Mr Elias Sagtrouser confided the following ‘off the record’ information with me in The Bells the other day, while I was deciding which MP to report to the Revenue as part of my new appointment with The Telegraph.
He had been working behind the counter in his Builder’s Merchants, taking orders, making calls, shouting at thick storemen and generally being a damn good egg in his business.
A local Builder/Developer, Quentin ffoxley-Cabbage, sauntered in and casually mentioned that he was interested in taking the whole load (several thousand) of reclaimed clay tiles stacked in the yard, for a fixed price to be negotiated. ‘Q’ is a respected man, known to be generous to a fault when it comes to buying everyone several pints of bitter of a Friday after work, and so Mr Elias Sagtrouser happily agreed to let him reserve the stock for a few hours, while ‘Q’ took a sample tile to compare with the roof on the mansion he was restoring.
For consideration, Elias asked ‘Q’ if he could leave a couple of fifty pound notes on the counter as a returnable deposit, and Mr ff-C immediately peeled off a couple of notes from a collection the size of an Izal bum roll.
Mr Sagtrouser is a fair man, but like most business people struggling to pay for their MP’s expensive lifestyles, the sight of a couple of large notes going spare for a couple of hours gave him an idea.
He quickly called Jabez Moxie, a well known local brick manufacturer, and offered to pay his account in cash, as long as Jabez called round for the money immediately. This deal was gladly accepted, and a screech of brakes from an elderly Ford Transit was heard in the yard as the phone reached it's cradle.
Mr Moxie’s wife, Barbarella, needed several quid to settle up with her manicurist, where she had rashly employed Toniatellene Nuggett for three hours to make her nails look rather like the talons of a wishful nobody in ‘Hello’ magazine.
Toniatellene has a bit of a reputation for ‘services rendered’, and there’d been quite a lot of ‘rendering’ going on of late in various households. She was also struggling under her usual premise of being unsure which baked bean in the tin had made her fart, and needed a sum of cash to make sure that it didn’t happen again, for a few weeks at any rate.
So she paid Nurse Atom Heart (not her real name you understand), the two notes to get something more ‘stable’. Nursie had just relaid her bedroom flooring under the close supervision of Mr Elias Sagtrouser’s son, Meccano, and he’d unfortunately made his father a bit of a laughing stock by having to take the whole lot up when the family cat went missing, only to be discovered disguised as a bulge under the bed…
So, the two fifties finally ended up back on Mr Sagtrouser’s counter after only ninety minutes, and just as they were about to be scooped up and placed in the back pocket for safe keeping, in walked Quentin ffoxley-Cabbage as large as life and reclaimed them as the colour of the tiles was unsuitable for his job!
Everyone in the chain was now out of debt, and also breathing huge sighs of relief from the continual financial burden they were facing, and all because of ‘Q’ and his correct business-like attitude.
Politicians take note!