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How do you work this new fangled thing?

Good day to one and all.

My name is Mr G and I have been given command of this on-line diary with the express instructions of letting the world know just what it is that a person of my era and standing does during a day in the world of a modern catering supplier.

Let me start by appologising for if I should slip into ye olde english. In my day at school doth's and hath's were all the rage and we didn't have any of this new fangled paper and ink, no we had wax tablets and pieces of twig onto which we scribed our exercises during Mr Chaucers english class. Don't get me started either on school closures due to snow, I was made to put on my waxed over booty's and wade through 4 foot snow drifts. All in short trousers too!

I digress and I shall have to get back to the subject in hand.

Here is what I do on a day to day basis.

My day begins at around 5.30am when I am awoken by the touch of a moist West Highland Terrier tongue in my ear, I now begin the agonizing 90 minute wait for the help to arrive at 7.00am to get me out of bed. God bless those district nurses, it was beginning to hurt when I had to roll out of bed onto the floor. At my age I bruise easily you know.

I have eaten a bowl of corn flakes and milk for breakfast since the morning of the King's inauguration and I don't intend to change now. The problem with people today is that they chop and change their breakfast habits. If I was to be made Prime Minister I would introduce a compulsory national breakfast taken at a sensible hour.

I then choose which of my vehicles in which to travel to work. I have a selection of four automated machines in which to travel. All of which sport the latest in petrol combustion engine to power the 4 wheels and drum brakes with which to curb the speed when necessary as I can sometimes with a good prevailing wind achieve 26 miles per hour. The problem with people today is that they are always in a hurry. If I was to be made Prime Minister I would introduce a compulsory speed restrictor fitted to all vehicles no one needs to be going faster than 28 miles per hour, and these loud boom boom boom wireless radio's everyone seems to have? Well they have drive me mad.

My journey to work takes me around 16 minutes, 17 if the pelican crossing is operational outside York hospital, 22 if I have to top up the water in my combustion engine.

After arriving at Ward's I like to leather off my paintwork. No need for streaks on a fine performance vehicle. If only I had time to wipe of the wheel spokes, I never do because there are fridges to sell and I've been over 20 minutes away from the lavatory.

I enter the building and exchange the usual morning pleasantries with my work colleagues. As work colleagues go, I believe I work with the cream of the crop. Smiles all round and coffee in hand I sit at my desk, sharpen my quill and await the ring of the electric telephone. Fridges have been a passion of mine for the larger part of the last century. I can still remember the halcyon days of yore when the chaps came back from the western front with methyl chloride for me to re-charge their larders. Methyl chloride to you is better known as mustard gas.

After taking phone calls for the better part of the morning the Hot Food delivery lady arrives and I like to fill my boots. I need to take on board about 6000 callories during the day to keep the volume in my bouffanted hair. I achieve this by buying 2 flapjacks, jacket potato, a sandwich, bag of crisps and 3 bottles of a wonderful substance known as Lucozade. The problem with people today is they don't take time to have a proper lunch. If I were to become Prime Minister I would be sure to introduce a compulsory sit down lunch every day.

Once suitably caloried up I get down to the business of selling fridges. I like to spend time discussing each individual customers needs on their own merit. When I have established what they want I then like to tell them about a cabinet that was available 50 years ago made in the time old fashion with a wooden frame and a belt driven motor on top that would have been perfect for them.

My mind not being what it was I occassionally have to look them up in the British Refrigeration Material and Reference Catalogue 1947. This wonderfull tome has been my faithfull companion these last 62 years and I should be cast adrift if it were lost. Alas no longer available, I sell them one of these new fangled stainless steel contraptions made by manufacturers such as True, Valera or AHT. I like to refer to these modern units as 'a good effort' which is my way of saying they were better when they were built by hand and loaded with freon and stipple glazed asbestos made by Turners in Rochdale.

Having concluded my day at work I join the madding crowd for my journey home. My journey home comprises of sitting in slow moving traffic for around 32 minutes which suits me fine just as long as the 38 horses in the fine modern day combustion engine under my baby blue painted body don't get thirsty leading to a steaming stop to top up the radiator.

After arriving back at the homestead I leather off my vehicle and, after a constitutional and hanging up my leather driving gloves and goggles, I return to dry off the wheel spokes and apply my tournet cover.

 

The problem with people today is that they don't do things like they did in what I refer to as 'the day'. If I was to be made Prime Minister I should like to see a return to hand made refrigeration, cars with proper spoke wheels, smart hair cuts and engineers wearing suits.

That's my idea of living.