I love this time of year. Christmas, I mean. There’s food, there’s drink, there’s that lovely, cosy glow when you smugly listen to people who sit in your busy little high street coffee shop slash retail bakery all day, buying tea and coffee and complaining that they have still got so much to do to get ready for the big day, which after all only lasts for the standard twenty four hours and you’ve got everything in for it yourself because you’re just so effing organised. Anally so, it might be said by some. But above and beyond all that there’s the fact that as proprietor of said busy little high street coffee shop slash retail bakery you get treated to lots of festive snogs and hugs from lots of your local hotties. And some of their grans, it must in all fairness be said. But still, it’s all good. I would not keep an umbrella furled in a downpour, nor reject still beer in a drought.
The girls from the dog grooming parlour had just left and I was tweaking a hair from something that was probably more than 60% Airedale from between my incisors when the phone rang. It was Diamonds, the local plumber. He does all the plumbing work in the shop, and I once asked him to fit a new mixer tap in the kitchen at home. He could only come while I was at work, and Anita was alone at home. I got home from the shop that evening to find her sitting with a cup of tea, shaking her head sadly.
“When your friend Diamonds does plumbing jobs in the shop, does he sing to himself loudly? And barely in tune?”
“Very.” Replied I, “He knows every Heatwave number off by heart. He’s just not so good on tunes as he is with lyrics. Though he does tend to segue from one song into another without actually recognising the fact. It can be a bit disorienting at times. He’s a one, isn’t he?”
“And does he break off to explain to each tool exactly what he’s going to do with it?”
“Yup. And he tells the pipework exactly what angle he’s going to bend it to, what connections he’s going to use, everything. The works.”
She looked me in the eye. Trouble.
“If we ever need any plumbing done again, can you promise me that you’ll not call Diamonds in? He’s barking mad. I wanted to take his little blowtorch and cauterise his eyelids. And if he comes here again I will. You do understand, don’t you.” Note the lack of a question mark there, dear reader. If we need a plumber again I know just the fellow. He’s not Diamonds. I’ll keep Diamonds for jobs in the shop though. He’s great.
As I was saying, Diamonds was on the phone, and he wanted a word.
“Hello Graham, it’s Duiamnonds here.” I think he’s got Irish blood coursing through his vocal cords. “I’ve been tossing something over for a few days, and I think I should share it with you.”
I’m so glad I don’t have a laundry. “Go on, Di, what’s been buggering you? Ha ha.”
“Well, between you, me and the gatepost, which by the way is getting smaller every time I look at it, I have to tell you something. The other day, when I’d dropped off that Christmas card to you, did you find my new business card pasted inside it, I designed it myself, did you like it? I noticed a man across the road from you outside the Post Office…”
“Was he a postman?” I asked.
“No, I don’t know if you’ve seen him, he had a coat on.” It’s December, mind you.
“Was he large, hairy, smelly with a large wooden cross swinging on a leather lanyard round his neck and a mop of unkempt hair and a beard that looks like it might have a separate existence and what could well be his entire life in a bedraggled rucksack on his back and a wad of anti abortion propaganda in his filth begrimed hand?” I asked. A person matching that description has been making a nuisance of himself lately.
“No”, said Diamonds. “I don’t think so. Anyway, he looked a bit suspicious to me, so I decided to linger, see what he was up to. I’m not by nature a suspicious person, but he was worrying me, I don’t mind telling you, Graham. Do you know what he did? He walked over the road, and he was looking through your shop window, it looked like he was checking out what you sell, what you charge. Looking at the food you’ve got in the cabinet in your window. Then another man came and started talking to him, and I got closer to listen, and they were talking about the food in your window, and the prices you charge. It’s all a bit suspicious to me. They looked like the fellow who’s got the cafe down the road from you. Not local, if you know what I mean. Eastern, and I don’t mean Polish. If it was my cafe, I’d want to know.” He paused, the moment hung heavy in the air. What to say? I didn’t want to appear ungrateful or rude.
“Well. Thanks Diamonds. I haven’t noticed anyone particularly worrying, looking through my window lately. But you have to put up with that sort of thing when you have a shop window displaying the stuff you sell. I shall certainly keep my eyes peeled from now on though. Thanks.” I carried on thanking him profusely for being such a valuable source of intelligence and made a mental note to get the phone number of Clive the other plumber programmed into the shop’s phone.
“I didn’t want to worry you Graham. You sound worried. But like I say, if it was my cafe, I’d really want to know.” He probably would. Diamonds almost sounded menacing. I was just glad that he didn’t burst into song. If he had I’d have gone to the sports shop and bought an American baseball bat to hook up under the counter. Or a billhook, whatever that is. It sounds like the sort of implement you could do something viciously decisive with though, wouldn’t you say? Be prepared, as they taught us in the Scouts.
Happy Christmas to you, whoever and wherever you are.