COMMENT

So, it’s 2pm on a Friday and I’m running late for a cuppa catch-up with my mate the Cockney Character.

Typically, I’ve left it late to get to the bank and get some cash
out. I’ve got $20 on me and I’m umming and aahing over whether that will be enough to get me through the weekend.

By way of explanation, if you haven’t read it in these columns before, I am on a quest to be the last person in the world to own a personal eftpos card. I am a technophobe and prefer good old-fashioned people contact to a totally impersonal piece of plastic and all the necessary swiping and zapping that goes with it.

I’m not bothered by the inconvenience of having to physically go into the bank and stand in a queue. I figure I’m keeping someone in a job. Besides I’ve built up a good relationship with the teller team at my branch so it’s always a fun visit.

Now I should point out Mrs P and I do have a joint eftpos card – I think she must have forged my name on the application form because I definitely don’t recall agreeing to get it. Mind you, these days sometimes I struggle to recall what I had for breakfast – but when she’s out of town the card goes with her.

This past weekend she was away. And so was our card.

Anyway.

Here I am debating whether the $20 note in my wallet will be enough in case I need to buy milk or a curry for a treat on Saturday night.

I’m already late for my coffee catch-up but I figure if we’re just an hour I should still have time to get to the bank and get out some more cash.

Big mistake.

Those who are acquainted with my good self will know I like a good old chat. My Cockney mate is even worse. So, when we get together the chances are one coffee will stretch to two and be followed by another half an hour standing next to our respective vehicles before somebody actually opens a door and drives off.

I have a feeling it’s to do with the Cockney thing.

I won’t bore you with the full (or correct) explanation but, basically, a Cockney is regarded as a native of a part of London where rhyming slang was initially used by those with criminal intent to confuse policemen. Since then it has evolved to include most Londoners and even the slang has been shortened further.

I am proud to say I was born and raised there and while I’ve been here since long before anyone ever realised they even played rugby in Argentina, it takes me all of five minutes to fall back into the old dialect and lingo.

Which is why, with bank closing time looming last Friday, the Cockney Character and I are rabbiting on in a local café with the rest of the patrons presumably wondering what on earth we were talking about.

It has to be said there was a fair deal of laughter emanating from our little corner too, especially when we took a wander down memory lane.

Anyway, as we chatted a young lady who had been working away feverishly to keep everybody happy and supplied with their orders, managed to drop the entire contents of a tray on the floor where it crashed loudly.

I kid you not, the timing could not have been more perfect.

Just as the crescendo of sound from the smashed cutlery and glass bounced up from the floor, the Cockney Character started one of his raucous, head-turning laughs at something I’d said.

The upshot of all this was that it appeared to all and sundry in the establishment, my companion was hooting with laughter at the poor girl’s misfortune.

The Cockney Character very quickly realised that all eyes were on him, and most of them were angry, so cut off his laugh so quickly you could be forgiven the power of speech had been ripped from his throat in an instant.

Then there was one of those awkward silences as the naturally upset waitress began picking up the pieces, literally.

I swear I could actually see the discomfort creeping into every muscle of my companion as he sat opposite me trying to will himself invisible.

Eventually he gave up and, even though he was not the cause of the accident, decided to go and assist with the clean up.

A short while later he was back and anxious to leave as some disapproving glances were still coming his way.

Oh well, I thought. At least I might still be able to get to the bank. I checked the time. Bugger. Too late. The $20 in my wallet would have to see me through till Monday. At least it would be enough for that curry and a bottle of milk.

As it turned out, I went without both.

The Cockney Character was embarrassed by events in the café and obviously felt for the distressed waitress so he decided to leave her a big tip.

He assured me confidently $20 would suffice.

Only thing was he didn’t have any cash on him so could I take care of it and he’d sort me out next time we sat down for a cuppa and a catch-up.