, holding court at the bar, buying drinks for one and all. His response to James was made through slurred words and before long he spilt his whisky chaser down his beautifully pristine silk powder-blue tie.
“Oh dear” I said “that won’t clean off easily.” Ken responded with a conspiratorial wink and a tapping of an index finger on the side of his nose.
“Not a problem, I have my own re-cycling system.”
I looked quizzically at him and he went on.
“The Dry Cleaners want to charge me a fiver for every tie that I stain. Now, what I do is give them to the charity shops instead. The charity shops must have some special deal with the cleaners as they have the ties cleaned straight away and in a day or two they are back in the shop…..and I pick ‘em up for two quid each.”
It’s good to see that the spirit of charity is alive and well at Christmas.