Short Stories 2

GOOD EVENING SKY

I’ve just returned from the beach. Let me try to ‘paint a picture’ for you with words.

There is a green wooden seat in a prominent position on the edge of Dee Why beach. It is elevated above the other seats, and one can sit and observe everything along the beach from this one point.

Today is warm and sunny, but there is a strong breeze. The ocean is clean and blue, and small waves lap against the sand.

Far off to the left (north) there is ‘Long Reef’. The rocks stretch far out to sea, and boats must avoid this area, or perish. Sometimes hang gliders take off from the headland at Long Reef, and can circle above it effortlessly, if the wind is coming from the right direction.

Some young couples walk between Dee Why and Long Reef for their evening exercise. Some of them hold hands, some are arm in arm, and some walking apart and talking.

The waves are so small today, that surfing is futile. Just a few swimmers are brave enough to endure the cold water.

Two young girls enter the water close to my seat, swim for a few minutes, and then get out. I ask them ‘how cold is the water?’. One of the girls replies ‘It’s not very cold in, but freezing when you get out’.

A young boy plays in the sand with his bucket and spade. His parents look on in approval.

A little way out to sea, a seagull dives repeatedly into the water, gathering up his evening meal, but he is too far away for me to see what he is catching.

Much further out, a solitary container ship is anchored, awaiting his call to enter Sydney Harbour.

High above him, a Qantas jet heads North at high speed. Earlier, a helicopter had skimmed across the ocean, headed in the same direction.

Far off to my right, is the rock pool. I have spent many happy hours swimming up and down there, and playing games with my children. Beyond the pool, there are just rocks and cliffs.

Close beside me, there is a grass area, then a road, and shops on the far side of the road.

People can buy a wide selection of different food, drinks and beach accessories in the few shops there.

At the southern end of the grass area, there is a park, which has swings, slide, roundabout etc, and is very popular with the local kids and young families. There are also barbeque’s provided, and the surrounding area is used by many as a picnic area.

Trees have been strategically planted to provide some shade on hot days, but this evening, everyone is sitting in the sun.

A group of young people about 15 or 16 years old are having fun on the grass. They are laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Perhaps it is difficult for them to appreciate just how fortunate they are to live in such a beautiful part of the world.

My body carries little excess weight, and my bum gets sore quite quickly on the hard wooden seat. Then, as the shadows begin to lengthen, it is time to pick up my crutches and head home on this beautiful spring evening.

Poetalan

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‘FLOPPY’ A Sydney Dog

Floppy was almost 2 years old when first we met. Her owners were a nice family living in the west of Sydney. They had a couple of children and their dog. The official reason for wanting to sell their beloved pet was that they were moving overseas, but after knowing Floppy for some time, I suspect the real reason was they couldn’t afford the huge food bills that Floppy was running up.

We agreed a price of $100 for Floppy and took her home. She came to live with a family of six in a large house with garden space and a swimming pool. The children all loved her immediately. She was brown, and white with a very pretty face and looked very mischievous. Although she missed her old family for a short while, she settled in very well.

In her early days she was quite active. Never fast, but those long beagle ears would flap wildly as she ran around the local park, or played with the kids in the back garden. She soon grew to love her new family and only showed any sign of aggression when there was an apparent threat to the home or one of the kids. She soon became best friends with the dog next door and they visited each other whenever they could. ‘Big Joe’ was far more athletic than Floppy, and he used to jump the wall dividing the 2 houses to spend some time with her. It was only for companionship, because we had Floppy de-sexed soon after we got her.

Floppy came everywhere with me when I wasn’t working. We spent lots of time in the Kombi together, and she delighted in coming to soccer training to say hello to the guys. She sniffed her way round the oval as I got them all fit and showed them a few new skills twice a week..

Most dogs, or people for that matter, are good at something or other. Some are athletes, some are artistic, both people and dogs can be comical. Floppy’s talent was eating. With 6 humans in her family, most of whom always left something or other, and her own dinner to woof down, she put on weight very quickly. The more she ate, the heavier she got, and the hungrier she always appeared to be.

Over the course of time, Floppy developed quite a nice little routine arranged around her favourite pastime. All the dogs in our street were fed out the back of the house or in the kitchen. The cats were all fed out the front and each cat had it’s own territory which was marked out and defended vigorously from any other felines in the area. Floppy, however, was not bound by these territorial borders, and whenever the opportunity presented itself, she would find a way to get out to the front of the house. This was usually via the side gate, which had a dodgey lock. Once out n the street, she calmly went from house to house, cleaning out all the cat bowls. There were about 120 houses in our street, and a small crescent off the street too. All the houses in the street and crescent were visited by Floppy as often as she could.

As the cats of the immediate neighborhood got thinner and thinner, Floppy just got fatter and fatter. She even befriended an old lady in the crescent and used to ‘pop in’ for a quick snack every day whilst on her rounds. At the end of round, she would wait at ‘Big Joe’s’ front door till one of his family came home and she could gain access to his house. Upon gaining entry, it was always business first. Floppy always made a beeline for Joe’s bowl and cleaned up whatever was left before the normal doggie protocol of sniffing each others bums was initiated. Food became her life.

One day, there was a small carnival, or fete as we called it, in the area. One of the attractions was an eating competition for dogs. My daughter Samantha took Floppy along, and her best friend and next door neighbor, Rochelle, took Big Joe. The competition was very simple. Whoever finished their large plate of food first was the winner. About 15 dogs and 15 bowls of food were lined up. The dogs were held on their leads 2 metres from the bowls awaiting the start. Samantha was the most embarrassed young girl in the world, when out of all the dogs, Floppy sat up and begged when she saw all those bowls of food. Everybody laughed at poor old Floppy.

The whistle blasted and the competition began. Alsations, Boxers, Rottweilers, big dogs, small dogs and one hungry Beagle leaped forward to begin their task. It was all over in a flash. All the other dogs were ‘also rans’. Had the race been open to betting, and had I been a gambling man, I would have made a fortune.

Before anyone had time to announce the winner, Floppy left her bowl and turned her attention to Big Joe’s. He was less than half way through his meal and coming in about 3rd place. Floppy was such a good and helpful friend, that she cleaned out his bowl in 2 seconds flat to help Joe into second place. The crowd laughed so much. Floppy was the hero of the day. The prize was a large tin of dog food, which Floppy polished off that night, but the judges were so impressed with Floppy’s humorous antics, that, to the great delight of the onlookers, they let her finish off all the leftovers in the other bowls.

This wonderful dog could even speak. When she was turned over onto her back for a tummy rub, she lay with her paws raised in anticipation of the oncoming delight. If, however, instead of rubbing her tummy, I asked her ‘What would you like for dinner?’ and pushed her ribcage towards her head 3 times, she always answered ‘SAUSAGES’.

The boys thought this was hilarious, and they soon learned how to do it. Floppy was then thrown onto her back dozens of times every day and asked what she wanted for breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, supper. What would she like with her potatoes, on her toast or mixed in with her dog food. The answer, of course, was always the same. ‘SAUSAGES’.

Mackay was a popular holiday destination for our family, and one year, I arranged for the boy next door, Matthew, to feed Floppy for the 2 weeks that we were away. For convenience, I selected dried food and I left the outside tap dripping water into a large bowl so that she would never be thirsty.

The first night that we were away, Matthew came into the back garden, opened the large bag, and gave Floppy her designated quantity of food. He put the bag away in the cupboard provided, and went home. Floppy quickly ate the dinner, and then turned her attention to the large bag of dried food in the cupboard. Somehow, she got the door open, dragged the bag down from the shelf, tore it open and gorged herself on the food within.

Matthew came in the next night to find no trace of the food remaining. Floppy’s stomach told the full story. It was huge. She lay on the tiles beside her kennel almost unable to move. Matthew didn’t feed her that night, but had to go out and buy her some more food for the rest of our holiday.

Whenever we tried to enforce a diet, Floppy became so sad and miserable that we finally relented. She seemed far better off ‘Fat and Happy’.

She had another skill that is very rare in the canine world. She could dive into the pool in our back garden like an Olympic champion. With my help, she would stand on the pool edge at the deep end. Carefully, she would concentrate on her posture. Her 2 paws extended out in front of her as she balanced right on the edge. Then, the back legs would bend slightly and straighten to create the lift, which sent her flying into the air. A double summersault with full twist was Floppy’s favorite dive. There was normally a huge splash before Floppy made her way to the pool steps, emerged like a true champion, walked over to the nearest person, and shook water all over him.

On one occasion, the usual large splash was absent as Floppy made the perfect entry. This was the first ‘clean entry’ for Floppy, who promptly went directly to the bottom of the pool and slowly made her way upwards. As her head emerged from the cool clear water, there was an almighty ‘GASP’ as she gulped down a huge lungful of air. We still laugh to this day when the story is recalled.

Towards the end, Floppy became very slow. She could only walk 30 or 40 meters before getting out of breath, although right till the end, she continued her slow little walk along Brooker Avenue and Reynolds Crescent, checking out all the cat bowls in her relentless search for food.

Finally one afternoon, she passed away quietly in her kennel. All the children cried as I buried her beneath the cast iron seat in the front garden. As a mark of respect for her incredible talent, my youngest son Gregory placed a large tin of dog food and a can opener in beside her before we said a little prayer and covered her up with earth.

She is gone, but not forgotten.

Poetalan

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GIL - Bird of prey

Hanwell Community Centre is a very well known landmark in West London. It is rumoured that the genius of the old ‘silent movies’ Charlie Chaplin went to school there. An old photograph shows hundreds of boys in a school assembly, and I am assured by a reliable source, that one of these boys is indeed ‘the old master’.

The Centre can be seen from many miles away because there is an enormous clock with 4 faces mounted on a very high square tower. The resemblance to that other famous old London clock ‘Big Ben’ is duly noted by the writer.

Surrounding the Centre on 3 sides is a mixture of waste and recreational grounds which include 3 soccer pitches, a children’s playground, and areas of long grass, which were often frequented by courting couples on summer days. The fourth side faced a housing estate. There was a driveway leading from the road to the Centre which was beautifully lined with ‘conker’ trees.

These trees shed conkers in the autumn, and kids from all over the housing estate eagerly prised the inner brown conker from within it’s spiked green casing. A hole was then carefully drilled in the conker, and a piece of string passed through the hole, which, in turn, was secured with a knot. The kids had a wonderful time bashing each others conkers to see whose was the strongest. Some even cheated by heating their conkers in an oven to harden the skin. Every time you destroyed somebody else’s conker, our conker went up a grade. If you destroyed a conker which had smashed 10 other conkers, yours went up by ten and so on. All the kids loved to play.

Above the clock, there was a ledge, and above the ledge were the 4 spikes of the tower, which marked the upper limits of the building.

Gil stood on the high ledge and surveyed his kingdom. He was rarely seen on the North side, which overlooked the driveway and housing estate, but preferred instead, to keep a vigil on the open ground and long grass. Small birds, mice and any other small creatures all too often ended up being guest of honour on Gil’s ledge. When times were tough, Gil was often spotted searching in the long grass for insects. Grasshoppers and the like are a good source of protein when there is little else available.

Uncle Dan often watched Gil as he walked the dogs around the waste ground close to my home. Gil never hovered, but soared aloft. His keen eyes watching the ground below for any sign of movement Dan wanted to catch Gil and have him for a pet. At first I was reluctant to assist, but Dan was so very determined that finally I relented.

We built a simple, but effective trap. The design was quite crude and the live bait was an unfortunate sparrow. When the bait was taken, a net would be pulled over the unsuspecting sparrow hawk, and hold him long enough for me to secure him.

The sparrow was tied into the trap and it was strategically placed away from the playground and in full view of Gil. Dan and I retired to nearby cover and waited patiently. The bait was not impressed, and struggled vigorously in a vain attempt to regain his freedom. Finally, Gil left his ledge and descended upon the trap. No circling this time, his flight path to the sparrow was almost a straight line from his ledge to the trap. He grabbed the sparrow in his claw and the trap was sprung. The net flew over Gil and his days of freedom were gone.

My heart pounded with excitement as I rushed down to the trap to prevent Gil’s escape. Both birds were entangled in the net and I held it fast till Dan arrived. We soon had Gil and the sparrow at home and locked up safely in the same cage under cover in the back yard. Neither looked any the worse for wear. Gil looked quite beautiful in his new cage. His hooked beak and sharp talons were formidable weapons with which to quickly kill his prey. The bewildered sparrow eyed his large new cellmate with some suspicion as he pondered his fate. With everything secure, Dan and I retired to the kitchen for a well earned cup of tea.

After tea and biscuits, we ventured back outside to see how Gil and the sparrow were getting along. They were now very close indeed. The sparrows feathers were on the floor of the cage, one of the sparrow’s claws was half way down Gil’s throat, and the rest was in Gil’s stomach. Gil had obviously felt a little ‘peckish’. I only wish that I had had a camera to capture that evil look in Gil’s eye before the last of the sparrow disappeared down his merciless throat.

Dan took Gil home to his flat in Ladbrooke Grove. Gil was very well looked after. Dan trapped a sparrow every day, and fed it to Gil every evening. He gave Gil the freedom of the flat once per day to stretch his wings. It was always Dan’s intention to return Gil to the wild, so he had to keep the feathers and muscles in good trim.

One day a blackbird wandered into Dan’s trap instead of the usual sparrow. Although the blackbird seemed very large for Gil, Dan put him into Gil’s cage. On the first evening, Gil didn’t seem to bother the blackbird, but in the morning, although the blackbird seemed OK, the back of his neck was bald. Gil had removed all the feathers in that area. As Gil got hungrier and hungrier, the blackbird began to look more and more delicious, and finally, Gil relieved him of his earthly worries and put most of his body to good use.

Gil was a very messy eater. When he plucked the sparrows that Dan so lovingly served him, he showed no consideration for the furniture or carpet. He had small grey feathers, not just at the bottom of the cage, but all over the place. Dan thought how best to remedy the situation and finally he thought of a way. Dan decided to pluck the sparrow before feeding it to Gil.

The next sparrow caught, was duly plucked, his feathers put neatly into a bag and thrown away. He was placed into Gil’s cage as bald as a coote. His first trauma was losing his freedom, then he had to endure this very large man tearing out all his feathers and then came the cold. Gil was the only source of heat in this new hostile environment. The poor little creature managed to climb up onto Gil’s perch and snuggle up to Gil in an effort to keep warm. As Gil moved away, the sparrow moved with him. Soon Gil was up against the bars of the cage and the sparrow was trying to snuggle up under Gil’s wing. Needless to say, Gil’s solution to the problem was the same as always. He ate the sparrow.

Finally, the day came to return Gil to the wild. Gil had a good breakfast, and we took him to the waste ground from whence he came. When we released him, his flight was slow but steady. Gradually he gained altitude and regained his position as Lord of Hanwell Community Centre. No creature had dared occupy his ledge in his absence.

We watched Gil many times in the following weeks and months. He was captured in October, and released in March. He was spared the suffering of a cold and dark English winter.

Poetalan

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INTRODUCING CHANGE 20-12-1998

From 1988 to 95, I was a partner in a small computer repair shop. My partner Vinh and I also sold, installed and maintained computer systems for local businesses and private customers. Most of our profitable work was earned by contracting repair work from Honeywell-Bull.

The business went very well till 95, when H/Bull was taken over by Wang, and their management decided to repair all their equipment internally. We tried canvassing for more work in other areas, but the industry was going through a bad time. We closed the business and I just did some repairs on a part-time basis.

September 95, I joined the State Transit Authority as a bus driver. This work was very enjoyable, and I found that I related very well to the passengers, and made many of them laugh. Especially the old and the children. Although the job was obviously non technical, it was interesting and at the end of the shift, there were no thoughts of work in my mind till I signed on the next day. How many people can honestly say that?

The social club invited me to join, and I started attending the after works meal and drinks once per month. The only problem with these well organized functions, was that despite the ‘no smoking’ signs (which were mandatory in all government building) the workers ignored the signs and smoked everywhere, even at the tables where we were eating our food.

This was unacceptable to me and I asked the social committee to rectify the situation. The committee told me that you cannot stop drivers smoking when they are having a drink and that the ‘no smoking’ law doesn’t apply in here?

September 96, a report went into the big boss, cc to the union and the social committee, asking in writing, that smoking be stopped in all the areas designated as no smoking? This included the meal room, the hall where the meal and drinks night were held and many other areas.

The STA has a clear and concise ‘no smoking’ policy, so reluctantly, the boss agreed and smoking was banned in those areas.

This worked well for the next 2 drinks nights, because those who smoked just went outside for a minute and then returned. No major problems. It made such a difference. For the first time, there was clean air to breathe. My eyes didn’t turn red, my throat wasn’t sore, and the food looked more appetizing without ash trays filled with cigarette butts on the tables.

The Christmas social gathering was a different story. There were many old ex-drivers there, ex-presidents etc. The weather was foul outside. Heavy rain and strong winds, so the committee, in their infinite wisdom, put ashtrays on all the tables.

By the time the food was served, with no air conditioning, there was a thick chemical fog in the hall.

Initially, I asked the committee to ask people to stop smoking. The committee reminded me that it was raining outside, and some of the older members had smoked all their lives before I came to the STA.

My reaction was to remind them of the boss’s decision, but still they took no action.

When I started eating my meal at the table, 2 people started smoking beside me so I asked them politely to stop. They got rather upset and remarked that there were ashtrays on the table.

I advised them to take it up with the committee.

Before my meal was finished, drivers from all over the hall started shouting and swearing at me. They threatened physical violence and told me to F___ off. I did not respond, but got upset.

Two members of the committee approached me and tried to give me back my money and said it was best if I left. One of them flicked through the rule book, and said they could throw out any member who caused trouble.

I advised them that I had no intention of leaving the social club, would fight any move to expel me, and that a report on this incident would be given to the bosses on the Monday morning detailing the smoking, the verbal abuse and the threats of violence.

The boss ordered that the committee apologize to me for their actions and told them that if there was any more smoking in that hall, the whole social club would be closed down.

It seemed that the incident was closed, BUT a few days later I received a letter from the social committee saying that they had received a large number of written complaints about my behavior, and that I had to appear before the committee to justify why I should not be expelled from the social club.

Another report was handed to the union alleging harassment by a large number of written complainants.

The union had a ‘word’ with the committee and they have been well behaved ever since.

A number of the drivers, however, resigned from the social club and have not spoken to me for 2 years now. This has caused me quite a lot of stress and several weeks off work..

The union solicitors are taking the STA to court for loss of earnings due to their negligence in not enforcing their own policies.

All the incidents have been carefully documented, and the solicitor advises that the case is likely to be successful.

People still smoke in non-smoking areas including the fuel bowsers, but not in the main hall.

Poetalan

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INTRODUCTION TO BUSINESS

When I finished my college education in 1971, my first job was with a large company called EMI Records. They had fingers in many different pies and kept track of everything on an old second generation computer. They were in the process of upgrading the computer system to a ‘state of the art’ ICL System 4 and I was hired as a COBOL Programmer to write new programs for this machine and then maintain them.

At that particular time, Uncle Dan, who had retired from full time work some 8 years previous, even though he was only 32 at that time, landed a job as a bouncer at an Irish dance club in Camden Town called ‘The Buffalo’. Dan was 6’3” tall, well built and knew how to ‘weigh up’ a situation, which were good qualifications for a bouncer. It so happened that one of the other bouncers at the club was selling watches to the patrons of that club and appeared to be doing quite well. Dan decided it was time his monopoly was terminated.

Dan asked me to become involved and I agreed. Apart from buying and selling some bicycle parts as a 14 year old boy, this was to be my first business venture. We sourced several wholesale suppliers of watches in the East End of our great city of London. Middlesex Street was the Wholesale area of the East End, and we two trudged up and down, back and forth, comparing prices and quality before taking the plunge. Eventually, we purchased about 150 nice looking watches from a Jewish wholesaler for just under 2 pounds each. The watches would retail at somewhere between 5 and 12 pounds in various shops around the country.

Much to the annoyance of the other bouncer, we began to sell the watches at The Buffalo on Friday and Saturday nights, and indeed, we were very successful. Soon the market was flooded, and when Dan was ‘stood down’ by the manager for a few months following a scuffle at the dancehall, we looked elsewhere for new markets.

Neither of us were interested in a stall or a shop, so we decided to concentrate on the Irish pubs and dance clubs that Dan knew so well. We settled into a nice little routine. On Friday evening, I would arrive at Dan’s flat in Ladbroke Grove. After synchronising all our watches and carefully checking our receipts and warranty forms, we would proceed to a selected area, and ‘hit’ about 4 or 5 pubs in the last hour and a half before closing time. From there, we always headed off to a dancehall. Dan knew most of the bouncers on the dancehall circuit, and we always got in for free. Most of the ‘clientelle’ were well oiled by this late hour and were quite ready to exchange their 4 or 5 pounds for a nice looking watch. When the dance closed, we would go back to Dan’s place and count the takings before I went home. I recall that as a programmer in 1971, I was earning about 30 pounds per week, but my part time business selling watches was bringing in far more than that for only 4 or 5 hours work.

As time went by, we were able to get a better deal when we bought our watches from Middlesex Street, and we got to know the most profitable locations for selling, and how often we could visit those locations without risk of saturation. We had a nice little circuit. Cricklewood, Kilburn, Hammersmith, New Cross, Camden Town and several other suburbs were rotated in sequence. Sunday morning also proved quite profitable. The licencing laws in England permit the pubs to sell their potent brews between midday and 2 pm on Sunday. I would normally work on my own during that period and just cover a ‘local’ circuit. Dan was not terribly interested in the money. He was quite well off and did it for interest and to help me get started in life. I am substantially in his debt.

One Friday night, we went to Hammersmith. Dan had had a few drinks but was still well in control. It was raining, so I parked ‘Natasha’ (The name affectionately given to my old car by my girlfriend Hilary) as close as I possibly could to the pub. Dan was in such a rush to get out of the car and into the pub, that as he got out, he dropped one of his watches on the road and it broke into several pieces. He cursed as he hurriedly picked up the pieces in the rain, clipped them all back together and put that broken watch into a separate pocket. We rushed into the pub just before closing time and came back to Natasha about 30 minutes later. I suggested to Dan that he put the damaged watch in my ‘glove compartment’ for repair at some later time. He agreed, but when he put his hand into his pocket to get the watch, it wasn’t there. ‘Oh shit’ He said ‘I’ve sold the bastard’. He had no watches left in any pocket. All he had was a lot of money. BUT, in the pocket which had contained the broken watch, we found one piece of that watch. We laughed and laughed before we proceeded to the dancehall. To this day, we never found out who bought that broken watch.

Early one Saturday morning, we were driving home after a good Friday night in the Hammersmith area. My old Ford model 100E, Natasha, ran very well but one of the tail lights was defective. Suddenly, a police car appeared from nowhere (as they always do when you don’t want them to), his blue lights flashing and indicating for me to pull over. Even though Dan had been drinking, he said ‘Let me do the talking’.

The officer explained politely that my lights were defective. I apologised, and when Dan attempted to ‘clarify’ the situation, I told him to be quiet.

The officer asked me if I had been drinking. When I explained that I never mix drinking with driving, and the alcoholic fumes were from my uncle, he seemed to accept that.

He asked me if the car was mine, and had I ever had any trouble with the police. I answered yes and no respectively. His partner verified my answers over the police radio.

After a few more simple questions like ‘where have you been tonight?’ and ‘Who is that in the car with you?’, he asked me the question I had been dreading.

‘What have you got in the car Sir?’ ‘Oh! Nothing much’ I replied.

‘Please step out of the car and open the boot Sir’ He said.

‘Where’d you nick ‘em?’ Asked the officer as he stared at several trays of gleaming new watches in the boot. Obviously he thought that he had discovered the crime of the century. Although he had asked for an explanation, he refused to listen to anything I said. The ‘Meat Wagon’ was hastily summoned, and Dan and I were whisked away to Notting Hill Police Station for questioning.

Up till that point, the police had been polite and professional. At the Police Station, all that changed. As a few very large officers ‘helped’ us out of the van, one officer began pushing and pulling me, seemingly in some crude attempt to provoke me into violence. Any such temptation was resisted. Dan and I were ‘escorted’ to separate interview rooms and interrogated at some length. At times the questions became very abusive, 4 letter words were thrown about like raindrops in a storm and serious accusations were made time and time again. Fortunately, we both always carried receipts for the many watches we had. Finally, they put us both in a holding cell while they checked out the receipts.

It was early Saturday morning, and the wholesalers would not be back at the office till Monday, so the police decided to get them out of bed in the middle of the night to authenticate the receipts. It was a very apologetic ‘Mr Plod’ who released us from custody at 5-30 am that same morning. There was no mention of the defective tail light or any of the other defects that plagued my dear old ‘Natasha’.

By the time I had taken Dan home and got into my own bed, it was 6-30 am. I was exhausted.

At that time, I was playing semi-professional soccer, and as usual, I had a game that Saturday. After 3 hours sleep, I arose and went off to play. It was my worst performance of the season. Fortunately, we won 2-1. The coach asked me why my game was well below par, and we had a good laugh when I related the tale to Geoff and the other guys.

When I got engaged to my girlfriend Hilary, I found that I had less time to sell watches. It was also considered a little dangerous, particularly for me as I was only 5’ 8” and could be ‘taken advantage of’.

The money earned from that venture with Uncle Dan gave me a very healthy deposit with which to buy my first home, and also gave me valuable experience for life in general and further business ventures.

Uncle Dan passed away in September of 1999. I will always remember the wonderful times we had together.

Poetalan

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