only,’ says the barman sharply.
‘But there aren’t any kids here.’
‘That’s the rule. If you don’t like it–’ He keeps looking me up and down as if he is trying to tell me something.
‘The place has changed a bit, hasn’t it?’ I say to Sid. ‘I don’t recognise any of the old faces.’ It is a fact that all the birds look as if they have just had their hair done and the blokes are wearing ties. One or two of them even have suits on.
‘There’s a lot of middle class people around here, now, Timmo,’ says Sid. ‘You get the office workers coming in here for lunch. They even serve coffee.’
I can hardly believe my ears. Coffee! In the boozer?! How disgusting can you get? Still, I know what Sid is on about. A lot of the big houses around the common have been pulled down and in their place are posh blocks of flats catering for dynamic young executives. It is getting so the place is almost fashionable.
‘You’re shooting up the social scale a bit, aren’t you, Sid?’
‘No, not me, mate. I’m working class and proud of it.’ This is a sure sign that Sidney is tucking away a bit of loot. When people are on the make they are always trying to act posher than they really are. Once they get a bit of cash and security they start telling everyone that success has not changed them and go around complaining about the price of brown ale.
‘What are you doing then, Sid?’
Sid narrows his eyes into slits and tries to look like a cross between Charlie Clore and Paul Newman.
‘These days you’ve got to move fast, Timmo. Things change so quickly you’ve got to be in and out. Grab the money while it’s going and then get into something else. You can’t sit back and make long term plans. The public are fickle.’
‘But what exactly do you do, Sid?’
‘Well, Timmo, in a nutshell. I see a new craze coming and I capitalise on it. Do you remember the hula hoop revival?’
‘No, Sid.’
Sid looks disappointed. ‘No, well maybe that’s not a very good example. “Hulava good time.” I think it was a bit subtle. A bit ahead of its time. By the way, you don’t happen to know anyone who wants forty thousand hula hoops, do you? You could use them as cheap tyres for penny farthings, Or cut them open, seal one end and use them for storing marbles.’
‘I’ll keep my eyes open, Sid.’ I will too. I can see all the signs that Sid’s keen eye for a business disaster has not deserted him. How, I wonder, can he find the gelt to buy houses? He must still have some cash salted away from his Cromby Hotel days.
‘But this latest one can’t go wrong,’ exults Sid. ‘It’s a sure fire winner. Nobody’s really begun to tap the potential.’
‘What is it?’
Sid looks round carefully as if the boozer might be crawling with industrial spies. ‘Pogo sticks.’
‘Pogo sticks!’
‘Not so loud, you berk. I don’t want to tell everybody.’
Sidney watches a couple leave the pub and I can see him wondering whether they are going to rush home and start dismantling the telly to make pogo sticks.
‘You reckon they’re going to catch on, do you?’
‘With a bit of help from the right quarter. The art in this game is to get the merchandise before you start the craze. That way you get it cheaper.’
‘I understand that, Sid. But it’s a bit risky, isn’t it? What about all those hula hoops?’
‘I was unlucky there, Timmo. I didn’t know all the little wrinkles. I’ve got a professional public relations adviser now.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He gets you into the papers without you having to pay for an advertisement. He’s got lots of great ideas. We’re going to have a pogo stick race round Trafalgar Square and an attempt on the world pogo stick high jump record outside Buckingham Palace. Imagine that! It will give the whole thing a sort of royal seal of approval. We’re giving one to Ted Heath. He’s athletic, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, but he can’t use it on his yacht.’
‘I dunno. When there’s a calm and nothing much going on he might be glad to bounce up and down on the fo’c’sle. Think of the pictures we’ll get. Everybody will want one.’
‘What makes you think Ted Heath is going to accept your blooming pogo stick?’
‘He won’t have any alternative. We’re going to send a frogman down to tie it on to the anchor.’
‘I don’t reckon he’s going to like that, Sid.’
‘I don’t know about that. I just hope he accepts it in the spirit in which it is given.’
‘That of wanting to make a load of bread, you mean?’
‘Well, he’s done all right, hasn’t he? I don’t see why he should object to chucking it about a bit. The Conservatives are champions of private enterprise, you know.’
Poor old Sid can be so naïve sometimes that it makes me want to weep.
‘How does Rosie react to all this?’ I ask.
‘She’s so wrapped up in her boutiques she doesn’t know what I’m doing.’
‘Boutiques?’
Sidney looks slightly deflated. ‘Yeah. She’s got two. Thinking of opening another one. She’s got quite a flair for it.’
Good for Rosie. I wonder Mum wasn’t rabbiting on about it. I suppose, being pre-women’s lib, she reckons Sidney must have done everything.
‘Must bring in a few bob.’
Sid looks downright uncomfortable. I can see where the money for his house is coming from.
‘Yeah. It’s handy of course. Gives her an interest, that’s the main thing. Of course, it hasn’t got any of the potential of my schemes. When one of these goes then, woosh! One’s talking about tens of thousands.’
That’s the trouble with Sid. He is always talking about tens of thousands. Never doing anything, just talking.
‘I hope it all goes well for you both, Sid. That’s a nice bit of stuff you’ve got there.’
Sid looks at his trendy whistle as if seeing it for the first time.
‘Do you like it? I’m not sure, myself. It’s one of Rosie’s. To tell you the truth, I think I look a bit of a ponce in it.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I say. ‘I think that bloke over there thinks so too.’ In fact, the geezer in question is harmlessly reading his paper but he looks up when he
