It's been a while since I posted one of these, but yesterday I had a very strong sense of deja vu. Our illustrious prime minister was interviewed on a tv programme and has promised to transform the employment opportunities of thousands.
I lived most of my childhood in Woking in Surrey. This was long before the present town centre was built. It was in the days of the Atlanta Ballroom (my regret is that I only ever got to see the exterior) and the main car park was the area now occupied by most of the shopping centre. The Yorkshire Cafe was the best place to eat in the town, and it was in the days when the council turned down an application from Marks and Spencers because they didn't want to attract 'that sort' of shop! (Yes, really!). The days when Woolworths (now a name from the past) not only had polished wooden floors, but also polished wooden counters! The days of Harold Wilson.
Each Saturday I had to travel a distance of about 10 miles to my piano lesson, and this involved changing buses right in the middle of Woking. Miss Oswald was a reknowned tyrant, but an excellent tutor. I would dread going, knowing that even if I practised 24 hours a day it would still not be enough to satisfy her, but each Saturday I would go, looking forward to the journey home! Of course, there was not so much traffic on the roads, but everywhere there were roadworks. No orange and white cones, in those days, just holes in the road. Sometimes they were covered with tent like structures, sometimes open to the elements. If there was anyone working there he would probably have been wielding a pickaxe or occasionally a shovel. In retrospect they were in odd places, but at the time they struck me as just being holes in the road. Sometimes they even had occupants at night when a 'night watchman' would sit with his lamp and keep guard, although I'm not sure why.
It is one Saturday in particular that has really stuck in my mind. On my return journey I queued part way through waiting for my second bus. I was standing on Commercial Road, beside the car park. At some point during the week one of these mysterious holes had appeared just in front of the queue. There were several people in front of me and two elderly gentlemen struck up a conversation. This hole was of paramount interest to them, why was it there? Who had dug it? Would it be there next week? The conversation continued:
'Why do we need all these holes?'
'I blame it on the governement.'
'I think they employ one lot to dig the holes and another lot to fill them in'
So. The moral of this story is 'fear not'!
If you or a loved one have recently been made redundant you can be assured that dear gordon has your best interests at heart. Sharpen up those shovels! Brush the rust off those pickaxes! Light the lamps for a night of watching. Be ready for those holes. Wonder not from whence they came...... Just know that precedence has already been set.