We’ll be wearing just our birthday suits and a smile tomorrow if you stop crying now,’ joked the adorable Rick of Mews Garage.
Last Monday I was stood next to Jemima Jalopy (my car) blubbing my heart out.
Minutes earlier I’d damaged JJ’s nearside wing on a petrol pump’s metal surround. And why wasn’t I concentrating?
Because I was so stressed thinking about the ‘avoid any further action’ bill I’d received from Portsmouth City Council Financial Services two days earlier.
I’d worried all weekend, as I hadn’t received the original bill for Ma’s contribution from her pension for her nursing home fees.
And now this ‘reminder’ bill had varying charges for what appeared to me to be the same period of time. I couldn’t make head nor tail of it, it really stressed me out.
On Tuesday the nice lady from PCC Financial Services told me their computer bills may be confusing to me, and she would send me an itemised bill.
I’ve got one word to say to their computer – OBFUSCATION! It means making something harder to understand. Google it – very interesting.
With all the controversy about horsemeat in ready-made meals, I wasn’t surprised to see an article on ‘make your own mince’.
Pictured was a selection of white plastic modern mincers.
Well I couldn’t stop laughing folks, as my mind meandered down memory lane to my gran’s mincer in the 60s.
It was a heavy metal contraption that looked like an escapee from a medieval torture chamber.
It clamped on to the side on the table, and then you had to tighten the screw underneath to hold it in place.
In those days it was, Sunday – roast beef, Monday –cold with bubble & squeak, Tuesday – minced for a beef and veg pie.
And it was my job to mince the chunks of beef.
Oh my, did I hate it.
It was like the jaws of hell were waiting for my little kiddy fingers.
I would push the beef down the mincer with one hand, turn the serrated rollers with the other – and talk. Then, aargghh, the rollers would nip my fingertips.
Heyho, happy days.