Archive for March, 2011

It’s a Speeding Shame

March 25th, 2011

No one thought it was possible but I am living proof that you can break the speed limit on a NSU moped.

It wasn’t  a lot of fun and I have a couple of wing nuts stuck in an awkward crevice for my trouble but the thing rattled me along the open road at 32 mph and my rash action set the papparazi popping.

OK, so I was quite a sight but I didn’t think all that flash photography was needed. I was rather blinded for a moment as the road was dark ( you didn’t think I’d drive a thing like that in the daylight, did you?) and almost parted company with the machine.

Well, I had thought it was those press guys as I’ve become a bit of a celeb since penning this august column about cherished numbers. Turns out it was a blasted speed camera. No publicity then – just a kind offer of a speed awareness course at my nearest town hall.

You won’t believe this course. Tremendous fun and very fine biscuits but there wasn’t one participant who reached speeds of over 40mph. Well, actually there was one jumped up fellow but I refused to talk to him since he looked so bloody smug. The course tutors – two of them with not a decent registration number between them – let us know that the real speed merchants don’t get offered places on speed awareness courses. There were quite a few elderly ladies participating so I forbore to ask what they do to the flashy fast buggers. I suspected it had something to do with four walls, a locked door and a shared toilet but details were thin out of respect. I don’t often resort to using facts here but the very nice disabled driver I got chatting to looked as though his heart was racing at the mention of penalty points so we were hardly going to mention prison.

It’s a tough world out there and I got the message pretty clear. A life of crime isn’t going to suit me and as for that strange noise every time I sit down. Does anyone know how to remove a set of wing nuts from…?



(Reg will be back to work after the op ! Ed)

Our man in the Middle East

March 9th, 2011

Oh boy. Trade delegations – who’d go on them ? I’ve vowed not to do another no matter who asks me.

At least I’m back in one piece although getting out and about in those regions was harder than you would believe.  At one point it was rumoured that the Foreign Secretary, Sir William McVague, asked anyone stranded to give the Foreign Office a quick ring. I could have given them a quick tinkle but that would have been it. Still, they sent a plane eventually and we made it home although one chap had to run on the tarmac waving  what looked like a white flag but turned out to be a sheaf of papers. Orders, so he said. Bloody show off !

The embarassing thing was what the rest of the delegation were selling. I mean they don’t need sand in this part of the world and no one in their right mind would get on a flight with our own PM and try to sell them a pile of it. So why did anyone think any of these countries needed any you know… hard stuff…guns?

I hadn’t realised the company I was keeping until I looked into the brief case of one of my party. Didn’t like to ask if it was loaded either, he appeared not the sort to mess with, if you get my meaning.

So there I was mingling with the arms dealers, supping the odd glass of warm Champagne and touting my little number plates.

Did I mention we have A1 RAB for sale? It was probably why I was chosen to go. Still have it funnily enough. Listen, this was the Middle East and they know what they like. There was an inordinate amount of interest in my friend’s brief case probably due to the amount of popping and banging we could hear in the background. I didn’t believe it was fireworks, no matter what they said. They probably used up the bullets from the last sales drive in the space of a week but I have plenty of number plates in the cupboard for a rainy day.

One member of our party had the cheek to say to me that you can’t eat a number plate, can you? I wouldn’t want a bullet chucked in the back of my throat either so I don’t know why he thought to pursue a conversation about functionality.

Which, as always, brings me to the crux of my message. Number plates. They’re small, you can fit plenty in an overnight bag and not get stopped by customs on the journey home. They hurt no one and might even make you smile. Try B10 BLO for size – it always cracks me up.

Of course, it was poetic justice as I came through the nothing to declare exit through customs only to see my rather annoying fellow delegate suffering a highly detailed scrutiny of his luggage. Perhaps he hadn’t sold as many of the wretched things as he led us to believe. Seems he was bringing them home again and trying to get them into London.  Ah, it’s good to be home.

Reg Chatt (by appointment to you know who)