WINDAS ... and how to clean 'em.
Alan D. Pencavel
DEDICATION
To Sheila, Mum, Daniel, Sarah, Theresa and Paul.
To all my other relatives …there are plenty of those spread around.
To all my friends … maybe not so many?
To all you prospective readers: fingers crossed!
CONTENTS
Think of my book as being sufficient sustenance for a full day, although you’ll need somewhat longer to actually read it, should you have sufficient staying power.
Aperitif / Starter / Entree: - 3.45 a.m. Glass of water and a couple of head-ache pills, during the early hours. Couldn’t get back to sleep!
Acknowledgements
Author’s Comment
Prologue
Introduction
Early Morning Bedside Cuppa
Chapter One: Introducing Ronnie
Chapter Two: Getting Started
Chapter Three: Qualities of a ‘WC’
Chapter Four: Window Cleaning Technique
Chapter Five: Sam
Chapter Six: Georgie’s Equipment
Chapter Seven: On the Job
Chapter Eight: A Day in the Life of …
Chapter Nine: Brownie Points
Chapter Ten: Outdoor Pursuits
Chapter Eleven: LOAS: The Law of Averages Society
Chapter Twelve: Window Cleaning Technique
Breakfast
Chapter Thirteen: Occupational Hazards
Chapter Fourteen: Music While He Works
Chapter Fifteen: Quoting for Jobs
Chapter Sixteen: Travel Problems
Chapter Seventeen: Outgoings
Chapter Eighteen: Window Cleaning Technique
Smoko
Chapter Nineteen: SAFETY: Part One
Chapter Twenty: SAFETY: Part Two
Chapter Twenty-One: MORE SAFETY:
Chapter Twenty-Two: Window Cleaning Technique
Brunch
Chapter Twenty-Three: Georgie’s Pet Hates
Chapter Twenty-Four: Interruptions
Chapter Twenty-Five: Window Cleaning Technique
Lunch
Chapter Twenty-Six: Georgie’s Better Habits
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Interaction with Jo
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Window Cleaning Technique
A Piece of Fruit
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Physical and Mental Challenges
Chapter Thirty: Making Friends … or Not
Chapter Thirty-One: Window Cleaning Technique
Afternoon Tea
Chapter Thirty-Two: Some Deeper Thinking
Chapter Thirty-Three: Communication Breakdown
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Ageing Process
Chapter thirty-Five: Window Cleaning Technnique
A Beer and a Smoke...although I've given it up now.
(Georgie is not Convinced)
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Nothing Stays the Same
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Window Cleaning Technique
Evening Meal
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Master Window Cleaners
Chapter Forty: Small Units
Chapter Forty-One: Window Cleaning Technique
Supper
Chapter Forty-Two: Job Satisfaction, or Not
Chapter Forty-Three: Small World?
Chapter Forty-Four: The Grass is Always Greener
Georgie, the Author?
Chapter Forty-Five: Window Cleaning Technique
Nightcap
Chapter Forty-Six: Nearing the Conclusion
Pre-sleep (Multiple tablets to be taken with
a full glass of water)
Finally, ‘Some Facts and Figures’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank all those who have assisted me in carrying out my most recent project.
In particular, I reckon I should thank Sheila (alias Millie) for giving me encouragement, when the evil spirits were trying to force me to press the delete button, succeeding once and almost again on several other occasions. For bringing into the office cups of tea; coffee; milk shakes; chocolate squares and biscuits. For getting me away from the computer, as she nears the end of a documentary (or Coronation Street) on ‘TV’, at the far end of our pad, in the lounge.
“Al!” It’s bedtime. You’ve got an early start in the morning.”
(She can call me Al.)
I would not have been able to write this book without many of you readers out there.
My thanks to Joe Public, whether or not you have been, will remain or will ever become a customer of ours. If I make reference to you in my text I hope you will identify yourself only where I have said nothing derogatory about you.
“I jest!”
Most of what I say is done so tongue in cheek. The last thing I want to do is upset anybody. I may have used an occasional scapegoat, to emphasize a point, but if there were any real animosity between us, then it would not have been you.
Thanks to Kate for your ongoing advice and technical assistance.
Thanks to Liz for volunteering to read through my script. You put your hand up, as I was looking for a frank appraisal of my efforts, which I received. I hope your willingness will not have detracted from our relationship.
“What relationship? Do we have one?”
AUTHOR’S COMMENT
If this book does not meet with your expectations please return it immediately in order that somebody less critical may be given the same chance that you had to enjoy its contents.
If you are expecting my book to be full of smutty accounts of what a ‘Window Cleaner’ may get up to on his rounds, bad luck.
(“Maybe you’d be better off to go and watch ‘Confessions of a Window Cleaner’ ………… again!”)
During the previous sixteen years the author of this book has put a shine on a mean average area of six point three acres of glass, annually. (Probably into double figures by now.)
Now he has decided to write a book about it.
My prologue contains oodles of random, factual information. I hope you take some of it in because it does relate to the remainder of my book, whatever you may think, as you read it.
The first forty years of my life were spent in England. I now hope that I shall double that, at least, as a resident of New Zealand. ***
(*** Update: - On 12th June 2022 Sheila and I returned to England from New Zealand, to live in Blighty. We had fully retired by then so we grabbed the opportunity. We kept our dual residency.
Our regular trips home, to visit our growing ... and ageing family ... ceased to be guaranteed, due to the world-wide adverse influence of 'Covid'. ***
Our lives have taken a big turnaround but we live in hope that our move will have been a good one!
"Watch this space!"
PROLOGUE (Take a deep breath!)
In 1952 Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor was proclaimed Queen Elizabeth ll of England.
Her father, King George VI had died on 6th February that year.
On that day my life was in its embryonic stages, as I had recently been conceived but my parents were not yet fully aware that their second boy had commenced his life’s journey. I was just a handful of multiplying cells, at the far end of my mother’s umbilical cord.
On the other side of the world New Zealand was commemorating the anniversary of the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, which has been celebrated there (here) annually since 6th February 1840. On that auspicious day Lieutenant-Governor William Hobson, as a representative of then Queen Victoria, had signed the Treaty together with 70 Maori Chieftains. The Maori had settled in New Zealand from the Pacific Islands, some time before Captain James Cook had first landed there on 9th October, which would be during the same week that the author would first see daylight, but a few years earlier, in 1769.
Liz was officially crowned on 2nd June 1953, which just happened to be the exact date that news reached England of another New Zealander, Edmund Hillary becoming one of the first two human beings to conquer the world’s highest peak.
Hillary and Tenzing had reached Mount Everest’s summit on 29th May 1953.
Ironically, this morning, as I was tapping these keys, I heard the sad news of Sir Edmund Hillary’s death. He was aged 88 and it is now 11th January 2008. His State Funeral will take place on Tuesday, 22nd January 2008.
Elizabeth still reigns, as the author sits here and makes a second attempt to write his book.
At some time, between the proclamation of Liz’s promotion to Queen and her actual crowning, I was hatched. That occasion, whilst of great importance to me, may not be documented in any history books.
Also, in 1952 an Englishman named George Formby officially retired from his very successful career as an entertainer. During that time he had made famous a song entitled ‘When I’m Cleaning Windows’.
To any descendants of George out there, I show no disrespect to your very famous relative and I sincerely hope that you will have no objections to me making reference to him in my book. You have every right to feel very proud of your ancestor.
On October 12th 1950 Robin Askwith was born.
The author was also born on October 12th but two years later.
Askwith was an actor of considerable renown and appeared in a film called ‘Confessions of a Window Cleaner’, which was regarded as the ‘UK’s most successful movie of 1974.
Robin appeared in many other ‘Confessions’ films.
He released his autobiography in 1999, aptly entitled ‘Confessions of Robin Askwith’.
Together with his wife (his own, not Askwith’s) the author now runs a window cleaning business in New Zealand.
“Big deal!” you sigh, totally unimpressed.
I presume the royal servants have always cleaned Liz’s windows at Buckingham Palace, Sandringham and Balmoral.
“I’m not saying you’re lazy, Ma’am. It’s just that I can’t envisage you, with a squeegee in your hand, stretching out to reach royal fly and bird sh*t, spattered on your royal windows. Of course, I could be totally wrong but I also know how busy you must be carrying out your numerous other duties.”
I mention that to cover myself, should Liz ever have the privilege to read my book!
I want to provide some background information that may help you understand how Georgie came to be writing this script, whilst living in New Zealand.
He was born in England. He went to school, as most kids do.
He’d left school and trained to become a P.E. and Science Teacher. He taught for ten years but at the age of thirty he peered into the fat end of a telescope and could not see himself retiring from teaching, thirty-five years from then. He became a P.E. Officer in Her Majesty’s Prison Service but before he reached the naughty forties he took another look through the same ‘scope. Neither did he see himself forever wearing a tracksuit, with keys jangling in his pocket.
Mildred and he resigned from their jobs in England. They sold their house and flew away to take a look elsewhere.
Nearly twenty years ago the Thornbys came to Godzone from Australia, supposedly for two to three weeks during a round-the-world trip that was curtailed, largely because they had found New Zealand.
They returned home, well before anyone back there had expected them to, in March 1991, to let family members and friends know of their intentions. They were hoping to return to Auckland the following year, possibly to stay in New Zealand. That would be subject to Georgie securing a job offer in teaching and their subsequent acceptance by the Kiwi Immigration Authorities, to allow them to stay as permanent residents.
Considerably sooner rather than later they had returned to ‘NZ’ and Georgie was applying for teaching jobs anywhere and everywhere, on both main islands! They were not advertising for teachers on Stewart Island, or he would have applied for any vacancy there!
Once settled, after the initial stepping stone in teaching, they were subsequently fortunate enough to find a niche in the Kiwi market, as Venetian blind cleaners and repairers, which led them to becoming window cleaners. (Alan’s paternal Grandpa was a blind man during the final years of his life, so he was following suit.)
Their business has now been going strongly for many years.
Almost two years ago Thornby felt the urge to compile a few notes to do with the subject of cleaning windows. He has since enjoyed taking time out, often after a day of buffing glass, sitting in front of his magic box, to add a few lines to those already scripted. The grey matter wasn’t exactly being stretched to its limits while at work, so it was good for him to do some ‘theory’ in the evenings.
Having spent two thousand, five hundred and eleven minutes putting his thoughts into some order (nearly forty-two hours … stats from the Magic Box, or ‘Big Brother’) he was stupid enough to hit a few wrong keys in an attempt to save a Sunday morning’s freshly-typed script. He was even more stupid not to have backed up the document that he was using (and losing) as the entire set of notes disappeared, together with his sense of humour.
It took him ages to partially retrieve only one of those, which wasn’t the wayward document. He likes what computers can do but there are times when he’d quite willingly revert back to using a ballpoint pen and note-pad. He’d go even further back, to scroll and quill, leaving cybernetics to those more accomplished in the subject.
After several weeks of dragging his bottom lip, he picked up the dolly that he’d earlier thrown out of his pram and decided to start afresh. He hoped that his small brain would be able to recall at least some of his earlier notes. To add to his plight, the jottings he’d been making, as ideas sprang to mind, were also out there somewhere, in cyberspace.
Are you sure you wish to continue reading the end result of the work of a total idiot?
That’s up to you but if all goes to plan, Georgie’s second attempt should give you that opportunity.
INTRODUCTION
Georgie intends to write a book to be housed on two separate shelves in the library. Based on practical experience he feels competent enough to be able to give advice and helpful information to do with the topic of making glass see-through. Therefore, he has a dream that one day his book will sit on a shelf in the reference section at your local library. Also, from experiences he has encountered during that time he reckons he’ll be able to recount a few instances to give readers an occasional chuckle, so it may also appear in the light reading section. Whatever happens, he has no confessions to make and shall try to stick to what has genuinely happened while he’s been out there doing his business, in both rain and shine. He would also like to reassure his readers that not everything people hear or believe about window cleaners is necessarily true!
He reckons that Joe Bloggs lives his fantasies through the vivid imagination of an imaginary window cleaner. May Joe be happy to do so, regardless of the honest truth! If this Jo(e) is you then I wish you well, as you continue to fantasize (with a'zee')!
Well done! You've made it to the start of Chapter One!
Your scrolling finger will be busy from here-on in, as you scroll through each subsequent chapter. (Please don't feel the need to re-read the introductory paragraphs each time you log back on!)
WINDAS ... and how to clean 'em.
Alan D. Pencavel
CHAPTER ONE
Introducing Ronnie
Georgie writes his story but Ronnie helps him out
The author needs assistance, of that he has no doubt
When he needs to take a break, the little man steps in
To keep you readers reading, or to give you all a grin
You are forewarned that the author is easily sidetracked.
You may well remember ‘The Two Ronnies’, starring Barker and Corbett, which was a comedy series on British television during the 70s and 80s. It has been repeated so many times that regardless of your age, you must have been living on a desert island if you haven’t watched an episode or two during your lifetime. Think of the sketch when Ronnie Corbett sits in an armchair to tell a joke, with his short legs dangling, toes just touching the floor. The content of the joke is almost irrelevant. The amusement is in how he reaches the punchline. He would spend ten minutes digressing from one subject to another until eventually returning to the original storyline
My train of thought will probably remind you of Little Ronnie but will not be quite so calculated.
Here is his first digression.
"Go on, Ronnie. Tell the readers.”
Perhaps not so far, but the author’s intention is to produce a text to make for easy reading. His wife always reads more complex, heavier books than he does. On average, about one night in three confirms that statement. He reads for about two minutes, if he bothers at all, then falls asleep. Having usually been engaged in a long and physically demanding day, his batteries are just about ready to start re-charging as soon as ‘Uncle Ned’ hits the ‘Weeping Willow’.
His wife will have burned fewer calories during the daylight hours. She now needs to read at least one complete chapter of her book, to induce sleepiness. “How much effort does it take to watch soap operas all day on TV?”
Later on, I shall mention alternative ways by which the Window Cleaner seeks to gain Brownie points from his customers, during his normal working day. By asking that rhetorical, tongue-in-cheek question, I have begun today with a huge deficit to make up at home!
He is dormant, next to his lovely wife (a couple of points redeemed straight away) until she jerks, pre-sleep, followed simultaneously by her heavy book falling and flattening her chest, returning them both to full consciousness in the process.
“Why don’t you settle for a magazine at bedtime rather than ‘War and Peace’?”
“I’ll have to read for a bit longer now, or I’ll never get to sleep. You’re lucky. You just nod off without even trying.”
With any luck they may both eventually remain temporarily unconscious for a few hours, until the radio alarm shakes them in the morning. He has always told his wife to lay right at the far edge of the bed. That way she’ll drop off much quicker!
I have introduced you to my personal assistant. To forewarn you of a passage, which may or may not be relevant to the theme at the time, Ronnie will take over from the author. At times this will be at my request but at others he will just seize an opportunity to butt in.
“Ronnie. Help me out here, please.”
OK. It may be a good idea at this stage to fill in some detail with reference to the Prologue. Despite the considerable number of years ago that George Formby was in popular demand, as a live entertainer in the north of England and through the nationwide medium of radio (the wireless) the author still today hears this guy’s name on a surprisingly regular basis. It seems to be synonymous with the art of window cleaning and apparently will be for some time to come. I don’t know if George Formby ever washed any windows but in his repertoire was a song, based on what a window cleaner might have seen through other peoples’ glass. It was typical of Formby’s style of comedy. His entire act was based on sexual innuendoes, ranging between suggestive and smutty. He had naughty-boyish, imbecilic looks, with a cheeky grin and the audiences of his time warmed to his charisma. His career spanned forty years and by the end of the thirties he was Britain’s highest paid entertainer, reputed to have been earning a million pounds each year, which wouldn’t have been bad money in those days!
He starred in music hall, cinema and radio, strumming a small ukulele to accompany his songs. His father, George Snr. had been an entertainer before him, so it was in his denims (genes).
During the first few days of each month the author carries out his monthly shop work in Cambridge, a small town on the North Island, twenty minutes from the big smoke of Hamilton. He may be observed standing on his steps in the main street, trying to reach some ingrained marks in the far corner of a pane of glass, when out of the blue, he’ll hear,“Are you related to George Formby?” or “You should be singing, ‘When I’m Cleaning Windows’.”
I’m not kidding. This happens regularly.
Consider this: - Formby was born in Wigan, England on 26th May 1904 and was named George Hoy Booth. He died in 1961, when the author was eight years old. Nearly fifty years later total strangers in New Zealand, which is about as far away from Lancashire as you can be, continue to bring his stage name up.
“He must have been bl**dy good in his day!”
Another question, to which this town’s window cleaner has to respond quite frequently, is “What confessions have you got to make?”
The other fellow mentioned earlier was a British actor named Robin Askwith. He was born in Southport, Lancashire, which isn’t too far from Wigan, although he arrived nearly half a century after George. Askwith was fortunate enough to have been offered to play the leading role of Timothy Lea in the aforementioned film ‘Confessions of a Window Cleaner’, back in 1974. He usually had cheeky chappie roles, as his face fitted those parts to perfection. He could pull the birds and did so frequently. He has remained popular throughout his career, appearing on ‘TV’ in films and on stage, playing an enormous variety of parts, latterly in the lucrative world of pantomime.
Having done a bit of homework I found out that the part of Timothy Lea could just as easily have been snatched by either Dennis Waterman, Richard Beckinsale or Richard O’Sullivan. These three actors had turned down the role, ahead of Askwith. On reflection, they have all fared pretty well in the same profession, so in hindsight they would not have felt too aggrieved by not taking the ‘Confessions’ part, early in their respective careers.
Waterman was born in Clapham, London in 1948 and became famous as both Arthur Daley’s Terry McCann in ‘The Minder’ and John Thaw’s sidekick, George Carter in ‘The Sweeney’. He has continued to appear in films and ‘TV’ series since, usually playing the street-wise, honourable cockney character, skilled in the use of his quick wit and his fists.
Richard Beckinsale was cast as Lennie Godber, cellmate of Norman Stanley Fletcher, played by Big Ronnie, in a comedy series called ‘Porridge’. He was in other sit-coms of that era, such as ‘Rising Damp’ and ‘Going Straight’. He also played a string of other roles during his career, which was sadly cut short, when he died in 1979, at the tender age of thirty-one.
Mrs O’Sullivan gave birth to the other 'Dick' in Chiswick, Middlesex in 1944. He began acting at the age of eight and later became best known for his roles in ‘Now Look Here’, ‘Alcock and Gander’, ‘Man about the House’, ‘Robin’s Nest’, ‘Me and My Girl’ and ‘Trouble in Mind’.
Until 1993, the only things the author had in common with either George or Robin were that they were all born male and in England. Everything changed, because from that definitive year they had even more in common. All three of them then had a connection with window cleaning, although at that stage none of them had really done any.
He is enormously proud to say that he also has things to share with Queen Elizabeth II. They are both British, they’ve been to London a few times and 1952 was a big year for both of them. They have also spent time touring New Zealand. As yet, not together and time is running out for Lizzy.
Maybe she needs to get in touch with him pretty soon?
"Thanks for that, Ron."
CHAPTER TWO
Getting started
The author and his loving wife had made themselves some plans
They needed something else to do apart from washing pans
They had to earn some money soon to help them pay the bills
So they started washing windows and wiping frames and sills
Much of what you read will be based on how this couple achieved success in their business venture. Don’t let that put you off because there are also snippets that are likely to be of greater interest to you.
This venture was initiated on the Monday following his last Friday of teaching.
Both were good days but for opposite reasons.
“Ronnie!”
The building of an interlocking maze of tunnels under the Chicago River began in 1899.
These subterranean passages housed a series of railway tracks that were used to haul coal and to remove ashes from the many office buildings in the downtown area, situated above them. They were approximately 40 feet beneath street level and were operational through to the 1940s, when other power sources replaced the coal furnaces.
They were virtually forgotten about until Monday 13th April 1992 when they tragically filled with torrents of water from the river above, which culminated in becoming one of the worst ever business disasters known to mankind.
Ironically, the cleaning project in New Zealand began that same morning. As other businesses elsewhere were having a very bad time theirs was just kicking off.
Their first ever customer was Mrs Ring. She had her venetian blinds cleaned and repaired that day. She was actually Mrs Bell but I don’t want her to be embarrassed by being identified in my script.
We attended to her needs on the above date and regularly afterwards. If this dear lady receives further mention in my book I’ll make reference to her as Mrs Founder or Mrs Chicago because she was our founder member and you now know the rest. That way, nobody is likely to identify her as Mrs Bell.
I doubt that she’ll get another mention anyway.
I’m wrong again!
Mrs Chicago later became a window customer as well. She was a kind lady and was probably, in the early nineties in her early nineties, so sadly is unlikely to be with us today.
The bell for the first round had just rung.
From my introductory paragraphs you will have learned absolutely nothing about the practicalities of window cleaning or how you would begin to set up a business yourself, offering such a service. By the time you have reached the end of this book I hope that may all have changed. By then, you may be as keen as mustard to get out there and start on your own windows. You may even feel benevolent enough to do your next door neighbours’ too, if only to repay them in kind for the times you’ve needed to ask them for favours.
To include both aspects of window cleaning in the same book presents the author with a minor problem. If you are reading this for no other reason than curiosity then hopefully you’ll plod through, regardless of the irrelevant content in between.
If you are serious about learning how to start your own enterprise, as we did, your problem is not really a major one. There will be interludes for you to have a smile, in-between your note taking sessions.
If you just want to read about the lighter side of the profession, you may find technical passages will darken your mood from time to time. You have a choice. You may skip those bits, at the risk of missing an occasional story. Alternatively, you may accept being bogged down every so often.
Whatever your reasons for scanning these pages I hope you will get something from your efforts. I seldom hear of people who are really happy in their work. To most, their daily toil seems to be just a grind and a means to an end, to fatten the wallet on payday. You don’t often hear people whistling as they graft. Only on the odd occasion will you discuss with anybody the pleasurable things about a job
Few people mention how good the pay is or how kind the boss has always been? More than likely they’ll be whining about both and more besides.
That all changed for the author, when he became his own boss.
If your only wish is to be able to leave streak-free glass at home then it won’t be necessary for you to go out and buy all the equipment mentioned later. Neither will you need to burden yourself with a public liability insurance policy. You may only need a small tip, such as 'rub a bit harder' or 'use a drier rag', but far be it from me to insult your intelligence. You must pick out the good bits for yourself, or at least those that may satisfy your own needs.
I won’t try to cover everything involved in setting up a window cleaning business of your own but if you feel sufficiently inspired by reading about our exploits then more detailed information is available on the subject and much of that is to do with good old common sense. I do not claim to be the ultimate high authority in the art of this occupation. However, I have learned a bit in recent years and feel that I should now be able to convey information that may be useful to at least some interested parties out there.
Apart from the very odd occasion, I work with glass. Briefly, with occasional exceptions to the rule, windows are made of this material, which has a basic soda-lime composition.
I shall convey a wee bit of technical information here, without trying to blind you with science. I shall mention only what applies to most glass. It has been manufactured in the same way, with the same materials, for hundreds of years.
This unique material is comprised of the following ingredients:
About 70% silica (from sand)
15% sodium oxide (from soda ash)
10% calcium oxide (from limestone)
5% minor ingredients, its content I do not need to pester you with. Besides, I’m not absolutely certain myself.
Cut!
That is far too much information already.
As stated, this book is being written to make for easy reading, so it is not the author’s intention to try to be something he is not (clever). Some books are full of complicated data and can make the readers stir crazy. Although the author and his customer will be portrayed as different characters, rest assured that I am just the average Joe myself. No more, no less!
Time for some light relief: -
This was one of the author’s early encounters on the job.
He was nonchalantly cleaning the small louvre window of a toilet, at a rest home for the elderly, just outside Hamilton. It was mid-to-late morning, so he was past the early hours, when he does take extreme care not to disturb his customers, especially as they may be carrying out their daily ablutions at that time of day. He has never gone looking for trouble and is totally aware of people’s needs, especially when they have probably just woken up from a lengthy sleep. As a result, he is very diplomatic, particularly between about seven and ten thirty in the mornings.
The following incident occurred late morning, so he had dropped his guard a little. This particular toilet, unbeknown to him at the time, did house one of the residents of the home. If this person had kept quiet the author would have remained totally oblivious to the fact that she was even in there, but he was made fully aware of that when she bellowed,
“You could have waited until I’d finished!”
His immediate and reflexive response was, “Sorry, Love, but I didn’t know you were in there. I can’t see you anyway, so don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll report you to the matron,” retorted the occupant.
I spent the remainder of the day trying to put a face to the voice, in order to reassure the lady in question that I was not a peeping Tom.
“What’s that, Ronnie?”
This definition of a voyeur is from an old legend, when a poor, unassuming guy happened to be glancing across the road in Coventry, England, just as a certain Lady Godiva rode past, naked on her grey horse. He was struck blind, or dead. (Poor B*gger)! Presumably, his name was Tom.
I spent the remainder of that day nervously looking behind me, half expecting to see a portly matron. She’d have been clutching my cards and notice of my instant dismissal in her hands.
If I remember correctly, my wife and I moved away from the outskirts of Hamilton soon after (not because of) that job. So I was glad to be shot of that particular job. I understood that a much larger general maintenance firm from the city of Hamilton took over from me, not that it was of great concern to me by then. To be honest, I had never really quoted the manager enough for the ordeal in the first place but I had continued to whistle on the job regardless, as I do.
Through the proverbial grapevine I had guessed that the end for me was nigh, as it will have been for many of the residents at the home, as well as for other small contractors too.
“To personalise my script, when I make reference to a ‘WC’ (in this case a ‘Window Cleaner’: not a toilet) I shall probably call him ‘Georgie’. I shall frequently be writing from my own personal experiences, so Georgie will actually be me. Mrs Thornby will also be an alias for Mildred, should any of the following admissions ever get to court. (George and Mildred?!!)
In other words, Georgie is me and I am he.
I shall also refer to members of the general public. They may already have become customers of the Thornbys. They might be ex-customers or future customers. ‘He’ or ‘She’ will then be ‘Jo’, as in Mr or Mrs Public. (Jo Public? !!)
I have nothing sexist to say so I shall use ‘he’ most times but read ‘she’ if it fits better for you. After all, people usually make reference to a dog as ‘he’ until they realise that she didn’t cock her leg, when she walked straight past a lamp post.
Jo, on occasions, will actually be you, the reader.
From time to time, I shall be recalling Georgie’s thoughts. Not always, but sometimes these will be in brackets. The customer will not actually hear what goes through Thornby’s mind. He has no wish to offend his clients.
Also, bear in mind that I have been writing this script for nearly a two-year period, so far. In case you think it has taken me that long to reach this page I might add that I am editing now, having completed most of the manuscript.
Hopefully, that will have cleared up one or two issues”
Qualities of a ‘WC’
When offering a service to Jo and all his mates
Georgie should arrive on time, confirming times and dates
To earn respect from clients, he should act in certain ways
‘PR’ skills he has to learn, being careful what he says
In comparison with the Motherland, New Zealand has very few ‘PWC’s (Professional Window Cleaners). In the UK they are two-a-penny, whenever you want to spend one. A ‘PWC’ needs certain attributes to help him to be successful. He must not be too sensitive but should have a skin thicker than a croc’s. For countless reasons he cannot give guarantees of perfection, so neither will there be any that he won’t from time to time receive criticism.
Georgie has certainly had his share of that thrown at him over the years. He’s usually absorbed it pretty well but inside he’s always hated it. He has only become proficient at his job due to his dislike for being told that he’s not up to scratch. On the other side of the coin, he thrives on compliments and could listen to them 24 / 7. He gets some of these as well, so has learned to take the rough with the smooth, in order to survive. He has to be his own biggest critic, to stand a chance.
Georgie has always worked on the principle that Jo should recognise his genuine attempt to achieve his best results for him. He has often thought to himself, “If Jo wasn’t slagging me off he’d probably be picking on somebody else anyway.”
The best thing about a born moaner is that it only takes a matter of seconds before he finds another, more interesting subject to run down. Fortunately, nobody’s ears have to burn for very long at a time.
Georgie also needs to be a bit of a fusspot. The attitude ‘She’ll be right’ won’t be, for sure. If the odds are that smears will be found after a genuine attempt not to leave any behind, then what are his windows going to look like if the operator couldn’t give a monkey’s toss about the results of his work?
He has to be in control. Among many other things, that means being a very good organiser and it pays to have a spouse or a secretary who qualifies as such (and a spouse reduces outgoings, so is probably the cheapest option).
He needs to work professionally.
Honesty and integrity are essential qualities of Georgie’s make-up, if he is to provide mutual satisfaction in the work he does. Jo has to be as happy with Georgie as he is with Jo.
Being organised is a great start but there are many other prerequisites necessary.
“Ron!”
Georgie used to wonder why his teachers gave both punctuality and attendance such high profiles at school. He now realises how important they are, when dealing with his customers. It is essential not just to turn up but also to do so on time. If there is an emergency situation to prevent this from happening then common etiquette is to call Jo, as soon as he becomes aware that the appointment may have to be re-scheduled, if only by a few minutes. It doesn’t take much, or cost anything to be polite and understanding. Georgie needs to put himself in Jo’s shoes and consider what he wants at any given time, in any given situation. This is one of the most important tips he could give to any potential tradesperson.
‘Brownie’ points will be discussed later but I can assure you that there is no better way to pick up early ones than to be on the dot for the first meeting with a potential customer.
If I make reference to a specific customer of the Thornbys the likelihood is going to be that his real name will be replaced with a corny pun alias, as you may pick out in the following example.
It is appropriate here for me to refer to an early case from one of Georgie’s first experiences.
One of Thornby’s customers, Lily White had a friend called Pailish Green. She recommended the Thornby business to her, as being a reliable company, which offered an excellent and friendly ‘WC’ service. Mrs Thornby received a call one morning from Pailish and booked an appointment for Georgie to give her a quote for her windows to be cleaned. At the right price she would dearly love them to be cleaned in time for her husband, Emerald’s 40th birthday function that was being held the following weekend. An arrangement was made for the rendezvous to take place at the Green’s property at 1 o’clock, the following Wednesday.
Pailish apparently had a stingy boss and was only allowed fifteen minutes for her lunch break, so she wouldn’t have much spare time. Georgie made a memo to be there on the right day, at five minutes to one, and he mustn’t be late! Had it reached ten past one and there had been no sign of Georgie, there would have been no blame attached if Pailish had phoned her tight boss and taken a sicky from work. She would have been well within her rights to have spent the entire afternoon, with the use of a loud hailer, telling the whole world and his mates about how she was let down by Thornby and his company.
Indirectly, the Thornbys would also have let Lily and Matt White down and could have expected them to side with their friends and go looking for another firm to clean their own windows in future.
This sort of publicity would not enhance any company’s name. Many years may have been spent in patiently building up a good business reputation with Jo but it only takes one slight misjudgement to leave a nasty blemish on it.
Remember that it is a fact of life that good news does not travel anywhere near so fast as bad news. Human nature sadistically seems to give greater pleasure in spreading excrement about somebody
than praise. We live in a very tough world, particularly where money is concerned. You either have to accept that or you don’t go into business!
Above all, Georgie needs to have a keen sense of humour.
The ability to look happy is a plus, even if he is having a rare bad day!
CHAPTER FOUR
To get it right, the practise will take many, many weeks
To wash a pane is easy but to make sure you see through it
Is not what’s in your bucket but is down to how you do it
However, this chapter is short and to the point and has been
In the moist atmosphere further North of the equator hosing the windows appears to be all that is required to produce a reasonable end result.
If you only required a tip to do with the art of window cleaning, you now have it. George has never tried to clean windows in the Motherland. Since being back here he has watched professionals using a hosepipe and a brush, then moving on to the next pane of glass. Simple and effective but not so in Aussie or New Zealand.
That was your first sustenance of the day. I suggest you put your empty mug back on your bedside table and have a snooze before you get up.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sam
When Georgie goes to work, he’s not certain what will be
No two days are quite the same so he’s not sure what he’ll see
Here’s a little story that he hasn’t forgotten yet
It concerns a young man left at home, who really made him fret
We shall soon need to concern ourselves with a fairly lengthy look at Georgie’s equipment. I’ll re-phrase that, to avoid any misunderstandings. Before much longer, we’ll look at the tools Georgie needs to be able to offer the service he does, as a ‘WCDU’ ... a Window Cleaner Down Under.
You may need some light relief first, so meanwhile, read this!
“Ronnie!”
Georgie is employed to clean this particular customer’s windows on a regular basis.
The building has two storeys and some tricky-to-get-to panes, reachable only by climbing to the top of his long extension ladder, whilst lugging his small steps up onto a pretty high platform that juts out from just above that level. Once his steps are safely in position he is then able to reach the bedroom and upstairs bathroom windows, without putting himself at any great risk. The only hairy bit concerns getting the steps up there to begin with.
Working out how to get to some windows is often a bigger challenge than actually cleaning them.
The skylights at this place were only reachable on dry days, as they are even higher. They stick out like big angular noses from a gradually sloping roof. His job is to clean these protrusions and on this occasion there appeared to be plenty of mucus, or snot on them, needing his attention.
Fortunately, it was a dry day. The corrugated iron roof would have been slippery and lethal on a wet one and probably too hot on a scorching, sunny day. He would have declined immediately from any attempt to reach them. He would have had to return later to do them.
His own safety is his highest priority.
“So, where’s the light relief?”
“Hang on! Don’t rush me!”
I am setting the scene, by filling you in with the details, as accurately as I can remember them.
Now Mrs Roof was usually out during the day, so it was the norm for Georgie to have the place to himself, as he presumed he had on this occasion. He didn’t need access to indoors because this was a regular, 'outside only' task. The understanding they had between them was for Mrs R to either leave Georgie’s money in an envelope, or he would leave an invoice in her mailbox, if she’d forgotten he was coming.
She was a good payer, so that wasn’t a worry for Georgie.
There he was, whistling away, as he does much to the annoyance of anybody within earshot. He was clinging on to the frame of one of the skylights, while giving the glass a final buffing. Three of his cloths were caked in green gunge but hopefully the washing machine was going to cope later with them, without seizing up.
Totally unexpectedly: -
“G’day, Georgie. It’s good up here, eh?”
He could not believe his ears. He thought he was alone!
Digressing a little, but we do have time.
Customers’ usual greetings are often on the following lines, with some of Georgie’s (my) thoughts (in brackets).
“Hello, Georgie.”
“Hi, Mr. Thornby. How are you today? Why aren’t you whistling, ‘When I’m cleaning windows’?”
“It’s good weather for your job today, Georgie.” (‘Blazing sunshine! Sure!’ He wouldn’t argue though. ‘The bloke’s only being friendly, after all, and he knows no different.’)
“Oh! I thought you meant next Tuesday, Georgie. Do you mind if we change it?” Georgie will have started counting to ten but on about 7 or 8 he’d expect to hear, “Never mind. I suppose it’ll make little difference, Georgie. You may as well carry on, now that you’re here.”
“Hi, Georgie. Excuse the mess in the bedrooms. I forgot you were coming today.” (As if I could give a monkey’s what the bedrooms looked like! I’m here to earn some money and then get straight on to my next job, a.s.a.p.)
“Hi, Georgie. I’ve got Jack off school today. He’s got the bot again.” (‘I think that’s Kiwi for tummy trouble.’)
“Hi, Georgie. Would you mind moving your van, only it’s on Smudge’s paw.” (‘Smudge is the black labrador. I hadn’t seen him
when I pulled into the drive.’)
“Spring’s here at last, Georgie.” (‘About time, too!’)
“G’day, Georgie. Any new confessions to make since you were last here?”
“Did you hear the storm last night, Georgie?” (‘No, but I heard about it this morning.’)
“Hi, Georgie. Do you want more work? The neighbours, my sister, my Mum in town and Dave’s boss all want quotes, if you’ve got time.”
“Do you want me to close all the windows, Georgie, before you start?” (“Why? Then I won’t be able to do the inside frames properly.”)
“No thanks, Jo. There’s no need to do that.”
“I’m just brewing up. Fancy a tea or coffee before you start work, Georgie?”
Now, to begin with he would have instinctively accepted such an offer, having been brought up in good old Blighty, drinking cuppas on the hour, every hour. But he found this was upsetting a few of his late afternoon customers. They were ready for bed and Georgie would still be outside with his torch, buffing glass. So, he soon learned how to politely turn down these offers, without offending anyone.
Mrs Thornby had always packed him ample refreshment anyway.
“You can’t clean the windows in this weather!
(“How much do you want to bet?”)
So often, the weather conditions would get a mention during the greeting. I suppose the weather is the most obvious common denominator between us all and it is a universal topic.
“The farmers will be happy with the rain.” (‘Sod the farmers. I’m getting wet!’)
“The farmers will be pleased with this bit of sunshine. We had twenty-three mils last night, George.”
(‘Rain, or whisky?’)
“Did you hear the forecast? We had some good rain last night.”
Georgie didn’t realise you could get good and bad rain, until he came to New Zealand. Neither did he realise that Kiwi farmers were never happy.
But this was not today's greeting! At the Roof’s house there had been no greeting and Georgie had no idea he had company, at least not within a well hit five iron, where a distant neighbour was bent over and weeding her garden.
“Sam! What the hell are you doing on the roof? Shouldn’t you be at school? My ladder’s not there for you to climb up.”
“I’ve been suspended from school, so I’m home for three weeks to chill out. I keep getting into trouble and not doing as my teachers tell me. Do you want me to show you my new computer game?”
“You shouldn’t be up here. Aren’t you afraid of heights? You can follow me back down the ladder. Sit down where you are and don’t move!”
“No. I’m not scared of heights and I didn’t climb up your ladder. I got out through my bedroom window. Mum says I’m not allowed to but she’s at work and I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Thanks for your concern, Sam. Now get back through your window. I’ll see you again when I come down and if you’re lucky I won’t tell your mother when she gets home.”
“I don’t care if you do.”
The kid was only nine years old!
It took Georgie only a few days to stop shaking like the proverbial leaf, from his trauma. He has since put the entire incident down to enhancing his all-round experience, which should make him a much better and more observant ‘WC’ in future.
One of the benefits of his daily routine is that every day is vastly different and he never knows quite what to expect next!
Sam did not appear to think anything was unusual and he certainly showed little or no concern at all. He was totally oblivious to Georgie’s emotions.
He’s a cheeky but likeable lad. He’ll do well in the future by sheer strength of personality, rather than by following any rules or guidelines. That is assuming that he stays alive long enough to experience a future and if he can keep out of jail.
CHAPTER SIX
Georgie’s Equipment
Before the Thornbys looked for work they found a piece of paper
They made a list of what to buy. Squeegees and a scraper
Ladders, steps, a decent van, dry rags - they’d need a few
A pole to reach the highest panes and sheepskin washers, too.
When he and Mildred started, for them to have the ability to offer an effective glass buffing service they had to make a substantial investment in Georgie’s equipment, before finding his first customer.
The Thornbys purchased a comprehensive supply of the cleaning aids required in order for them to make a start. Thereafter, regular expenditure on equipment was not going to be excessive. From time to time, damaged equipment would doubtless need to be replaced and a small amount of stock replenished. Other than those, apart from occasional unexpected garage bills, Mildred was able to predict outgoings such as tax payments, vehicle registration, fuel top-ups etc. and she would budget accordingly.
It is false economy to purchase cheap equipment and then to have to replace it at frequent intervals, as a result of it not being man enough for the job, or being dangerous.
Safety is a big issue and the subject will be broached in a later chapter, or two, of the book.
A Work Van
By far the biggest and most expensive single piece of a window cleaner’s requirements is a reliable and suitable vehicle. This will require regular maintenance checks and must always be legally roadworthy and certified.
All Georgie’s vans in the past have needed to fulfil two functions. The rear seats have folded down and the upholstery covered with sheets, in order to carry his equipment, Mondays to Fridays. With the minimum of effort it had to be easily converted into a touring vehicle, for trips away at weekends, including sightseeing with visitors. A child seat, securely fastened in the rear has become necessary more recently, as The Thornbys have reached the ripe old age of grandparenthood. They now look forward more than ever to family visits. A second child seat has recently become a requirement, as the family is expanding.
Ladders
Georgie carries four ladders around with him.
He has two identical, small stepladders. One set is used indoors and the other out. They are clearly marked as such. Jo likes that because his carpets stay clean. Georgie likes that because it doesn’t matter if one set stays dirty. By having two steps down each side he may mount or dismount from north or south. Unfortunately, in his haste, at times he has occasionally stepped back from them, via east or west. This has resulted in a tumble or a damaged set of steps, or both.
He has a foldaway ladder, which is very versatile. It may be used to reach tricky windows. It can be easily manoeuvred and turned into an ‘A-frame’, or even a bench, or whatever shape he requires, within reason. These days there are all sorts of similar ladders being advertised at the flick of the ‘TV’ switch.
Georgie’s hasn’t got a platform on which to put his coffee but he prefers to park his butt when on a tea-break, so he does without.
He has a three-piece extension ladder, which is his favourite. It has become one of his best friends over the years and fits snugly into his van, when retracted. As a good friend, it deserves to be the subject of the next paragraph: -
When Georgie first decided to purchase a decent, functional ladder he actually went to the trouble of measuring the length of his work van, with the seats laid down in the back. For convenience, he didn’t want to have a roof rack, but he did give the matter some serious thought, for about three seconds. He came to the conclusion that he wanted a three-piece accessory with the potential to slide up to a useful maximum height, according to his own personal lack of it. It should not be too difficult for him to extend or shorten and it needed to fit entirely into his van, with no wasted space. Neither did he want it to operate with the use of ropes, to slide the sections up and down. Being up there was danger enough without having dangly bits to get tangled up in or to trip over!
He had more than a rough idea of his ideal ladder, when he went to a reputed company to discuss the matter further with a professional builder of ladders, for use commercially. Between Georgie and Mr. Rung, the ladder-maker, the outcome was perfect for his needs and would be available for collection a week later. It could be slid to full extension comfortably, to suit a man of reasonable strength and of average shortness, as was Georgie. At the extent of sliding the first piece through the second, Georgie was almost at full stretch. Likewise, when the middle third was further slid through the final section.
Sweet as! (A nut, we used to say.)
A Belt
This stays in his bucket so that he won’t arrive at his first job of the day without it. Georgie wears a leather one, which has a strong clip. Its primary function, in the context of window cleaning, is not to hold up his shorts or jeans but to provide a convenient location for his supply of dry rags, the most vital weapons in his armoury.
A Rag Box
Georgie has a large, Tupperware box behind his driver’s seat in the van. This contains only fresh air at the start of each new day. By the end of it though, it is full of used and soggy rags, each of which has played a small but vital part to help him earn his crust.
Rags
People say to Georgie,
“What’s your secret?
“How do you leave the windows so clean?”
“You don’t leave any smears.” (That may well be true, in his dreams.)
“Where can I buy the stuff you use?”
“You make that look bl**dy easy, Mate!”
In truth, there is no secret, as Jo seems to think.
The following are not sacred pieces of information. Georgie has no trade secrets. Without researching the skills of his trade anywhere else, he has gradually compiled useful pieces of knowledge to do with his art, and he is more than willing to share those with Jo and his mates.
I could write a lengthy chapter about rags but you’d soon put the book down, or give it away. Instead, here is a short paragraph, as concise as I can make it to give you some idea.
Having washed and squeegeed a window, one must dry the pane thoroughly with the use of rags, before the elements take over that vital part of the process.
Georgie doesn’t bother with silk or nylon. He’d be as well to use greaseproof paper or crispy, Bronco toilet rolls. If you’re old enough, you’ll remember those and how they chaffed your arris. He sussed out for himself, early in the peace, which materials are most absorbent. Flannelette sheets are good value, especially from the Op. Shop. Towelling is OK but may leave flecks behind. The final wipe however must be carried out with a bone dry, fleck-free rag, or he’d fail miserably. A decent rag soaks up moisture like a ‘Hobnob’ does a cup of tea, when you dunk it.
“Sorry, but Ronnie wants a word.”
One of Georgie’s favourite rags, although he found it much too bulky at first, was thick towelling. He had almost rejected this piece of cloth immediately. (Before he’d had the chance to put it to good use it was being bolshy.) It was far too absorbent for a start! He’d drop it by accident into his bucket of water and it would suck it dry before he could retrieve it. If it got too wet, he wasn’t strong enough to pick it up with one hand. But the good news was that he got used to it. He knew its limitations and its strengths. It was a brilliant frame-and-sill-wiper and would take moisture from the windows like a thirsty All Black. However, it was not so good as a polisher.
Life’s a bitch sometimes but nothing and nobody lasts forever. ‘The rest home for the rags’ is under Mum’s kitchen sink, before being cast out altogether.
A ‘WC’ needs to maintain a large supply of cloths. He should not pressure himself by needing to use tomorrow the same rags that he brought home today. If he has a sufficient number for two, big days then he won’t encounter that problem.
A Bucket
Don’t go to the cheap and nasty shop, to buy one there. By lunchtime its handle will have broken and its torso cracked, at the thought of being left out in the hot sun. You’ll have bought a wimp.
Don’t bother! You’ll need a bucket with a bit of muscle and some staying power. If it looks a bit macho at first that won’t matter. It may even have had army training. (That wouldn’t be a bad thing.)
Without a word of a lie, Georgie’s first bucket lasted eleven years. It was ‘OHB’ (One Hard Bucket). But it died suddenly, as Georgie would have wanted, without any suffering.
He was nearly heartbroken one morning, unfortunately in a customer’s dining room, when there was evidence to suggest that his bucket had sprung a leak. It was discharging badly and had to be put down later that same day. The lady employer at the time was not the least bit worried that Georgie had made a wet patch on her carpet.
He had made his very genuine and remorseful apology and offered to pay to have Mrs Sheila B.Wright’s carpet cleaned, but she didn’t make a fuss.
As I said, nothing lasts forever. Georgie realised that he had taken his bucket for granted for so long and it owed him nothing. It was time for it to be replaced. Harsh, as it may seem, nothing is indispensable and another equally strong bucket had to be purchased and is still in daily use, as I reminisce.
Mind you, he was lucky to have had it for so long.
"Eleven is pretty old for a bucket."
Juice
I make reference to the additive squeezed into Georgie’s bucket of water.
“What do you use in your water?” is the second most commonly asked question by Jo. (“Is this the way to Rotorua?” is the first.)
In all his time, Georgie has only ever needed to use one solution in his water.
‘Squeegee-Off’ (Another name for 'Washing -up-liquid'.)
I’m sure I won’t get sued, as I’m speaking very highly of this solution. Available in all good, cleaning supply stores.
Conditions apply! Offer ends Sunday!
This is readily available to Jo. It comes in the form of a bluish liquid and is generally sold in one-litre bottles. There may be other products that might be just as good, or cheaper, or both. It’s just about 'one-up' from ordinary, diluted washing-up liquid, which in fact would be quite adequate for the purpose. It’s a liquid version of what goes into your automatic washing-up machine, as a solid. What you put in your bucket is not the 'Be all and End all' with regard to your result. (You know what is, because I keep telling you!)
But he has stuck with his winning formula. Why change tactics when you’re winning? (Please don’t send me your answers.)
Water
If he failed to prepare, he would be preparing to fail ... and he can't get that adage out of his tiny brain!
“Don’t use that tap! It’s bore water!” farmers’ wives have yelled at him in the past, as though he was about to commit a cardinal sin.
(Unless it really does appear to be a rusty brown colour, so what? He was not intending to swallow it. He’s washing crap off windows, for God’s sake!)
To create the right impression Georgie will sensibly renew his water at a new job, when the expectant customer is sussing him out, but it won’t necessarily improve the end result. Now and again the mixture might well need freshening up, with another squirt of juice and a lively jet of water to re-invigorate the bubbles. However, that is not a priority, as is correct rag usage.
“Yes, Georgie will keep repeating the important things! Get used to it! You want to learn the truth, so he'll keep telling you the truth”
Squeegees
The function of a squeegee is to wipe off excess moisture quickly. Jo thinks a squeegee is a magic wand. If only! It’s no more magic than the fluid in his bucket.
Imagine playing charades and having to imitate a ‘WC’. Yes, you would stand in front of your audience and perform the fanning motion that Georgie uses constantly with his squeegee. Initially, he bought a selection of four or five different-length squeegees but in truth he only needs a couple. Too long is cumbersome and too short is unnecessary.
To Jo in the street, anybody using a squeegee must be good, especially if he uses it with a degree of finesse. Many, many times Georgie has been called upon to perform whilst at work. By use of his peripheral vision he will from time to time have espied an onlooker. This may have been just a solitary spectator, about to turn into a gallery. At that point, and without making an announcement, he nonchalantly will have allowed the entertainment to commence.
A later chapter will contain much information about the art of fanning, which will include effective use of the squeegee.
Read on, although I realise the suspense must be killing you.
Washers
I’m not referring to little round things that look like metal Polo mints. I’m talking here about reliable, absorbent, heavy-duty sheepskins that will last a few weeks, despite being in constant use. Georgie can highly recommend the ‘Golden Glove’, which fits snugly onto a ‘T-bar’, which is a smaller brother of the squeegee handle. This glove has only one, big finger, which is secured to its handle with a metal popper or a piece of Velcro.
(Be careful, though, as Velcro is a rip off!)
Without wishing to sound vulgar it would be more accurately described as a ‘Golden Condom’. The glove is really a misnomer.
We are not talking rocket science but we still definitely have to plan ahead and not take the skills involved too lightly. Please do not underestimate the qualities and knowledge of the ‘PWC’.
There are circumstances when a wet rag will be preferred to the washer. This is not the right time to reason why but the topic will be duly covered.
Scrapers
Particularly when Georgie is employed to clean the windows of newly built houses he expects to find a large number of marks to be removed. These include builders’ materials such as mortar, concrete, plaster or sealants of various compositions. Also, he sees stickers on these panes, which contain the glass manufacturers’ instructions for the cleaner.
Spray paint is a favourite practical joke, often played by decorators on window cleaners. It tends to frequently cover every square inch of a pane of glass. Far easier for Georgie to cope with, are runs or spots of paint. These may have been dripped, spilled or blown onto the windows but are worth Brownie points to Georgie. Spray paint on glass is worth b*gger all to him or to anybody else! The above materials are not necessarily difficult to remove but if they have hardened over a lengthy period of time then the sheepskin washer or the rag may not be man enough for the task. A sharp scraper, used properly, is probably going to be the answer. The blade of a scraper should be frequently replaced with a shiny new one, to avoid causing damage to the glass.
Common sense prevails again!
A Stiff Brush
I don’t mean Mum’s scrubbing brush, which would take up most of the room in the bucket. Just a small brush, somewhere in size between Mum’s and a toothbrush. The latter would be too gentle and may contain bits of someone's breakfast.
Georgie has a pair of tweezers in his armoury for picking baby snails, ten-cent pieces and screws out of French door runners. His fingers are just too chunky, especially to get into the far ends of these channels.
Other Agents for Removal of Stubborn Marks
First of all, as in all advertising these days, I am going to cover my own back. Not by adding ‘see your medical health professional first’ at the end of my suggestions but with a genuine warning that these products have been tried and tested by Georgie, over a lengthy period of time, and he is happy to include them as part of his own weoponry. In other words, don’t blame him if they don’t work for you!
Georgie only uses tools out in the field when he is satisfied with their effectiveness on his own garden shed windows, or on other glass that doesn’t really matter much. He wouldn’t upset his neighbours by experimenting on their windows because that may lead to a domestic and to considerable embarrassment, for both parties involved, or even a police presence.
As a result, his neighbours may refuse to lend him another spoonful of sugar next time he runs out.
Rubbing Compounds
Without mentioning trade names of different products, there are powders and creams out there. You may shop around for these but be careful not to fall for the con-tricks that some of these companies use in their advertising.
Of course they will leave smears and streaks if you don’t use the right technique, whatever the label on the bottle says!
You may find that the only time you wish to use them is when you haven’t had a good workout for a week or two. Elbow grease is seldom mentioned in the adverts but, without it, most of these creams are no more use than tits on a bull.
Meths
People stop Georgie working in town and they say,
“I use this, that or the other when I clean my windows.”
He’d reply,
“Good on ya!” but would continue with his own methods.
However, he has relented from time to time and tried some of the suggestions that have been thrown at him by Jo, in the street.
“Have you tried Metholated Spirits?”
“Once, but it burnt my throat.”
“I meant, for cleaning windows.”
No smile. No humour, whatsoever!
(“Oh, I didn’t realise that, you Muppet!” George would try to avoid saying outloud.)
Meths will work in certain climates but it will dry too quickly in others.
The latest suggestion, which Georgie recently received from another customer, which he has not yet made time to try, was citric acid. The innards of a lemon does the trick for this guy and he may well be right. Again, its acidity suggests it would probably be effective.
“Give it a try and let Georgie know what you think. Meanwhile, he’s too busy cleaning windows by his own tried and tested methods.”
Vinegar and Newspaper
No, Georgie can’t say he has ever tried vinegar in his water. Neither has he experimented with the local newspaper, as a rag.
He has used both on many occasions but only with buying lazy dinners at his local chippie.
From a distant memory Georgie learned at school that vinegar contains acetic acid, so it seems logical to think that there may be something to suggest that it might help in the removal of stains.
Various liquids that Georgie has come across have had very distinctive smells. He’s never been able to distinguish one from another but he wouldn’t be too far wrong if he said these agents were also used to create that hospital smell, or the first day of term odour at school. Also, that strong whiff at the local swimming pool, when temporary staff members have overdone the chlorine treatment.
Also, he has read a few words on some of the bottle labels, such as Sodium Hypochlorite, Sodium Hydroxide, Ammonia (now that does stink) or just plain, good old Chlorine or Bleach.
(That’s ‘Janola’, in Kiwi speak.)
Georgie recently examined two labels on separate containers, only to observe that the first claimed that its fluid had in it the cleaning power of ammonia. The second had a written statement, proudly announcing that it was without ammonia.
Work that one out, if you will! It confused Georgie at the time, although that doesn’t take much to do!
I’ve thrown those names at you but I’m not trying to blind you with science, any more than I was earlier. If you are that interested, do your own research. I’ve done a reasonable amount myself but have not been entirely convinced, particularly where I have found some of the so-called ingredients mis-spelt. Many of the manufacturers fail to include on their labels any of the ingredients of their products but simply print that there will be no stains, smears or streaks left at the end of the job.
“Yeah! Right!”
Georgie would have been out of work years ago, if that claim were true.
He does not like the idea of using newspaper but enough people have told him it works, so who is he to doubt that? He simply does not believe it to be very practical for him, when he currently takes home daily at least forty or fifty rags, often far more, to put into Millie’s washing machine. How much paper would he accumulate if he used it all day long? (Again, don't send me your answers!)
Neither does he believe that he could re-use The Times Supplement or The Herald the following day, whether or not it had clogged up the washing machine.
Nor does it sound very green to him, so he’ll probably persevere with his rags for a bit longer.
Soap-filled pads
Ingrained marks, water spots, webbing and suchlike need a vast amount of elbow grease to even partially remove. There is no guarantee that these marks won’t return either, or more truthfully won’t have been totally removed in the first place. Georgie has recently found out, on sound advice from a good, regular and appreciative customer, Mrs Marquis, that one of the most effective ways to minimise the evidence of these blemishes on the glass is by use of a soap-filled pad. More commonly, used in Jo’s kitchen for removal of stains in the washing-up-dishes department. Pots and pans can acquire pretty tough residue on their bottoms (painful) which can best be eliminated by these pads (excrutiating).
Similarly, on windows, Georgie now manages to achieve better results by this method than he ever did from the use of many other products, despite manufacturers’ claims. He keeps a pack of these in the van and a new pack of ten would probably cost Millie less than the loose change lost in an average fortnight between the front seats of the van or down the back of his sofa indoors. However, don't over-use these pads, or use up all your strength by rubbing too hard, for too long, for fear of leaving little circles of tiny scratches. I did this on one very memorable occasion, early on in the piece. This customer forgave me and did not accept my offer of buying her a new pane of glass! Good and bad news, I suppose.
“Ronnie!”
A large volume of thanks must go to Mrs Marquis, so named because of a visit Georgie made to spruce up her windows a few days prior to her daughter’s wedding. They were hosting the grand occasion at their estate the following weekend.
This was on the Tuesday and Georgie had a great day of impromptu entertainment. He had never previously witnessed such an incompetent performance, as when he watched a gang of four guys attempting to erect a marquee, which was probably just fractionally smaller than London’s Royal Albert Hall. One of the four chaps spent the whole day on his mobile phone relaying ongoing instructions to his lackeys from headquarters, wherever that was.
As comedies went, it was a tremendous farce!
Georgie found out later that the wedding had gone off marvellously well, so he presumed that the mission had eventually been accomplished and that the tent must have been up by the Friday evening. Later, he tried, without total success, the soap-filled pad method on an old lady customer’s windows. Elsie (Mrs Motional)’s windows were suffering from twenty-nine years of having been hosed down by the previous owner but then being left for Mother Nature to dry them. The outcome was water spots galore, the long-term result of trace chemicals in the H2O being baked into the glass by the elements, particularly the hot sun, beaming down through the thin ozone layer to be found in the Southern Hemisphere. E.Motional was not comforted by Georgie’s assurance that those marks were there to stay. He did promise her though, that he would spend a few minutes doing his utmost to reduce the overall effect. He used every method and solution known to man but an hour or so later those stains were still there and will remain so until the glass is replaced or the building demolished. He waited for her to stop crying before he left her premises.
He leaves himself wide open for people to throw egg all over his face, by removing the marks completely sometime. If so, he’d very much like to meet the person who does that, and what he used.
OK Ronnie. Go back to sleep!
Finger Nails and Spit
Together, these make a very handy set of tools, complete with their own lubricant. We all have a set for our own convenience. Quite often Georgie will come across a stain on the glass, which is a bit too tough for the washer or rag to dispose of but may not require heavy-duty treatment. In the time it takes to blink Georgie will have been able to spit on his finger and remove the offending particle with his nail.
If he ever had to choose one accessory as being the handiest, without a shadow of doubt it would be the fingernail. He doesn’t need to look for it in his bucket or hanging somewhere on his ladder. It won’t get misplaced in the van and it will never be left in his garage at home. It is literally always at arm’s length and if it were to break, he has nine spares ... and it's free!
“Phew!”
That was a lengthy chapter but may be essential for a budding ‘WC’ to read. If you feel you don’t need such detailed information I understand and sympathise with you totally.
I hope that consoles you.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He sees all sorts on his travels and believe me, I’m not wrong
He meets all kinds of people and many make him smile
Most are kind and treat him well but some are downright vile
Now, a question of territory arises here.
‘What defines a window?’
My dictionary says it is an opening, usually filled with glass, in wall etc. to admit light and air, afford view etc.
Some of Georgie’s customers only expect him to clean their glass. They do the frames and latches themselves, before he arrives on site. The sills are wiped and dried, the house has probably been water-blasted the previous weekend and all that remains for Georgie to do is the glass. This is a bit like the owner of a house employing a person to do the vacuuming and the dish-washing but just before the cleaner arrives the customer does most of it herself because she doesn’t want the mess to be noticed!
That’s my job. It’s why you employ me.”
“I know, but I didn’t want you to see how dirty they were.”
Georgie gets far more pleasure from cleaning filthy windows than he ever does clean ones. He gets paid the same amount but his job satisfaction is greater from the transformation that results, once he’s finished.
Other clients expect Georgie to do the frames, and he agrees with them and considers that to be part of his job description. The sills he certainly accepts as being his responsibility, if only a cursory wipe is necessary. He gives no guarantees that they will be spotless afterwards. In other words, he will do at least as much as Jo would do, if he were cleaning them himself.
First and foremost he is employed to clean the glass panes of the windows.
Within reason, he considers anything that detracts from leaving a clean window is his responsibility. That means, if a frame is dirty then he’ll wipe it. If there are spiders’ webs surrounding the frames then he’ll remove them. If the sill is dirty, and accessible, then he will wipe it. He does not, however, see it as being his duty to cut back overgrowth in order to get to a windowsill or to have to move heavy, antique furniture indoors, with a dozen breakable ornaments and photographs on top of each. If he can’t physically reach the bottom of a pane, hidden by such a family asset, then it shall remain unreached. However, he would make a point of mentioning the omission before accepting payment from his client, in case he had been expected to do it. If this were the case then he would be more than prepared to move the offending item, with appropriate assistance.
Early on, Georgie was his own worst enemy. When the glass and the aluminium frames were cleaned he would then proceed to wipe round the wooden frames too. Then, the underside of the wooden frame, for which he needed to rig up his slightly taller, foldaway ladder. If nobody stopped him, he would continue to start removing spiders’ webs from the fascia surrounding the window. Next, with the momentum he had built up he’d be wiping the panels of the house itself, then the eaves. When he’d gone back to the van and fetched his extension ladder he would then be able to reach the spouting and having done that would need to do all the down pipes because by then they looked dirty. By lunchtime, he could be found at number thirty-nine, five doors down because he hadn’t known when to stop and was enjoying himself so much. Not to worry about where else he should have been by then or that he wasn’t being paid for most of his work!
Anyway, the point is that he makes it clear to his customer that he believes the glass and the frames to be his responsibility but a line has to be drawn somewhere. If the customer expects him to de-moss the roof, then sweep his path and do some shopping for him at the local supermarket before he goes, then he moves on before starting the job.
Don’t believe Jo when he says, on a bright, sunny day,
"What a great day for window cleaning, Georgie!”
By all means say, “It’s a great day, Jo, to be working outside,” but don’t contradict him by saying,
“It’s a crap day for doing windows,” which is nearer the truth.
He’s only making small talk and you don’t want to be rude to him, or he won’t want to pass the time of day next time he sees you.
There is little point in you saying, “I’d rather it was overcast or even drizzling”, which does in fact make for a better chance of leaving the glass smear free. Jo wouldn’t understand his logic, without a lengthy explanation from him, and time is money!
The latest, amusing theory Georgie heard is that certain glass manufacturers now produce self-cleaning glass. He tried not to laugh outloud and was prepared to hear out the guy who told him about it.
Ali explained that it does work and how it works but he lost Georgie, as he fell asleep during the explanation.
“So, to all you people out there, developing this type of glass, just spare a thought for hardworking people like Georgie. They need to earn a living and he needs to work for at least a few more years yet.”
He’ll be long gone before self-cleaning glass creates premature redundancy for ‘WC’s. It’s far too costly for a start!
Joking apart, this particular glass has a practical use on high-rise buildings and awkwardly placed windows, as found in many of the flash houses being built these days. But somebody still has to keep clean the insides of these panes because it seldom rains indoors to rinse off the runs from the chemical reaction that takes place on the outsides. Sorry to sound so cynical but Georgie feels blessed that he does not need to take on high-rise office blocks. He will continue to leave those windows to the younger generation of handymen. They’ll get more of a buzz than he would from abseiling down from the rooftops.
“Now, if he were a bit younger …”
When he encounters double-glazing, which he occasionally does and certainly will do in the future, with new building regulations being enforced, there might be a problem.
A ‘WC’, however good he may be, is only able to apply his skills to two surfaces of a sealed window unit fitted into a building.
Here’s another story, entirely related to the current topic.
Georgie was genuinely concerned that the smears existing between the pairs of glass panes would detract from his own workmanship. His concern was genuinely greater than that though, as he felt for his customer. He saw the look of disappointment on his face, which was exaggerated when he appeared to swallow his Adam’s apple, when the news was gently broken to him. Georgie explained that his own arm was too bulky to squeeze into the 9mm gap of the sealed unit, between the two panes of glass. As a result, he would undoubtedly struggle to remove the entrapped smears. Ivor’s gloom was magnified intensely, as Georgie pointed out countless other examples, as he circumnavigated his new mansion pane by pane. This gentleman had been a customer of Georgie’s for at least ten or eleven years, prior to building this new place. Georgie advised Ivor to contact the builder / window fitter / supplier / manufacturer, to express his dissatisfaction and dejection, as well as his unwillingness to write out a cheque at that stage.
(Write out a cheque?!)This guy had decided to invest in double-glazing to keep in the warmth, to keep out the cold and to act as a buffer against external noise. Those were the benefits he was hoping to gain from his investment but not to have a vertical smear down the middle of each window to obscure his outlook through it. The stains in question were uniformly consistent, so there had inevitably been a problem in the manufacture or during the storage of the glass before assembly. Neither he nor Georgie knew the answer so Ivor called in the expert, Mr Minium, to find out what the solution was going to be.
Fortunately, Ivor had dealt with a helpful and understanding local Joinery company and the appropriate replacement of the windows was duly made before he paid his bill.
Be warned, if you should find yourself in a similar situation.
While on this subject I may as well deal with another version of two-paned glass, designed to admit both light and air into rooms, whilst keeping out intruders. These are called Shugg windows and I quote C. Wright-Threw, another renowned window expert, so accept this as being kosher.
These two panes also slide but vertically rather than horizontally. As one pane travels upwards the other goes down and vice versa. I can assure you that there is a knack to cleaning these b*ggers. Ninety-five per cent of the glass is straightforward but to reach the inside of the top pane and the outside of the bottom pane, where they overlap, is a real pane, in the backside. There is also 10mm, or so, at the top of one and at the bottom of the other, which both need attention, for the job to be done properly.
“There is no other way! It has to be done properly,” says Georgie.
Picture this, and it happened yesterday, exactly as I recount here.
At the beginning of each month Georgie tries in vain to clean three sets of sliding doors in the foyer of the main council buildings in town, before they open to Jo and his mates. He can’t start work too early because nobody will have arrived at the premises to allow him internal access. He therefore turns up to make a start on the outsides of the main entrance doors just before the arrival of the council staff.
From then, he has approximately forty-five minutes to clean as many panes as he can, inside and out. The library also has its own access from the inside of the shared external, sliding doors. It opens a bit later for Jo, at 9.00a.m. Georgie borrows the keys and operates the sliding doors, by use of a button. That way they remain in place for cleaning, without him going barmy, trying to do them as they move.
Cut!
“Ron!"
Don’t worry about Georgie’s problems on a Monday morning. Just keep reading.”
A gentleman (a false, first impression) acknowledged Georgie, as he let him in on the dot of 8.30a.m. Georgie only had control of the main exit doors at that stage. The sliding doors into the council side of the foyer were back on automatic, as he’d strategically finished cleaning those before Jo (Chris, in this case) had arrived.
In went this guy, apparently as calm as a millpond.
Within about ten minutes, as Georgie was whistling ‘I did it my way’, by Frank Sinatra, he heard a raised voice from within. Instinctively, he turned his Uncle Ned to have a Butcher’s Hook in the vague direction of this voice. Two girls and a bloke were sat behind the counter and were the apparent targets of this not-such-a-gentleman-after-all’s verbal bashing. His speech reached a crescendo, by which time his words were decipherable from where Georgie was busy at the exterior doors.
‘You haven’t got a f***in’ clue about what happens in the real f***in’world out there! Don’t think you’ve f**in’ seen the last of me. I haven’t even f***in’ started yet! I’ll be back later, so f***in’ watch out for me!”
During the last couple of syllables of aggrieved aggression Mr Cross had moved towards the sliding doors within, which had obligingly opened automatically, just in time for his exit from the council office. Unfortunately for him, the second set of doors, which were solely in Georgie’s control at the time, were not about to open to coincide with his fluent exit from the building. Chris’s rapid movement towards where Georgie was standing, dry cloth in hand, was at a considerable speed and rather took Thornby unawares. To make matters worse for the irate and very impatient Jo in question, there was a distinct pause between Georgie pressing the green button and the sliding doors operating. That pause, of approximately two seconds, for the agitated individual must have seemed like two minutes. He smashed into the door on the right, grabbed the one on the left and tried to manually part them, leaving a considerable number of paw marks on each.
Georgie thought, “Thank goodness I hadn’t cleaned either of them yet!”
Eventually, the doors belatedly responded to the button’s command and opened sufficiently for Chris Cross to pass through, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.
Had he not departed with such gusto, Georgie would probably have felt inclined to give him one of his rags.
"He had certainly lost his own, George, eh?"
Later on, as Georgie handed back the keys to the young lady behind the desk he jokingly said,
“Who was that gent? You must stop upsetting your customers this early on a Monday morning.”
She casually replied, “Oh, you get used to that sort of behaviour. He’s a regular of ours and you wouldn’t want to know him, Georgie. It was a shame though, that you didn’t manage to open the doors for him in time!”
They shared a similar sense of humour and a mutual grin and agreed that the week had started very dramatically.
“Nice one!”
Another sliding door, temporarily in Georgie’s monthly control is at the local Lotto shop.
He enjoys his work in the main street because no two days are ever the same. Having done these smaller town jobs for many years, and for three different owners at these premises alone, he has got to know a few of the regulars. He frequently passes the time of day with them. This task could feasibly take him less than half an hour to complete but quite often he could double that. He refuses to totally ignore people in the street and does not take kindly to being ignored himself, so quite often he’ll stop work and have a light-hearted chat for five minutes, with some of the shop customers. He may not even have known them previously. It’s not obligatory, but if another person is enjoying a bit of freedom, relaxing in town and he wants to chat, then by all means Georgie will oblige.
At the Lotto shop, more than likely it will be in response to a comment like “Another loser!” or “You can come and do my windows after you’ve finished those, Mate,” or “What do you put in your water?” or even, “Where’s Rotorua from here?”
He has plenty of other days with just his own company, so it makes a pleasant change for Georgie to have some discourse with Jo from time to time.
Now, getting more serious, here is something Georgie cannot handle. How is one human being able to walk within a metre of another, without a “G’day”, a “Hi there, Mate” or an “It’s a bit nippy this morning, eh?”
Even someone who is totally deaf and dumb can nod or smile, in recognition of someone else sharing the planet with him, at such close quarters. Worse still is when someone Georgie knows personally walks past him, trying to pretend that he hasn’t seen him, or that Thornby doesn’t even exist. This may even be one of his customers. Even worse than that, is when somebody knows full well that Georgie has stopped working, opened the doors for him, waited until he has ambled into the shop and then has slid the doors closed again to continue working. Then, two minutes later, clutching his next week’s chance-to-become-a-millionaire ticket in his sweaty little mitt, he returns to the sliding exit doors. Georgie has then repeated the entire process, as the guy returns into the big wide world out there, without so much as a “Cheers, Mate”, a “Thanks”, a “Sorry to be a nuisance” or even a “You’ll never get finished today at this rate!”
Depending on his own mood (and at times his whistling is to fool people) often Georgie will just think,
“What an Ignoramus!” or
“I don’t believe it!” or
“He’ll go a long way in life, I don’t think!”
At other times (and this is far more likely to happen, as regulars will have witnessed) he will make a point of reversing the situation. The ‘WC’ unfortunately hasn’t noticed somebody standing behind him, waiting to exit the shop, as the door remains closed and Georgie carries on with his work. You would be amazed how intense his work can be sometimes and how focused he needs to be to do a job properly! (Yeah! Right!)
Georgie will even cop a deaf’un, particularly if he hears a little grunt, rather than an “Excuse me, please” or an “I’m sorry to be a pest but would you let me out please?”
“I’m so terribly sorry. How long have you been standing there? I didn’t notice you,” he would fib.
Georgie still has a bit of schoolteacher in him and he has surprisingly old-fashioned values. Pleases, thank yous and ‘GM’s (Good Manners) are rapidly becoming things of the past and he doesn’t like that, or the very low standards that many parents are willing to accept from their own kids these days. That’s not how he was brought up and this is how he feels. Therefore, it’s not all entirely his fault! At times, he has not been able to resist throwing a sarcastic remark after the person in question has been long gone.
“Thanks, Mate!” or “Excuse me, please!” to embarrass the offender.
He is absolutely certain, though, that some of the younger generation have been too ignorant to understand his meaning anyway. It’s either gone right over their heads or in one ear and straight into the eye-pod that’s in the other one.
“Why did the window cleaner thank me?” he’d say to his mate, waiting for him outside.
Nobody yet has turned round and thumped Georgie.
He’ll be ready for it, when it does happen.
He has always enjoyed having a bit of excitement during his normal daily routine. He is reminded often of the surge of adrenaline he used to have, when an alarm bell sounded at one of the big houses for felons, in Blighty. All available screws, not at a fixed post, would instinctively be haring towards an incident, not knowing quite what to expect when they arrived there.
Georgie can’t give you any more details because he is bound by the ‘OSA’ (Official Secrets Act).
For all he knows, there may be someone directly associated with Her Majesty, about to settle into his armchair to read this book.
“Where’s that bl**dy Thornby? … New Zealand? … What the ph**k’s he doing there? What’s he been saying?”
Neither will Georgie ever fail to say “Hi!” to somebody with a white stick. His grandfather was blind for the last twelve years of his life and Georgie knows that his own Grandpa would have hated people creeping past him in the street, too lazy or embarrassed to acknowledge him. Often the most cheerful response of the day will come from that person, too.
“Hi there. I love your whistling. You sound cheerful! You’re doing a really good job. Are you related to George Formby?”
“Thanks, Mr O’Reilly.”
Now, whether or not this person actually saw the results of Georgie’s efforts doesn’t matter. The blind guy will have appreciated the fact that somebody has passed the time of day with him. He will have appreciated taking part in one of the many similar conversations that Georgie will already have had with many other Jos, that same morning. ("No: not all blind men!")
This next thought is none of the author’s business but he feels good about it. He sees people wandering into the Lotto shop, all hyped up, then slouching out again. This will be part of a weekly routine that has been going on for years. It may be abbreviated occasionally with a win.
“Well Done, Jo! You’re a real winner! $18.”
“Brilliant! Thanks a lot, Georgie!” That would probably cover the cost of the following three weeks’ tickets, if that.
When Jo has a winner, he will speed up and even say something to Georgie, if only, “You’ve got to be in to win, Georgie!” as he passes him on his way out. “Nice one, Jo!” he would reply.
This guy will probably believe that, at last, he has sussed out the system!
“You’ve got to be in to lose as well, Jo.” Georgie would just think quietly to himself, not wishing to burst this chap’s bubble.
Georgie sees them come in, he watches them scratch some scratchies and he opens the door for them. They walk out again, tails between their legs and five bucks less in their wallets. He hates to sound righteous but he’s glad he doesn’t bother with Lotto, apart from the odd occasion when he might have an out-of-character fling or a good tip that his numbers are due up that week.
Even if he’d only been working at the shop for forty minutes he’d walk out feeling like a winner, although he didn’t even buy a ticket! He would have a small cheque in his pocket and all it will have cost him is a bit of his Monday morning, a modicum of effort and a squeeze of his magic juice. He will have actually enjoyed the experience, the ambience of the street and he’d always have a win in his pocket on the way out.
“Still, each to his own, eh?”
Rubbing salt into the wounds of all the losers, Georgie could also add, to the amount of his cheque the five or six bucks of additional profit that he’d inversely made by not buying a ticket.
A Day in the Life of a ‘WC’
No two days are quite the same for Georgie on the job
But some routine will happen as he earns an honest bob
Take today. See what occurred, from the time he woke this morn
Until he put himself to bed, when today had been and gorn
You may or may not like to know how a fairly typical day in the life of a ‘PWC’ unfolds. If not, skip this chapter but you won’t be getting your money’s worth. If you are even vaguely interested and you want full value for money, read on.
Rather than have to invent how one of Georgie’s days may go, I’ll recount how today actually went.
He didn’t have an early kick-off this morning, which was unusual (not a good start to this chapter).
Normally, his radio alarm clock will disturb his deep slumber between 6a.m. and 7a.m. On a particularly big day he may need to be on site and ready to go by seven o’clock. In the winter, around the shortest day, he can easily be mistaken for a possum. It may still be dark and someone in bed next door will hear unusual noises over the fence.
“I can hear a possum,” he’d say to his wife.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be in bed soon. It’s nearly morning.”
The only customer expecting Georgie, at any particular time today, was the lady at his second house. Around lunchtime is pretty vague, so he had a licence to arrive at any time between about 11.30a.m. and 2p.m. As he didn’t need to start work at any specified time, he chose to get up when Sally and Romeo yapped. When translated, that means, “We’re awake, Dad, and just about ready for our breakfast biscuits.”
This morning that was at about 7a.m. Georgie had had a bit of a lie-in. Fortunately, they are not constant yappers, as some Foxies can be. Just a single yap from Sally, then they wait quietly for a short while before they’ll hear Georgie open the back door and wander out to open their runs. If that hasn’t happened within five or six minutes then she’ll yap again on behalf of them both, and so on. That’s not unlike other mornings, when Georgie presses the snooze button on the alarm clock two or three times before he shakes a leg.
Meanwhile, he’d got dressed, flicked the switch to turn on the water jug, put three slices of bread in the toaster and placed the dogs’ feed bowls on the kitchen floor. He has to be very cautious, when opening the dog run gates, which he does simultaneously in order not to show any favouritism towards either of them. They always exit at the speed of light, resembling a shot from a double-barrelled gun. They dashed into the kitchen and were tucking into their respective bowls, while Georgie took the recycling bin out to the front gate.
As the dogs returned to the garden to get busy (have a crap) Georgie took a pee and whilst in the loo read the Golfer’s Prayer and the Loo Rules, yet again, which ends,
‘The water in this toilet is pure. It has been passed by the Senior Medical Health Officer.’
Then, next door to the bathroom to have a wash and a shave. Where else? This is part of his daily, morning routine, which does not vary a great deal from one working day to the next.
Then, he went back into the kitchen, by which time the dogs were patiently waiting in the lounge for the next course of their breakfasts.
He poured hot water on Mrs Thornby’s tea bag and made the subsequent delivery into the master bedroom. Mildred, as you already know, is a light sleeper and updates Georgie with happenings of the previous night. He hears these accounts when he routinely places her first cuppa of the day on her bedside cabinet.
Having listened to the weather report, pecked her on the cheek and returned to scoop some yoghurt onto his toasted muesli, he then poured out his own tea. He filled his flask with hot water, spread jam, marmalade and Marmite on the three toasts in turn. The corners of the skinny crust were a bit singed, as Georgie had pushed the lever of the toaster back down and forgotten to press the eject button in time.
“You’ve never done that before, have you?”
“It takes two to have a fight.”
As he was gnawing on his last piece of toast, he lobbed two dog biscuits in different directions for Sally and Romeo to chase, which he does two or three times each morning. This was their bit of fun and he didn’t care if Mildred didn’t like him doing it. They like it, he likes to do it and he doesn’t think it will be the complete ruination of them. All dogs like routine and this is part of theirs.
With a bit more practice they’ll be able to catch the biscuits, which will make a bit less noise.
The last two ‘Tuxes’ Georgie held back for later.
A few more minutes elapsed, as he watched yet another replay of an earlier All Black try. It would not be hard to believe that the ‘AB’s score an average of fifteen tries per match but in reality they may average three, but each is shown at least five times afterwards. The poor opposition may only have scored twice but each will be replayed just once.
There are some pretty one-eyed rugby people in New Zealand and they aren’t all pretty. He stood up and the dogs ran immediately to the back door. He pushed in the TV button again and carried his empties back into the kitchen. Having strapped on his watch, Georgie grabbed his keys off the hook and placed his stack of bits and pieces under one arm. This stack includes a daily diary, an invoice book and a Tupperware box, with maybe a letter to post and a chequebook on top, if a visit to the bank is on his list of errands to run. The box contains a receipt book, a note-pad, business cards, pens and a stapler.
Then, with his spare hand he grabbed the handles of his *lunchbag and he could hear the dogs’ tails swishing outside.
*The previous night Millie may have remembered to include in his lunchbag a flask, with a cup screwed to the top of it, a teaspoon and Tupperware containers with sugar, coffee and teabags. It would include his sandwiches, a number of savoury rice crackers, a piece of cake and maybe two or three sweet biscuits. Also, an apple, a banana, a tangelo and a couple of foejoas. Now and again she spoils her breadwinner with a mini Moro bar or another treat but Georgie appreciates that she couldn’t possibly think of a different one of those for every day! Anyway, the surprise element would be missing, if she spoiled him that much. Occasionally, depending on which item or items were missing from the lunchbag, Georgie may need to cadge from his customers. None of them ever mind responding to a polite request, to borrow a teaspoon, a mug or a few grains of sugar. On the odd occasion when this happens, he’d think about giving Millie the sack. But not for long because he wouldn’t want to have to make his own sandwiches in future.
He hasn’t yet had the gall, or the necessity to beg for his entire lunch. He is frequently asked to join his customers at lunchtime but usually declines such kind offers. His tally of Brownie points at home would diminish considerably if he were to return his lunchbag to Mrs Thornby, as packed the evening before.
Time available, or not, is also a major factor, as well as needing to keep himself in some sort of shape physically, to be able to continue leading such an active lifestyle. He learned early on to say, “No thanks,” to a free lunch.
There is no such thing anyway.
He has found it a great deal harder to say the same to potential new customers, even when the books are full to overflowing.
"Get on with your day!” I hear from the wings.
While cupping the last two dog biscuits, Georgie stepped through the back door and out onto the porch, by which time Sally and Romeo were eagerly awaiting his arrival, outside their runs. They know the routine better than Georgie, so are always one step ahead of him. He latched each of their gates, rewarding them for being so obedient and returned to head for the garage to continue living his day.
“OK, so I’ve been a while getting this far and Georgie hasn’t even left the house yet!”
Before backing the van out of the garage Thornby walked the 25 paces to open the main gate and returned another 32 steps to the laundry, where there is another ‘WC’, for a poo.
If that is too much detail for you to cope with, hard luck! He flushed the toilet and sprayed the air freshener to prevent Millie from collapsing when she went in later, to grab yesterday’s rags to hang out to dry. He washed his paws, picked up a batch of dry rags, which Millie daily organises for him. He threw them into the back of his van, via the side door. The working day was about to begin in earnest, with his journey into town.
Fortunately, he didn’t need to turn the van round in the neighbour’s driveway, as a direct result of forgetting something. He only did that on each third day and he had done it yesterday. He arrived at his first house at about 8.15a.m. The front door key was transferred from the mailbox into Georgie’s pocket. He chose to do the outsides first, for a change. It didn’t take him too long to lap the outside of the house, although on the final straight he was accosted by a voice from the other side of the fence.
“Do you want another house job, Geoff?”
He turned his head towards the voice.
“Hi, there! I presume you mean at your place? I’m Georgie, by the way. I sacked Geoff.”
“Only if you have time. I realise your books are full.”
News travels, eh?
“Well, I’m afraid I certainly won’t have time today but I’ll pop round on finishing here to give you an idea of price, if that suits you.”
Which he did, and the gent was going to phone Mrs Thornby straight away to book in his job.
Georgie returned next door and spent the following hour or so doing the insides. This one was a straightforward, regular clean. This couple has employed Georgie since he and his golf partner had competed against them. That was during a Queen’s Birthday holiday weekend golf tournament, a few years earlier. It was then that they’d first learned of the service that he and Millie offered.
“Ron!”
That’s another thing! As previously mentioned Her Majesty lives and reigns in London, England, where Her nation does not receive an annual Monday off to celebrate Her birthday.
Australasian residents are more than happy to accept a public holiday to celebrate Liz’s birthday. Neither do they have any qualms about taking it, even though the majority of them would be happy not to be associated with the realm at all. They would nearly all tick the ‘Yes’ box if there were to be referenda to pull out of the British Commonwealth and to become independent of The Crown.
Georgie finds that to be rather hypocritical but he chooses to sit on the fence, as it makes little difference to him. He’s usually on a golf trip that weekend each year, so his focus is elsewhere anyway.
I reckon they’d still hang on to the Monday holiday each year, even if they were no longer part of the Commonwealth. It would henceforth become the anniversary holiday for when they used to belong to the Commonwealth.
Any excuse will do for a day off work down here!
One thing Georgie soon got used to was going without milk in his drinks. Mildred used to fill up a very small pill-bottle with milk for Georgie’s tea and coffee breaks. That was a good idea, but by midday, particularly during the warmer months he would have to scoop the yoghurt or cheese from the bottle, which did not enhance the taste of his beverage. Consequently, he gave up milk altogether whilst at work and has felt none the worse for it since. If anything, as he does like Hot drinks with a big ‘H’, it has proven to be an even better idea than was the pill bottle in the first place.
His second job, which would be the longest of the three on today’s detail, was on the main road out of town. It would be futile to try to rush this clean of his, so he never does. The lovely couple, who have their windows done six-monthly and would be Georgie’s employers for the next four or five hours, are good friends of his. They have three things in common that help to cement that friendship. They are all Poms, they all play cards at the bridge club and they share a similar sense of humour. Popeye has done his share of fishing, both in the Irish Sea and in the South Pacific. His wife, Olive is one of Thornby’s most considerate customers and is the most fanatical gardener. She keeps a very attractive English-style garden in excellent order and is often manicuring and cultivating it during Georgie’s visits. Popeye is likely to be found where most men are only seen at parties, in the kitchen. But he is not in there to drink and chat about Sunday night’s referee, who cost the All Blacks the World Cup. He will be preparing the hottest curry southeast of Bombay (India’s or New Zealand’s) for an evening meal to share with Olive. It may take him all day, which includes breaks to chat with Georgie. He likes cooking and seems to specialise in curries. This is not just an impression, as Georgie has been offered and has gratefully accepted containers of Popeye’s Ruby Murray for his evening meals. All Mrs Thornby has needed to do is add the complementary portion of rice. Either that or she’ll have remembered that it’s still in the microwave, when he’d finished the plateful.
Georgie has this particular couple to thank for introducing him to the game of bridge. They alerted him when the 2001 series of lessons for beginners was about to start at the local club. The Thornbys, together with their friends up the road, learned the basics of the game over a twelve-week period. Mrs T has long since preferred to spend two evenings a week indoors, in peace, catching up with her pre-recorded soaps on the box but Georgie looks forward immensely to whiling away those two nights at the bridge club. He has since done a reasonably active stint on the committee there and enjoys the social intercourse at the club. (Don’t tell Millie. She may misinterpret.)
The biggest plus for him is that his small brain has good reason to be fully operational there, whereas it is not overtaxed during his normal daily routine.
His brain is not compelled to do a great deal of thinking during daytime, whereas it acts under compulsion at the bridge table.
Thornby’s personal choice is to read a bit, write a bit and play cards a bit. This provides his brain with some stimulation. It’s the reversal of the guy who sits behind his desk all day and therefore needs to make a conscious effort during his spare time to become more physically active.
Eventually, but not begrudgingly Georgie managed to finish the job, did a lap of inspection and then stuffed Olive’s cheque into his back pocket and was aware that he was running a little behind schedule. Had his next client been expecting him, at any specific time, he would probably have been late. As it was, she wasn’t and consequently, nor was he.
When he arrived at Mrs Next’s house, her key was under the front doormat and the cheque was on the dining table. As are the majority of his ladies, Yulby is very organised and never forgets.
This house is an easy-to-get-round building and is one of those where Georgie is able to make up for lost time, if necessary. It was the final job of the day and because he had no pressing engagements that evening there was no real necessity to catch up for time lost at Popeye’s. With no great pressure on him he made steady progress, without further interruptions. He left a note of thanks for Yulby Next on the empty wages envelope, having removed his pay and slid it into his pocket. After securing the building he proceeded to point the van in the direction of home, where he found waiting for him his wife, two dogs, a couple of tinnies and a cigar.
"Georgie is here for a good life but not necessarily a long one."
He and Mildred pecked at each other on his return to base camp and they chatted about how their respective days had been. Georgie then poured Mrs T a grapejuice, as she reminded him about the smell of burnt toast. He ignored her totally and adjourned to the back porch for a beer aperitif and his one-a-day smoke. Meanwhile, Mrs T became engrossed in Home and Away.
Thornby was pleased that Sally and Romy came outside to accompany their master. They had obviously missed his presence, whilst he’d been out earning money to pay for their next supply of dog roll, biscuits and pigs’ ears.
The latter stages of his day have yet to happen but here is how he expects them to go: -
They’ll have tea, then a cuppa and Georgie will probably sit down to watch the last half of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?"
He may then have company on the sofa for a brief spell before the next episode of Shortland Street. This will be his cue to either fall asleep for 40 winks, to have a shower before writing or to do some writing before having a shower.
If there is a decent film or documentary to watch, they may even get together again on the sofa but more than likely will sit up later to play rummy, until nearly bedtime. A running total is being logged, in a game with no ultimate conclusion, but they both find it a relaxing way to end most days. The score of their contest suggests that the outcome, if there was ever to be one, would be somewhat one-sided but Georgie is doing his utmost to catch up.
He will then probably return to the office to add a couple more pages to his book. Then he’ll retire to the bedroom to set his alarm for 6a.m. He’ll read a short chapter of David Beckham’s autobiography, before nodding off to sleep, which will take all of thirty seconds for him to achieve.
I did say Georgie doesn’t read heavy books, didn’t I? This choice confirms that statement!
He will be blissfully unaware of Millie’s arrival, when his wife joins him an hour or so later, having escorted Sal and Romy to bed.
Mildred would make mental notes that the wind was howling and the rain was lashing but Georgie would be oblivious to anything other than being switched off for the night.
“Georgie!”
“Leave it ‘til later, Ron.
Here’s a little true story (emphasis on true, not little) that may appeal to any perverts out there. It didn’t actually happen as part of Georgie’s typical day but there is nothing to say it may not have done, so assume it did.
Georgie used to clean a lady’s windows at her house in the big smoke but she moved right out into a rural area, which was really too far out for Georgie. However, he relented when she requested a quote for a window clean at her new house, situated a considerable distance out in the sticks. The Thornbys did have one job not too far from her new place, so maybe an arrangement could be made to combine the two venues for subsequent visits?
Mrs Thornby had explained to Isobel that Georgie did already have one fairly large clean at a horse stud in that area, which was a six-monthly commitment. Provided that she would be happy to fit in with his regular but infrequent trips out west, then she was sure it would be OK.
Conveniently for all parties concerned Georgie’s next trip to this particular farm property was scheduled during the following week. Millie told Isobel that Georgie always made an early start there, as Mr and Mrs Stud were early birds, up at the crack of dawn to exercise the equine members of their family. If she didn’t mind him looking round her new residence before he went to stud, then that would fit in nicely.
“Tell Georgie I’ll be up and about, getting ready for work by just after six, so that will be fine. I’ll see him on Thursday next. I look forward to it.”
“OK. Sevenish?”
“Fine.”
Thursday arrived. As arranged, Thornby drove down Mrs. Scream’s lengthy gravel path at 6.58a.m. It was certainly an early start for him, as the drive out there had already taken him thirty-five minutes.
Georgie tapped on the front door. There was no response.
He rapped on the doorframe again, with a little more ferocity. Still, there was no response.
He wandered around the perimeter of the house to suss out a price for the lady. He did a lap in each direction and still sensed that no one was in. He wasn’t bothered in the least that she had forgotten their arrangement. He’d be able to ring her that evening with a figure and would be able to start her job as from six months hence, if the price was right for I. Scream.
Georgie returned to the front door to make a final attempt to be heard, as he had noticed a car, patiently waiting in the garage for an outing. As he raised his fist to just above shoulder height, to ensure that this third and final rap had some volume in it, a streaker ran past the door.
A shrill scream (why women instinctively do that he does not understand) nearly broke the two vertical glass panes in the door and simultaneously will have woken people up in most of the suberbs of the city as well. The illusion he had witnessed disappeared without trace and Georgie was torn between leaving abruptly, to help save too much further awkwardness, or standing his ground to see which of them appeared to be most embarrassed, if and when she ever came back to open the front door.
He took the latter option, as he wasn’t due at stud for another fifteen minutes.
Isobel opened the door in her dressing gown explaining that she had completely forgotten that he was coming that morning. He gave her a price and even agreed to squeeze them in (her windows) that afternoon, as she only wanted the exterior done. He’d easily be able to make sufficient time to do those for her.
No mention of the earlier encounter was made. Georgie hadn’t seen anything new and the bits he had were not unlike parts he was more accustomed to viewing indoors. Some of the proportions were a bit different but that was all.
It was only a matter of time before he stopped travelling so far to work, so the whole incident was soon to become a distant memory. He still does not see it as a confession he has to make. It just happened in his normal course of duty. Nothing had been premeditated.
"For goodness sake, it had been Mildred who’d made the appointment. Don’t blame Georgie!"
Maybe this lady will write down in her diary any future appointments that she makes at unsociable hours of the day.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Brownie’ Points
Each time that Georgie does a job he likes to show his worth
By doing something extra, or creating a little mirth
A mirror or an inside door, just to go the extra mile
A little sketch or poem will maybe make Jo smile
I define the claiming of Brownie points as being a practical way of enhancing business reputation, with no additional cost to the consumer and very little to Georgie.
To achieve these may require doing something slightly above and beyond the expected call of duty but in turn these actions will hopefully have a multi-function. They will give Georgie increased job satisfaction. The Jo concerned will feel pleased with the result of the extra effort made by Georgie and the proverbial word of mouth form of advertising will shout a bit louder for the Thornby business.
The ultimate outcome should be a win / win situation.
Georgie needs to be perceptive. He should consider how he could enhance Jo’s appreciation of his services. To assist him, Georgie writes things down on scraps of paper. These memos are delivered to Mildred and subsequently acted upon, at the appropriate times. For example, a customer may say at the end of a job in March, “I know I’m usually four-monthly Georgie but my daughter is getting married in June and we’ll have a house full of rellies, so the first week of June would be ideal, if you can bring me forward next time?”
“No worries, Ida. Give me a date and I’ll be here at 7.30a.m.to get cracking."
I’ll ring you tonight but only if it clashes with a prior engagement. Otherwise, this is confirmation that I’ll be here.”
His customer will consider that Georgie has made a fairly casual promise and that she may well need to ring towards the end of May, to remind him. There is enormous potential here for Georgie to let himself and Ida Down. On the other hand, he has the chance to earn Brownie points.
Documentation of a promise made is essential. This needs to happen every time an assurance is given to a customer about a future arrangement.
He does it before he drives away for his next job.
He does not rely totally on his brain box, which has the ability to forget things. If Georgie returns home and his efficient secretary sees a note pinned to his work diary, she will record any reminders in the appropriate places, which takes forgetting out of the equation.
So, in this case, Brownie points are pretty much guaranteed, when this customer sees you pull in at 7.25a.m. on the right day, as arranged.
In the normal course of duty, Georgie may be running behind schedule. This can unforeseeably happen, if unexpected problems occur. If he is likely to be late then he must notify his customer of the problem, however minor.
For instance, soon after they had started operating Georgie remembers getting to what he thought was going to be an easy job. It was a new Jo and from the state of the place he reckoned it would have been a new customer for any ‘WC’. The windows clearly had not seen a rag, wet or dry, since Adam was a boy. It was a job for which Georgie had naively quoted for over the phone, simply because he knew the area and had presumed the clean would take him just over an hour. He regularly did a couple of others in the same street, which was near the Waikato university, on the outskirts of Hamilton.
The exterior glass was straightforward. Granted, the windows were dirty, which was to be expected. It was his responsibility to remove the dust, the cobwebs and the bird excrement, as was customary.
No worries!
When he ventured inside for the second half of his work he was soon to realise that only about 20% of the time allotted had actually expired, so far. He knew immediately that he had made a costly mistake. There was curry spattered all over the lounge windows, there were paint spots galore and some of the sash windows had not been opened since their installation, twenty-odd years ago. The grease on the frames was thicker than you’d find in a chip fryer. The sliding doors didn’t do anything of the kind.
On arrival, from outside, he had been stupid enough to confirm the price that he’d previously quoted over the phone. That was before he’d looked more closely at the gruelling task ahead of him. $40 was his fee, regardless of how long it was going to take him. He was not going to compromise his work because of that. He would have to take his medicine and learn from the experience, which was destined to become a memorable one, or he wouldn’t be recalling it now.
Anyway (and this is the moral of the story) he duly rang his next customer to explain that tardiness was the order of the day. She fully understood and was happy to leave a key under a designated rock in her back garden, in order to continue with her plans for the remainder of the day. She was very grateful that Georgie had rung her and he was equally happy not to have kept her waiting. She remained one of his regular and loyal customers until he was able to recommend a new guy to her, when they moved away from the city.
Georgie had helped a young man set up a new cleaning business in that area. The operator is still going strong and it will have been customers such as this lady that helped kick-start his enterprise. Georgie may have chalked up more than one Brownie point on that occasion, whereas if he’d failed to alert his next customer of the situation he would probably have lost a loyal client and a great deal of credibility. The sad thing, in this case, was that when these disgusting windows were due to be cleaned again, six months later, the Thornbys could not find the phone number anywhere!
There are endless ways to earn points. Nearly always there are opportunities to go the extra mile. Sometimes, this may seem to be unnecessary but believe you me (or you believe me, which seems to be more straightforward use of the English language) each extra yard Georgie travels helps to enhance his reputation.
He would be quite entitled to carry out his job description, as efficiently as possible, so as not to waste time. Having done that, he may also accept payment for his work, then dash off to his next appointment like a scalded cat. In the short term, this may well have been the most profitable way to run his business. However, in Georgie’s humble opinion, he would have been rather shortsighted if that was all he intended to do for each customer.
He always went the extra mile, whenever he saw an opportunity.
If he comes across a filthy mirror in a bathroom he makes time to clean it. Later that day, his lady customer may have an evening out with the girls. When she gets home from work and goes to apply her war paint she may flash at the mirror but it will flash back with interest. She won’t be able to help noticing her sparkling reflection.
What goes through her mind?
“How annoying! My window cleaner has had the nerve to show me how dirty my mirror was!”
No! She is far more likely to think,
“My mirror looks wonderful! Georgie didn’t really need to clean it but I’m glad he did. He didn’t even mention it and he hasn’t charged me any more for the extra time it must have taken him to make such a good job of it. I must remember to thank him when I see him next time. I’ll keep him on for sure and I must remember to tell all my friends tonight about how good he is!” The irony is, he loves doing mirrors. It’s the artist in him, I reckon.
If Georgie observes that a shower door is particularly dirty and has a lot of grime on it, provided that he has time to spare, he’ll try to leave it as clean as the windows. This will probably be impossible because of the ingrained watermarks, but it will be noticeable at a glance that he’s made the effort.
If a pantry door has a pane of glass in it that would benefit from regaining some of its transparency Georgie will take the time to remove the fingermarks and other greasy marks to restore its see-through appearance. It may take him thirty seconds, at the most, to clean this pane of glass. That’s neither here nor there in the scheme of things. That may become his easiest point of the day.
For some unknown reason, Georgie used to ignore cat flaps. In his opinion they were not windows and he considered them to be too far beyond his call of duty. Very often they were scratched and ingrained with immovable marks and stains. More recently, they have become easy Brownie points for him. With a wet rag, followed immediately by its dry mate, Georgie is able to score quickly. At times these blemishes will be permanent but invariably even the worst ones look better when he’s spent all of twenty seconds giving them a wipe. The smile on the Cheshire cat’s face is a delight to witness, when he’s finished.
You may think that by doing this little extra that he is setting an unnecessary precedent. Georgie disagrees with you.
It is likely that your customer will be observant enough to know that the mirror, the door pane or the cat-flap was only done because it was excessively dirty. Probably, he will ensure that it might never be that bad again. Georgie would make a point of not doing it on his next visit, to stress that it was a one-off gesture. Maybe next time the bedroom mirror will have greater need for some attention, or not.
As his mother always tried to tell him, and his wife, ever since, he tries to use his common sense.
He doesn’t make too much additional work for himself. However, he does let his customers know that rather than skimp he would prefer to provide them with a little added satisfaction, by doing a little more than he may be expected to do.
On another occasion, whilst working on a grubby kitchen window (usually the grubbiest, as any housewife will confirm) he noticed that the venetian blind didn’t operate as it should have done. He could see, from previous experience of having worked with blinds, that only a very minor repair would be necessary to fix it. His customer had probably been putting off having it done for ages, rather than incur another bill. She didn’t even know that Georgie did blinds. He used a full two minutes of his time to make the necessary adjustment to the blind and that evening he received a very welcome phone call from Mrs.Grateful.
“You forgot to add the blind repair onto your bill, Georgie.”
“Don’t worry. That’s in lieu of any smears I will have left behind in the past. Call it quits, Fairy.”
You don’t need to do a mile. An inch is all it takes sometimes. Nearly every house Georgie works at has a meter box. Most of these have two little Perspex windows, which the meter reader looks through.
Call him petty, if you want to, but a couple of wipes will often leave two shiny little see-throughs. They may or may not even be noticed by either the customer or Rita (the meter maid) when she jots down the numbers on her next visit.
Who cares? It would have taken him a similar length of time to pass wind. If they do happen to observe the small gesture he made, his points tally will have increased again.
Not often, but now and again he may notice a Wendy house in someone’s back garden. Perhaps he’ll see that its tiny window is looking a bit dowdy, to say the least. It would require one minute of his time to cheer it up, so he does it. Nobody may witness his gesture but I bet 3-year old Wendy’s Mum will notice how shiny it looks next time she goes out to the washing line. If she doesn’t, he won’t worry. He’ll be happy that he didn’t skimp.
Superficially, you may believe that Georgie is just grovelling to his employer. OK, I can see exactly what you mean but these little things are not merely done to impress. They may well be part of the reason why his customer appreciates the Thornby’s service and sticks with it. Think more about the enhancement of your long-term reputation. It’s not quite like taking an apple in for your teacher. It goes deeper than that, as Georgie is responsible for running an efficient and successful business. He is not on a big EGO trip but it’s always nice for him to receive the odd compliment or two. Some people use these very sparingly. He makes sure that his customer knows his feelings when he gets the chance.
“All compliments are very gratefully received,” is all he needs to say, if someone tells him they like his work.
He will give small amounts of pleasure to his customers, when they arrive home from the office or from the stressful day they may have had at school. If teaching is your profession, you have Georgie’s utmost sympathy and it gives him enormous pleasure to say that he will never be returning to those unenviable pastures.
Hopefully, in your case, you love teaching and it rewards you well.
Quite often, Georgie arrives at a house, he does the job required of him then he picks up his cheque from the bench in the kitchen. He locks the door and jumps back into his van. He hasn’t seen his customer during this visit but he will have left a small note in the space vacated by the cheque. When the owner of the house gets home he will see a little cartoon drawing with just a short, “Thanks again, Fred. Good luck! Will call you in three months, as usual. Thanks for the cheque. Regards, Georgie.”
We all like to receive unexpected notes.
“Don’t deny it!”
We all speak of job satisfaction. The people who say they don’t get much in their particular line of work have the impression that everyone else does. They are wrong, so perhaps they are due a move. I suggest these people look to do something else with their lives. Life’s too short to spend all your working hours with a French fry on your shoulder.
It may have taken Georgie a while to realise it, but he gets out of a day what he puts into it. Going the extra mile to give someone else a bit of a lift is a good feeling, even if he is not there to witness it, when it happens.
CHAPTER TEN
Outdoor Pursuits
When Thornby was a little chap he loved to play outside
He’d kick or hit a ball, or he’d go for a jog or ride
Climbing trees or rocks, or flying through the air
Anything a bit dangerous, any challenge, he’d be there!
It was mid-winter in Australasia.
Georgie had just finished a two-monthly task, more than half way up his hill, which extends over eight kilometres. When he gets to this place, he knows he is nearly home. By then, it’s always late afternoon, as he nears the end of another working day. The couple who own this house also own a jeweller’s shop in town. Some years before the Thornbys, Mr and Mrs Stone had made the same crossing of the globe from the Motherland to New Zealand, to try another style of living. They decided, as many Brits do, to stay here in New Zealand.
Now, this is a job that requires Georgie to get up onto what becomes a very slippery roof, following a shower of rain. Otherwise, it’s a relatively easy one to do, raining or not, as there is shelter under the eaves.
Precious knows that if he couldn’t do the roof windows on the scheduled day, then Georgie would finish them on his next journey home from town, on a dry day. She and Rocky are long-standing customers of the Thornbys and his visits have become very much routine for them all over the years.
Ronnie has another very true story to relate to you all, which concerned this customer, on a late afternoon in July, several years ago. To tell this story, he does not need to waste time writing about window cleaning, as he had already finished the job. He was on lap three, his inspection lap. It had not been raining, so the upstairs bedroom and bathroom windows had been serviced.
Georgie had been on site often enough previously to be aware of the kidney-shaped pool in the back garden but he was not focussed on exactly where it was at this stage of proceedings. He had accomplished a good day’s work and was keen to get home to his darling wife and his beer, or vice versa.
You can guess the rest. You’re probably ahead of me!
As he looked up at the sparkling, dazzling, glimmering high panes, Georgie was nonchalantly stepping over the rounded edge of the pool. As he stepped onto the blue awning, which prevents debris from filling the deep puddle during the winter months, the fluid beneath it did not support his eleven stone plus the weight of his bucket, full of gadgetry.
Now, had it been January or February he may well have asked Precious if he may take a dip, but it wasn’t and he hadn’t.
Precious had heard the splash and probably the expletives too. She stepped onto the decking from inside. She was immediately very concerned for Georgie’s well-being. He was still breathing, which meant that he now had to recover all his tools from the bottom of the swimming pool, before he made the wet journey home. He was relieved that this was not his first appointment of the day and that he was nearly home, at the opposite end of his workload.
After a few duck-dives to haul up his squeegees Georgie was kindly loaned a pair of Rocky’s track pants and a shirt of his before driving the remainder of the way up the hill.
He was bl**dy freezing and couldn’t feel his nuts when he stepped cautiously into the shower. They had disappeared temporarily, as he was pleased to find out, when he dried himself off afterwards. Another day at the office completed!
Rocky’s clothes were duly returned the following day.
Georgie said to Precious, “If many more things like this happen to me then I’ll be able to write a book one day.”
He’s only 5’8” on tiptoes, which has at times been a bit of a disadvantage for Georgie, in his game. He soon learned to improvise and to make every micron count.
Andy Stand used to be Georgie’s class teacher at his Primary School in Kent. His teaching methods were highly unorthodox. He would dish out Mars bars, Caramacs and Walnut Whips for good work and cash donations as incentives for us kids to achieve, especially in gymnastics. He was presumably ‘P.E.’ trained, as he was sport mad.
These were rewards, as opposed to bribery. You ask any well-respected dog trainer, who will tell you the difference between bribery and harmless incentives.
Andy exuded love for his profession and gave endless encouragement to his pupils, particularly in gym work and football (soccer).
To walk the width of the netball court was worth a shilling and the length two bob. The reward for standing upright for sixty seconds was half a crown. (A slight catch, as this had to be on our hands!) Tony Cox, Derek Towe and I were the only three in our year to get the big prize but what fun at playtimes we all had trying. None of us would have been old enough to wonder where these rewards came from but inevitably they will have been from Andy’s own pocket. This gentleman was truly a dedicated professional, who gained ‘GJS’ (Genuine Job Satisfaction) from teaching kids. He had definitely found his vocation in life. He taught us kids about elasticity in the muscle fibres but I often wondered why I would ever need that sort of information. I later found out, becoming a ‘P.E.’ teacher myself, passing on similar principles of human physiology to others growing up. Moreover, later in my working life I have been able to put into practical use the precise illustration given back then, at South Deal County Primary School, in about 1960. I suggest you try this yourself unless your balance is not what it used to be: -
Wash your hands first, then stand on both feet, sideways on, against a wall. Raise your arm and put the palm of your hand against the vertical surface. Get somebody to make a small pencil mark at the highest point i.e. at the tip of your middle digit, if you have a full set on each hand. Put your arm back to your side. Now do exactly the same again and the next mark will be slightly above the previous one. You won’t need to cheat, by standing on tiptoes. Stay on your flat feet but just extend your arm further, as you raise it. Go through the process again and you will find another slight increase. Inevitably, there will be a limit to this advancement or we’d all be able to touch the ceiling. You will see, though, how you’ll gain an inch or so by this stretching of the muscle fibres together with the subconscious use of other muscle groups. This knowledge has often saved Georgie from having to climb back down his steps and return to his van to get his slightly taller ladder.
Time is money!
Speaking of the qualities of elastic …
... enter Ronnie
“Digress with me and allow Georgie to reminisce, even further back.”
As a lad, Georgie was an active member of Baden-Powell’s Boy Scout movement. He grew up through the ranks and took an active part in regular and useful instructional activities. As well as Dyb-Dyb-Dybbing and Dob-Dob-Dobbing he learned how to tie knots and read maps. He learned the points of the compass ... What is the point of the compass? Also, First Aid, other basic needs of a loner out in the bush and how to estimate the height of a tree, in the distance. He was taught semaphore; erection; tent erection; basic cooking and hygeine and how to sing campfire songs. Some of these skills merely became pieces of knowledge, stashed upstairs for quiz nights. Others, though, Georgie has been able to put to occasional practical use.
Georgie was keener than anyone else to be part of the many outdoor pursuits on offer, which included regular rock climbing expeditions, near Sevenoaks. He was happy to attend courses and did his share of abseiling and suchlike but he always felt a little bit out of his comfort zone, above ground without a parachute.
From time to time, he would find himself half way up a climb, when his lower leg would start to vibrate. He would desperately try to find the next convenient ledge in order to get a bit closer to the ultimate goal above him. Below him, his peers were ant-sized. The knee would stop jerking for a while but within a couple more manoeuvres there it would go again, a seemingly uncontrollable reflex, speeding up each time he had to take a rest.
If you have never climbed rocks, you may still be able to relate to this movement. You may have sat on the loo, leaning forward on the balls of your feet, when a similar reaction may have taken place. The knee jerks involuntarily at ninety to the dozen, like a pneumatic drill, trying to bore its way through the floor. The distinct advantage, acting out this analogy, is that you can stand up, wipe your arse and then get on with your life.
Up there, at thirty-five feet and clinging on to a sharp piece of rock to save face (and maybe ultimately his life) things were not quite so straightforward. Georgie would have given anything to be at home, kicking a ball around in the back garden’. In reality, if things got any worse, he realised that he was likely to be playing the leading role on the next TV news bulletin, which he’d have much preferred to be watching. A thick cord secured him, he hoped, around his middle. He may even have tied the bowline himself. The rope was wrapped around a tree at the top of the cliff and round a mate’s waist, down on the ground. Despite that, just to let go still didn’t seem the appropriate thing to do. His brain refused to allow that to happen. Adding to his anxiety, he had second thoughts about the person belaying him.
“Was he really a mate?”
However, at some future point in time, preferably before dark, he will have managed to clamber over the top of the ascent and within minutes would have been back at the bottom, seriously considering doing a slightly tougher climb next. Small brain ... short memory!
We all have the latter, where egos are concerned.
Thinking back, Georgie really hated the thought of it but he always wanted to be 'one of the boys'.
“What’s your point, Ronnie?”
A window cleaner needs to be confident on his triple extension ladder, five or six metres above ground. His focus needs to be on the cleaning of windows, at the level he has reached. There is no place for nervousness or negative thinking while on the job, whatever the altitude. He doesn’t need to be sidetracked by knee jerking whilst up there, doing it.
Fortunately for him, Georgie completely lost his fear of heights during one fine morning of January 1994.
He’d been living in New Zealand for nearly three years and the Thornbys were hosting summer visitors from England. He remains convinced that fate had put him on a ledge, forty-five metres above the Waikato river, just after it had departed Lake Taupo. All that was between certain death and Georgie was a towel, which had been tied in a figure of eight around his ankles by a total stranger, at one end of the longest rubber band he’d ever seen.
This was an activity he’d watched on a scary telly programme in England, some years previously. It was a long time before he’d see tourists in ‘NZ’ paying good money to take part in a similar, insane dare. He’d watched dark, curly-haired natives, on an island considerably smaller than New Zealand, jumping out of trees to prove their manliness. Their feet were attached to lengths of twine, which looked as though they were comprised of twisted raffia. It certainly didn’t stretch like the rubber band that was currently tied to Georgie’s feet. It was just the length it needed to be, to prevent the artist from denting the ground beneath him. At the time, Georgie recalls thinking to himself, "Haven’t these people ever heard of Scrabble, Monopoly or even Hide and Seek?”
I’m going to backtrack a little further, to explain what led up to Georgie finding himself on a dodgy man-made piece of decking, sticking out into fresh air, that high up.
The Thornby’s son, Paul and his mates Steve and Simon, were here on a visit. They had all just toured the East Cape. They’d left Gisborne and Poverty Bay behind and had continued to the southern end of Hawkes’ Bay. That night, they were standing on the balcony of a motor lodge in Napier, with beers in hands. Paul was feeling brave, probably largely because of the juice he was imbibing. In one of the brochures, lying on the coffee table, Thornby Jnr. had located a Bungee site at Taupo, which was en route home the following day. I shouldn’t need to fill in the gaps for you. You must know what’s coming next!
George thought he’d made it clear to Paul that his mother and he would enjoy taking snaps from the best vantage point they could find at Taupo, as the boys did the dare.
However, before he could say, “Straw”, Georgie had drawn the short one and went to bed knowing that he was to be the first mug to jump, at 11.a.m. the next day. Paul had made the booking and the arrangements were apparently set in concrete. Wimping out was no longer an option, for any of them.
Have you ever been the subject of peer, or in this case, beer pressure?
So, once the guy in charge had informed Georgie to keep his head up and look straight in front of him, at the cemetery in the distance, on the far side of the river, the countdown was on.
“Three, Two, One, Bungee!!”
He had leaned forward and had just about reached the point of no return.“What the Phaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark am I doing heeeeeere?” went through his mind, as his breath was taken away by the speed of his descent.
But the worst was over and the return journey was exhilarating. (Another lesson learned in mechanics at ‘P.E.’ College: ‘Every Action has a Reaction’) Two or three diminishing bounces later he was being lowered into a little raft, being offered the far end of a barge pole. This lass was not worried about touching him with it, which he took as a compliment. Georgie was lowered into the dinghy and was feeling pretty chuffed that he was the Guvnor, leading from the front. The team in the small rubber vessel congratulated him. He stood up to shout to the others, with the utmost relief,“He who dares, wins, Rodney!” He then went to change his underpants.
So, again, to the point.
Georgie honestly believed that it was at the precise moment, when his big toes left that platform, that his acrophobia and vertigo were simultaneously overcome. He’d like to think that will always be the case, at least until he retires from his current vocation.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The best laid plans of mice and men may often go awry
There will be times when we can’t win, however hard we try
Thornby has a rough idea of how each day will go
But he may not be in full control, as surely we all know!
Georgie is unable to foresee exactly what will happen during his day. He doesn’t really have a normal day, when he can predict every occurrence, from one moment to the next. Thankfully, that adds to his excitement. He never forgets that variety is the spice of life.
It is true to say that Georgie has had a few mishaps during his years as a ‘WC’. He has also met a few strange people on his travels. At times he has quite unintentionally made a fool of himself, too.
A recent survey carried out by ‘LOAS’ (the Law of Averages Society) produced some findings, all to do with being a long-serving ‘WC’.
(ii) He will find that gateposts will at times prove to be a nuisance, as he drives in and backs out of hundreds of driveways in the course of his duty, particularly should he be running behind time.
(iii) He will now and again, despite his vast ladder-climbing experience, fall off into flowerbeds.
When this occurs, he won’t always be able to miss the plants.
Inevitably, under these circumstances some plants will occasionally become disturbed, flattened or irretrievably and totally destroyed.
(iv) The weather may not always be ideal, for him to accomplish each task that he is scheduled to carry out.
(v) During the hundreds of manoeuvres he will have made with his extension ladder, on more than one occasion the far end of it will have pushed its nose into where it may not have been required or appreciated.
(vi)Sometimes, often when he least expects it, spillage will be evident. This won’t always be outside, where nobody would give a stuff.
(vii) When the artist leaves a commission he will occasionally also leave behind a smear or a streak on the canvas he has been using. This will probably not have been obvious, at short range, at the time of the sitting. He should not think that it won’t get noticed, because the sunlight is sure to find him out in due course.
(viii) From time to time, he will receive a call later in his day, from an unhappy customer.
(ix) However hard he tries, he will only be able to please some of the people, some of the time.
(x) The common or garden spider will spin its web to catch its prey, frequently where Georgie has to work. The obvious, dense spider’s web, found just above or beside the window frame is not a major problem to Georgie. On the contrary, it presents an ideal opportunity for him to maybe gain a Brownie point or two, by removing it. That process may only take five seconds, on a bad day.
What does p*ss him off though, is the long strand of nylon that stretches from an adjacent rose bush to the spouting above a window. This is the one that he encounters before he even reaches the second step of his ladder. It’s the one that envelops itself around his ear and sticks to him like the proverbial to a blanket. It’s the same one that wraps itself around his face and is glued to his cheeks, first thing in the morning. It hits him when he least expects it, quite often on a misty or a foggy start to the day. It’s a bit like starting a round of golf with a double bogey.
He just does not need it!
(xi) Not every customer will take an instant liking to Georgie, or vice versa.
"On one occasion Georgie was wiping along a windowsill in a bedroom with his damp rag. As he did so, a ceramic liquid soap container fell into the sink and cracked.
These things seldom happen but when they do, as in this case, they always coincide with Georgie having a particularly busy day, when time is of a premium.
That was down to Sod’s, or Murphy’s Law, as opposed to the Law of Averages.
The damage done was minimal and Georgie guessed that his customer would not lose too much sleep over it. After all, accidents happen, as everyone knows. As a mere gesture, he planned to leave a note to acknowledge the mishap and to apologise for being so clumsy.
As it happened, his next house was in town, so he had to pass a few shops to get there. One of these was a hardware store. There, in the window was a ceramic soap container, crackless.
In his note to his customer, Georgie briefly explained what had happened and that he hoped he liked the replacement vessel, sitting beneath the bathroom window.
Whether he did or not wasn’t really the point.
Anyway, that evening Thornby did receive a call to let him know that the gesture had been much appreciated and that he shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.
He was convinced that it had been a bob well spent."
I am not trying to make Georgie sound righteous because he doesn’t even come close. I am merely trying to demonstrate, by this example, that honesty is always the best policy, however trivial the damage may be. It is reassuring for a customer to know that somebody left alone in his house is able to be trusted
Trivial to some people is far from trivial to others. We all have different values.
Georgie still cleans those windows and appreciates the trust that he is given by this family, even to unlock the house and lock it up again, whilst they are away on holiday. This is an enormous responsibility and Georgie does not take it lightly.
I’ll leave real names out here because this next story does not show this next fellow in his best light. That is to say, I’m sure he has more endearing features than Georgie has seen so far. Currently though, Thornby can only relate to a first impression.
After only one meeting, it appeared to Georgie that Curtis, or Curt for short, probably has one of the shortest vocabularies in the world.
As he does, three-monthly, Georgie had arrived on site for a regular visit. Today, it happened to be just before lunchtime. He parked up, and as though he was on automatic pilot, he proceeded to wash the windows nearest to the outside tap, where he’d just filled his bucket and frothed up its contents. The curtains were still drawn but Georgie had not considered that someone might still be in bed at that time of day. He jumped and nearly fell off his steps, as the curtains parted.
“I wondered what the ph**k it was!” came the voice from within.
Georgie instinctively replied, “Sorry, Mate, I didn’t realise you were in there.”
“I wondered what the ph**k it was!” he repeated.
Georgie continued clockwise around the house. About twenty minutes later this gentleman appeared again, this time at the kitchen window, situated at the far side of the building. He was at the kitchen sink and the window was slightly ajar.
“I’m sorry I took you by surprise earlier,” said Georgie, apologetically.
“I wondered what the ph**k it was!” came the familiar response.
Georgie shifted his steps along to the next window, realising that a meaningful conversation was probably out of the question. At least, until now it had not appeared to be on the cards.
I am aware that the whole episode must sound very contrived. On the contrary, it happened as recorded and I am quoting the dialogue verbatim. As Thornby rounded the last corner of the house he heard a car engine fire up. Georgie guessed that the guy was about to leave the premises and he moved away from the lounge window, towards the driveway. He wished to make it clear, once and for all, that he was indeed remorseful for what had occurred, when he’d first arrived. He didn’t want any ill feelings between them by the time they went their separate ways.
The guy steered over towards Georgie, leaned across the passenger seat and wound down the front passenger window. Before Thornby had the chance to reiterate the point he was trying to make (you’ve guessed it) the words he knew off by heart came from within,
“I wondered what the ph**k it was!” and away he went.
Georgie left the premises soon after Curt did.
He has since revisited, several times, to re-do the windows at Curt’s place but their paths have not crossed again. As a result, they have had no further chitchat, so far. (I think they had probably run out of conversation anyway.)
This is the age of touching buttons but nobody, as yet, has created one to touch that will change the weather, although we are regularly informed what time it will probably start to rain, next Thursday. (Yeah! Right!)
If it is raining persistently (**ssing down) then Georgie has to look at his options.
He can move to the leeward side of a building or do some inside windows first.
He can sit in the van and drink coffee, until the rain has eased, or he can nip off to do his next scheduled job first, which may be a drier option: perhaps the insides only.
He may pop into town, where the shops nearly all have eaves (as they do in Westerns) to protect him.
He may choose to sit in his van, beside the Waikato river for a while, and do some reading to kill time.
He may go to do some banking.
He could run any errands that Mrs Thornby has asked him to do.
He might decide to wander round the Warehouse, to get ideas for future birthday and Christmas presents. He only has Mrs T to think about, so it is seldom that those occasions take him unawares, when they arrive each year. Georgie likes to do his shopping well in advance, if only to prevent unnecessary stress nearer the time.
Occasionally, if his safety is in jeopardy, he may have to do the majority of the windows today and return later in the week to finish off the high ones.
“Ronnie has a recent example of this.”
As pre-arranged, one day Georgie turned up for a clean in Chartwell. His elderly lady customer came to the door and said,
“I didn’t think you’d turn up today, Georgie. It’s raining. You can’t do windows in this weather. You won’t be able to do a good job and you’ll get soaked. I’d rather you didn’t do mine today.”
Now, Georgie is always up for a challenge and had driven some distance to this lady’s house.
“OK, Mrs Leevit but I can make you an offer you won’t be able to refuse.”
“What’s that, Georgie?”
Firstly, he could see that there were eaves all around the house. It was only drizzling and he knew he’d be able to do the work, without getting more than his shoulders wet, at worst. Secondly, he would never have cleaned windows in the rain, if he thought they couldn’t be done properly.
“You don’t have to agree to this proposal, Wilma, but I’d like to do your windows this morning. If you are not happy with the result when I’ve finished, then I won’t charge you a cent and I’ll come back next week to do them again, at no extra charge.”
That could have been arranged but Georgie knew it wasn’t going to be necessary.
She could not believe how shiny and clean they looked when Georgie had finished and she was amazed that he hadn’t drowned during the process.
*Wil Leevit, was won over.
*(I’m nearing the bottom of the barrel now, eh?)
It is a fallacy that you can’t clean windows in inclement weather.
Georgie may have cleaned your windows half an hour before it rains, by which time he will already have started his next job somewhere else. That doesn’t mean he’s wasted his time and your money. Windows get dirty over a lengthy period of time, whether or not it rained yesterday, is raining today, or will do so again tomorrow. They become clean, all of a sudden, and they stay clean and shiny for weeks. If they didn’t, then they’d need doing every day, rather than four-monthly.
A painter, a gardener or a bricklayer may need to postpone but not a ‘WC’, worth his salt.
“What, Ron?”
Maybe the readers would like to know where that expression comes from. I’ll tell them anyway.
Roman soldiers used to be paid, in part, in rations of salt. If they had not performed well, they were considered not to be worth their salt.
The ‘WC’ is a hardy individual, accustomed and immune to exposure.
Georgie has had numerous conversations through toilet windows.
On one occasion he was totally unaware that anyone was even at home. Vera had presumed from within that Georgie knew she was on the loo. After all, she was fully aware that he was on the outside of the window. But this was not so, until she said,
“Good morning, Georgie. What a beautiful day we’re going to have, despite the cold start.”
“Oh! Aloe Vera. Sorry, I didn’t realise you were in there.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t see through this glass anyway. How was your trip back to England?”
Another time, on another toilet, it was a guy.
“I cut that a bit fine, Georgie. I reckon I’ll need a clean pair of knickers!”
“Hi, Tony. Sorry to intrude on your privacy.”
“Who gives a toss? We all have to answer to the call of nature. I just wish I’d been a couple of minutes quicker. You won’t stay there long, Mate, if this stink gets out. We’ll catch up when you get round to the decking.”
I’ve already told you about the lady at the rest home, but that wasn’t so much a conversation as a reprimand from within.
Georgie has had other brief encounters with people in similar predicaments but I’ve only mentioned the three or four that immediately came to mind. From choice, he would never dream of intruding on such private moments. But ‘LOAS’ says that, ‘if he’s cleaned about eight to ten loo windows, daily, for the last sixteen years (now twenty-six) then sometimes he will have come across one or two of them that have been engaged’.
“Ron’s just done his sums.”
Give or take a few, Georgie has cleaned toilet windows 36,000 times, so far in his ‘WC’ career and he has a few years left in him yet. (Probably nearer 50,000 now) I don’t suppose he’s been aware of more than a dozen encounters during that period, so that must reassure his existing customers that he does try really hard to avoid these clashes. Those figures suggest that the chance of Georgie’s employers being greeted by him, whilst on the loo, is approximately 1:3000. (You wouldn't put much money on that occurring, eh?)
“Relax! You may not even be one of Georgie’s customers.”
Thank goodness for all our sakes that somebody invented frosted glass!
He does not often make his customers cry, but there is only so much criticism a person can take, and Georgie didn’t want to cry first. On reflection, if he knew the tears would be so forthcoming he may have used a more subtle approach on this occasion. He was certainly taken by surprise.
This particular lady, of considerable antique value, was living in an area of Hamilton, where Georgie and Millie were considering relinquishing a number of clients, sooner rather than later, having moved to Cambridge recently.
Pretty (as apparently she had been named at birth, although Georgie never did figure out why) was on an already-compiled list, the goodwill of whose custom the Thornbys were about to sell to another cleaning outfit in the city. However, to be fair to the would-be purchaser, they were not going to include difficult customers on this list, so Georgie was more than happy to eliminate this particular person from his existing clientele.
When, for the umpteenth time on his arrival at her place, she welcomed Georgie in her usual manner by saying,
“I found you’d really made a mess of my windows last time,” he retorted in similar fashion.
“Maybe, Mrs Grumpy,” (Give him a bit of credit! He didn’t really call her that to her face.)
“I think you would be advised to look for a new window cleaner, whose work you can recommend to others. We shall probably both be happier in the long run.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that in no way are you satisfied with my services, so why do you keep paying me to do a bad job? I like my customers to be happy.”
She did not respond, other than by disappearing for a while.
As his bucket was getting impatient to start moving, he whipped around the outside in no time, as it was only a small unit. Then he shouted from the front door,
“OK to start inside, on lap two, Pretty?”
There was no reply.
He crept into the lounge, which was one of about four rooms in total, to find a blubbering wreck sat in the armchair.
Now, his people skills were going to be tested to the limit.
“I hope you’re not upset because of me, Mrs Grumpy?"
Again, there was no reply.
Now, let me try to explain further, as the way I’m telling this tale is making me feel very guilty. I am actually feeling a bit nauseous. I wish now that I hadn’t even bothered to tell you this story. As I have already said, Georgie is not Superman. He is human and without a shadow of a doubt is sometimes responsible for leaving smears behind at the end of a job. In this particular case though, however hard he tried (believe me, he sweated blood at times) nothing he did was pleasing to this old lady’s eye, yet she continued to give him the impression that she would not be able to cope without him. He was almost at his wit’s end.
“You just can’t take criticism, can you?”
She had spoken, so Georgie breathed a sigh of relief to know that she was still alive.
He didn’t argue the toss.
“No, Mrs Grumpy. So, why do you give me such a hard time? Anyway, as I have upset you, I won’t charge you for today’s clean but I shall not be travelling into Hamilton for work after next month. My wife and I have moved away and have changed our area for work. I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to find a more local chap to take my place in the future.”
I’ll skip a few details here. Georgie honestly does not like upsetting people but he could not help thinking that Pretty was actually wallowing in self-pity, as he tried to console her.
Georgie also cleaned the windows next door, which was where he was next due, as per his work schedule, after this dragon had wiped her face dry. She had obviously heard and fully understood Georgie’s gesture, not to make a charge. Her purse had been zipped up, padlocked and had been returned to the bottom of her handbag, smothered with damp tissues.
He backed out of her drive and parked next door.
“Hi, Alice. I seem to have upset your neighbour, Pretty Grumpy. I feel a bit lousy about it but I didn’t mean to make her cry.”
He actually needed more consoling than she did, next door.
“Georgie, you couldn’t upset anyone. I’ve been amazed how long you’ve been doing those windows for that (and I quote) ‘Old Cow’. She cries all the time and no other tradesperson has ever returned after his first visit. She hasn’t spoken civilly to us for years because we snipped some overhanging weeds when we first arrived.”
Georgie then went on to explain that he would not be cleaning windows in that area much longer. Alice fully understood and was quite prepared to try the firm that would be taking over from him.
“That’s business, Georgie. We have really appreciated your service over the years and wish you and your wife all the best in the future. Don’t worry one iota about Mrs Grumpy next door. Nobody else does! She is totally unreasonable and brings it all on herself.”
I rest my case.
I didn’t put Mrs G on our Christmas card list but I was never happy that I was somehow responsible for upsetting her.
“Oh, Well! Que sera! C’est la vie!”
Here's a bit of a story: -
Georgie used to have work at a large motel in Hamilton. This establishment was used as a venue for conferences and not only did it have five star accommodation, with ample parking, but amongst its other facilities was a heated indoor pool. The windows of the guestrooms were spot-cleaned daily, by regular, general maintenance staff. As well as the pool glass, Georgie was just required to do the owners’ quarters and a few of the high outside ones. Two of the pool sides were glass.
Georgie was asked to include these see-through walls in his regular monthly detail. Consequently, he had to remember, or Mrs Thornby had to remind him, to wear his swimming gear / togs under his shorts, on the first Tuesday of each month.
What a performance the first time he did them! Talk about trial and error!
(Who was talking about trial and error?)
The only way to reach the higher panes of glass was for him to stand his fold-up ladder on the floor of the pool, between three and six feet under the water, depending on which end of the pool he was in. The clients at the hotel would make their way into the adjacent restaurant for breakfast and they would have a live show laid on for them, at no extra cost. There was this maniac, togged up and cleaning windows, where the atmosphere was far from conducive for that task. The inside of the glass was dripping with condensation, so the desired result was impossible to come by. Even the big fat towelling rag that Georgie used to have would not have coped with those conditions. This was Moisture, with a big ‘M’
The only perk was that Georgie had a free swim once a month, on finishing his work there, although it more often came close to finishing him. I might add that for this pool during the winter months, ‘heated’ was an overstatement. In fact, I shall: -
"For this pool during the winter months, ‘heated’ was an overstatement.” At times he could have skated across the ice!
I suppose doing the insides will have minimised the growth of the moss and mildew, from one month to the next, if nothing else. Better for the proprietors to pay the ‘WC’ a little more for his efforts than have to extend the duties of their gardener. As it was his employers’ wish, and not a bad earner, he didn’t mind his ears burning, as a restaurant full of conference attendees poked fun at him. This topic would not have been out of place in an earlier passage, because there were many occasions in Georgie’s past life, when he’d been called a maniac or a lunatic and he’d been poked at more times than a truckload of pigs. Being a target of ridicule is par for the course, when one’s occupation involves standing up in front of groups of school students. As for mobs of prisoners, at one of the big houses, use your imagination! Both types of audience were intent on one thing, which was having fun at someone else’s expense. Being ridiculed has always come naturally to Georgie, anyway.
His skin is pig thick, too.
Besides, on these mornings bacon, eggs, tomatoes and a fried slice soon became the primary focus for the members of the audience, once the novelty of the cabaret had worn off.
The owners, brothers Maurice and William Tell were always good to work for and Georgie kept in touch with Mo Tell for a long time after he’d stopped working for him.
"Thanks Ronnie. That's enough for now!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
Window Cleaning Technique … Breakfast
With sixteen years of practice Georgie knows he’s getting good
He didn’t used to clean for fun and presumed he never would
Don’t upset yourself because you think that Thornby’s bragging
Just take it in and realise that good cleaning’s down to ragging
Rather than write a totally separate instructional booklet for the D.I.Y. shelf, which is reserved for serious operators only, I have included these more technical passages intermittently thoughout the book.
I hope you’ll be able to absorb the information, without nodding off too frequently.
The entire feast will be stretched out, not unlike an evening meal in a French restaurant. It will have many courses and will be drawn out, not to be rushed. If you would like to purchase a bottle or two of red wine to accompany your meal that’s entirely up to you, but it will not be provided for by the author. If you do that, then you may need to re-read the same passages tomorrow, if you get a bit tipsy and don’t take in all the information today.
This first course (I have not counted the ‘Early Morning Cuppa’) introduces the art of leaving a pane of glass spotless. Here are two alternative ways to wash the pane but the latter stages of each process, in order to thoroughly dry the glass, are much the same for both.
Georgie considers the drying process to be as near as he can get to answering one of Jo’s most frequently-asked questions,
“What’s your big secret, Georgie?”
It’s not a secret, big or small, but the most common error made by the would-be window cleaner is that the moisture used in washing the glass is allowed to dry before he’s got round to drying it himself. If temperatures are high and the sun is beating down, with a stiff breeze in the air then less time is at his disposal, so the faster Georgie needs to work. He can’t stop for a chat with someone once the glass is wet, or he’ll need to wash the pane again when the intruder’s gone.
“Go on then, Ron!”
Later, when you think to yourself, “He’s said that already,” you may well be right.
Why is the same advertisement shown on TV so often? To brainwash people; to sell a product; to make Jo Public remember something! This entire job is about repetition, so get used to it.
Ragging
This technique is particularly effective on smaller panes, such as louvres and Colonial-style windows. To cope with these, Georgie uses rags for the entire process. He begins with a wet rag and uses the same one to wipe around the frame. Then, with a dry rag, he wipes the frame again and proceeds to start drying the glass. He presses a rag-covered finger into one corner of the glass and does a lap of the window frame, finger into each corner as he goes, to dry the extreme edges of the pane. He proceeds to wipe the moisture from the glass, either from side to side or from top to bottom, in straight lines, gradually getting lower or wider. When the first rag gets a bit moist he pulls the next one from under his belt and does the same again.
He likens the entire process to a groundsman mowing a bowls green, or the Wembley turf on the morning of an F.A. Cup Final.
(If you’re a Kiwi, read Eden Park and Bledisloe Cup Match.)
He’s covering every square inch of the surface, several times, until finally he’s pretty sure that it’s dry and streak-free. If he feels any lumps as he goes, these are unlikely to be the glass itself, as in most cases it will be flat. Therefore, he must be sure to remove these blemishes somehow, before continuing. His fingernail may be all he needs to do that. Now, he does another lap with his finger pressing against the frame and even though he believes the glass to be dry and spotless by that stage, he carries out the entire procedure again with his next, bone-dry rag and once more with the one after that.
“What?” you mutter under your breath.
Let me assure you that Georgie is far better off giving the extra, seemingly unnecessary wipe than moving on to the next window one wipe too soon. He always finishes with a final lap of the inside edge of the frame and then he lifts his rag-covered finger away from one of the corners, so as not to leave either flecks or smears on the glass.
If you have already decided that you can’t be bothered being so fussy then shut the book and go back to counting your days down to your retirement elsewhere. This advice is obviously not for you.
If you are still with me, you now have a clean pane of glass in front of you. I presume you would like to learn more, so hang on in there.
The ‘Sheepskin and Squeegee’ Method.
Georgie now wants to simulate cleaning one side only of a virtually brand new, larger-than-above, square pane of glass. I shall describe the entire process, from start to finish, as he does so.
It is plain glass i.e. not tinted, stained, opaque or frosted. There are no lead-light diamonds. It is not a particularly big or small pane and it is only slightly soiled with just three or four weeks’ worth of dust clinging to it, with just two or three light sprinkles of bird sh*t. It is not situated behind a gas barbecue, outside on the decking. It is not behind the stove or sink, inside the kitchen. It has no cracks, chips or water spots. This particular pane is ideally situated, outside and at eye level, when Georgie is stood, perfectly balanced, flat-footed on an equally flat piece of ground.
No ladders are therefore necessary. He can comfortably reach the entire pane without moving his feet at all.
Georgie thinks he is in heaven because even the climate is perfect. It is slightly overcast with plenty of cloud cover and there is a slight breeze. His employers are both at work, so there is no audience.
Even his wages are on the imaginary kitchen bench but they can stay there until he’s finished.
Now, for this demonstration there is no time restriction. It is not a race, although the entire operation should take between sixty and ninety seconds, at a very steady pace.
The bucket contains three or four inches of cold water, run from the adjacent outside tap. It is frothed up, as a squeeze of Georgie’s juice was added before running the tap. SIMPLE!
The bucket has strategically been placed to Georgie’s left because he likes to know where it is, in order not to kick it or submerge his size eight into it, as he steps backwards.
“So, the scene is set.”
The washer is dipped into the frothy water and is withdrawn forthwith.
Every square inch of the glass is then methodically washed. As there is not a damp rag available yet, a square pattern is drawn with the washer, to wipe and moisten the frame. The washer is placed on the window sill. No time is lost as Georgie simultaneously withdraws the squeegee from its holster. He is mentally prepared to make three wipes with it and he does so, promptly. This will have removed a great deal of the excess moisture from the glass pane.
The first rag is in use. It has already wiped around the frame (no mucking around) and has taken some of the remaining moisture off the glass. It has been slung over Georgie’s shoulder and the second rag is moving horizontally, in straight lines backwards and forwards from the top left-hand corner to the bottom right hand corner of the window i.e. this process entails quite a few ‘there-and-backs’. The same rag may then be used to carry out a similar procedure, but vertically from the top right hand corner to the bottom left hand corner. This will require a similar number of ‘up-and-downs’, as the pane is square. At this point the so-called ‘WC’ will think, “Mission accomplished.”
That will be the difference between leaving and not leaving smears. They will show up when the sun next shines, if not before.
“This procedure must be repeated.” I said, “This procedure must be repeated."
"More than once!"
"More than once!”
Georgie knows that to be over-eager to complete the task will have drastic consequences, and in the long run will cost him time, other jobs and favourable comments from Jo.
He didn’t try to run before he could walk, or he’d have fallen over. He practised this method many times, until it started to become second nature to him. Millie had to nudge him when he was doing it in his sleep, next to her.
Ronnie has now introduced 'Window Cleaning Technique' to you. That is all he's done, so far. No living being could have absorbed that in one read, any more than one rag will have absorbed all the moisture from a pane of glass, with just one wipe.
Rather than ask Millie to look back through all the diaries and then ring round ex-customers individually, I shall make a general apology, now.
That’s on Georgie’s behalf, to all you people who may have found smears and streaks on your windows, after he’d left your premises. You may have been one of those customers, unfortunate enough to have employed Georgie during his early days of practising.
“Thanks Ron!”
Sometimes he encounters problems that bring him to his knees
He seldom has a day at work that doesn’t have a hitch
At times he gets frustrated and agrees that life’s a bitch
Some of these accessories slide easily along clean channels and do not present a major problem for him, to access the windows behind them. Others have to be lifted out of their runners, laid on the floor, then replaced after the window has been cleaned. Some are on hinges. Others have magnetic strips around their perimeters that are designed to cling to the thin metal strips around the frame. When new, this type of screen does not create too much extra work for Georgie but often they are in desperate need of replacement. The mesh may be torn away from the frame, or the frame itself will have broken into several pieces. It becomes a work of art, putting them back into place.
It would be quicker and easier sometimes for Georgie to do a jigsaw puzzle between each room.
Georgie tries to be fair to his customer. If she’s an old lady, who stands less than four feet tall, he bites his lip, counts to ten and accepts it as being a small, occupational hazard and just a bit of a nuisance, to have to deal with these screens.
At least one of Georgie’s more thoughtful customers has these appliances on every window in his house. He is a foot taller than Georgie, so uses far fewer calories to remove them than his ‘WC’ would, if he wasn’t so considerate.
Each time Georgie visits this particular place he finds that the screens have been removed in advance of his arrival. He is not expected to clean them or to replace them. This guy is a hard-working farmer, so he will have done a circuit of the house prior to his milking cows at five-thirty that morning.
Just as Georgie collects points, it works both ways. Next time this customer is due to have a price increase then Georgie will take his good will into account, as his thoughtfulness saves him time and much aggro.
Uncomfortable clothing is not really a hazard to do specifically with his job but I would like to include it as a topic, somewhere along the line, so this space will do fine.
At the start of a job Georgie likes to feel comfortable. His belt is kept slightly loose to allow rags to hang on it. His shoes need to be laced tightly, for exterior work, and removed before going into a property. He does not want holes in his socks, both for his own comfort and not to detract from his appearance.
He wants his cap to fit snugly on his uncle (‘uncle Ned’ / head … Cockney rhyming slang).
Picking his hat up from the ground every five minutes or so, on a blustery day, is both a nuisance and time-consuming.
He prefers his shirts to be on the long side, so that they tuck in properly.
Georgie seldom wears a jumper at work and when he does it doesn’t stay on for long. He dislikes being too hot. He would actually rather be on the cold side, warming himself up if necessary by working a little faster.
He likes his track pants to have a tie, or at least decent elastic around his middle.
People refer to builders’ crack and not to ‘WC’s crack, so he does not want his to show. Therefore, he needs functional elastic in his underpants. There is nothing less comfortable than to have two inches of midriff showing, especially on a cold day
… apart from wearing underpants, with loose elastic.
The first few windows are fine and Georgie’s whistle is loud and shrill. He’s in tune and all is well. But, after about ten minutes or so, although the track pants are tight and the belt feels OK, his underpants are an inch or so nearer the ground than they were when he turned up for work. By the next corner of the house they will have worked their way down a bit further and if the belt wasn’t tight around his middle Georgie’s crack would certainly be visible. He can’t easily pull his undies up, because it will look as though he’s picking his bum and that may put the kids next door off their Cornflakes. Without loosening the tie around his middle he’d find it impossible to do a proper job of pulling them back up. By the time he’s reached the front door his arris is bare. Thank goodness his tracksuit bottoms are staying put. What used to be operational elastic is now touching the back of his thigh.
“Sod it! I’m going to pull them up in the loo.”
He makes out that it’s time to get cracking on the inside windows (no pun intended) and he enters the house, heading towards the bathroom end of the hall.
He locks himself in the little room and once his undies are back in place he feels heaps better. His whistle returns, but not for long. They soon start repeating the aggravating process of falling down.
“These naffin’ pants are going in the bin tonight!”
This is something that Georgie seriously hopes does not just happen to him. He puts it down to being a hazard that all tradespeople probably do have. He certainly thinks it should be, without being nasty. Maybe others, such as couriers, car painters or valets may experience this nuisance just as much, or even more than he does?
This happens to him far too regularly for his liking. It occurs most frequently as he jumps into, and when exiting his van. Occasionally, but not so often, it may be on the job. Possibly, on a window, a doorframe or on a length of six-by-two, under the eaves.
(Certainly, these days, it happens to him far less often on the bed headboard than it used to do!)
There is a very thin piece of rubber, between the aluminium doorframe of his van and where his head hits most. With regard to protection for his scalp, it’s less than bl**dy useless. It may just as well not be there. Maybe it is only there for cosmetic reasons, not to protect busy and careless tradespeople?
This hazard, presumably, is just another clause for LOAS to consider, if it hasn’t already.
The ‘WC’ will not be able to avoid banging his head from time to time, and drawing blood occasionally, as he jumps in and out of his van, as frequently as he does.
A skill that takes time to learn is to be able to recognise specific marks on glass. Also, to suss out which side of it they are on.
Fly sh*t
... is easy to identify but is another hazard for the ‘WC’. Most evidence of this will be found in the form of small dots, near the top of a pane, usually on the inside. That certainly applies when temperatures start to drop a little.
Bird sh*t
... is easy, too. It is often white or cream in colour and will have made a very rapid but soft landing on the glass. It doesn’t smell too bad but it tastes horrible. Georgie is able to vouch for this, as he has occasionally but inadvertently sampled it. It will harden up in time, until eventually needing the expert use of Georgie’s scraper, to remove it. Don’t be fooled, because bird droppings are not always to be found on the exterior side of the glass. By one means or another, perhaps our culprit; our feathered friend, found his way inside before nature called.
Here is another reference to Sod’s law. Within two minutes of Georgie’s departure, a magpie will probably have seized the opportunity to dive-bomb the property, taking aim to hit the highest profile window. He will have been observing Georgie all morning, waiting eagerly for him to load up his equipment and drive away, which will have been his cue to attack.
Mollusc trails
The Praying Mantis ...
... is most likely to appear on the inside panes of shed, garage or workshop windows. It’s easy to identify and even more easily disposed of, unless in particularly large quantities. Then, the problem essentially becomes the excess dust in the door runners, or the drainage channels of aluminium frames. This can be a nuisance, especially at newly built properties, which is why quoting is difficult for buildings requiring a first time clean. Also, in these cases, both sides of the glass will be equally covered in dust, unlike inside an established workshop window. Ballpark figures rather than exact quotes for these types of jobs are necessary. Georgie has fallen into the ‘but it’s only a small house’ trap before, especially over the phone!
Chips, just like French fries, can be felt and seen. These will usually be found on the exterior side of a pane, resulting from a stray piece of grit, shot out from under a lawn mower. Maybe a child randomly hurled an object into space but it didn’t get that far.
Georgie soon learned not to waste time trying to clean a chip. It is there to stay, however much rubbing he bestows upon it. He will point it out to a new customer to ensure that he knows how thorough he likes to be.
“No worries, Mate. You’ve done a BGJ (Bl**dy Good Job).”
That’s just what he wanted to hear.
Stickers
They should come off with a gentle pull, in one piece, although some may perhaps need a little extra persuasion to remove completely.
‘DO NOT USE METAL SCRAPERS’.
Sometimes this problem will not just be the glue from a small sticker. Builders may have taped a big ‘X’ on each pane. Again, with any luck the tape will pull off easily but the evidence remaining will present a bigger challenge than ever. This will be in the form of a large, sticky, diagonal cross. Apart from its colour it would not look much different from the St. Andrew’s Cross to be found on the Scottish national flag.
A metal scraper, with a new blade and used properly will be the best way to go. As mentioned above, the shape will still be in evidence afterwards, however hard the ‘WC’ has tried to remove it.
Georgie has been able to identify the names of companies that previously had the lease of a building, when cleaning a glass pane on a door. It may have read, Peter Parrot’s Pet Shop. His current employers, Sellers’ Real Estate Agency, may have occupied the premises for many years since the Parrots were there. Nevertheless, the evidence is still there, for a sleuth to reveal.
In this game perfection is often impossible to achieve. Life is very tough at the top!
It seems totally unfair but it is only possible for Jo to see what remains on the glass and not what Georgie has removed from it.
“Still, mustn’t grumble, eh?”
Cement splashes
... on glass come off easily with a sharp blade. These will normally be found just above ground level, at the bottom of the lower panes e.g. on doors, where the cement has been tipped or shovelled, maybe to lay an adjacent patio or driveway.
Georgie must have big shoulders but it will help his cause, if he knows that his customer has seen the state of the windows before, as well as after, his arrival.
Dead insects
... stick to glass but are easy to wipe off. The time of day is relevant here. Towards dusk, particularly when the sun has been out all afternoon, is a bad time. When Georgie is ready to go home, at the end of a long shift, there is nothing more frustrating than smudging a midge during what should have been the final wipe of his day. This may have gone unnoticed, which is good reason for him to carry out his smear test. The remains will have been a streak of blood and guts.
OK, the little streak is not exactly difficult to overcome but it is still a nuisance. Maybe the midge was at the end of her tether. Perhaps her partner had been unfaithful to her. Maybe she had just had a set-to with her two, very stroppy teenagers. Stress at work, big debts to pay, a backlog of washing and ironing to do and her best friend was away at the beach with her family, so she had nobody to listen to her. We’ll never know the real truth.
She may have intentionally jumped out under Georgie’s finger, as it travelled across the glass.
Spiders
... do not upset Georgie because they are easy to deal with. They spin webs and get into the smallest of nooks and crannies but they are pretty harmless. To flick away a whole estate of spiders doesn’t take very long. If they still remain after his flick with a dry rag then a quick wipe with a wet one is all it takes. At certain times of the year the ‘WC’ may come across sticky, fluffy egg-sacs, where the babies are growing. That detracts from the desired result that Georgie is trying to achieve. These may also be conveniently wiped away with the damp cloth. He doesn’t get too attached to the young ones.
Abortion is a topic I do not wish to cover in this book. When all is said and done, Georgie was merely earning his crust and this spider family just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Tough Cookie!”
Georgie tries not to leave any threads of the webs on the glass, the frames or the sills. This especially applies to the tight corners, where he may find a bogey-sized little fella, even after he thought his job had been accomplished. OK, his fingertips are rounded at the ends, so the bogey may be difficult to remove but there are ways and means of persuading the little chap to vacate his temporary dwelling. Georgie may have to poke the corner of a rag into him to oust him out.
“If so, bad luck! He shouldn’t have been there, should he?”
He is sometimes hard to spot and consequently is easy to miss. He might only be the size of a flake of dandruff. He still has to be found though. As a resident, he should have paid his rent.
Georgie is acting as the bailiff.
Paint spots and runs
... are not hard to remove, provided that the scraper blade is sharp.
If, however, Georgie observes more than just the odd spot of paint, then he must discuss exactly what he is prepared to do, for the price agreed upon. If Jo expects him to spend ages on paint-removal, as part of window cleaning, the point will be made that paint is actually clean. Plus, the decorator should have taken it off. If necessary, Georgie will make his polite apology but will not take on a job with unreasonable expectations.
“This last sub-title reminded Ronnie of a joke. If you’ve heard it already, move on!”
This guy had escaped from the local lunatic asylum and he went into a Launderette in town. He molested two or three of the women using the washing machines. He then did a runner from the shop and disappeared completely.
In the newspaper the following day the headline read,
‘Nut screws washers and bolts.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Music While He Works
Georgie likes a bit of quiet but it doesn’t last for long
Soon he’ll try to whistle a good old favourite song
His radio plays between his jobs but the DJs get him down
They talk too much about themselves and the adverts make him frown
Thornby can’t sing in tune, as Formby in his day could.
However, it is very hard for him not to whistle while working. That’s OK for customers who may not see or hear him from one year to the next but it probably grates a bit on monthly customers. Although his whistling is marginally more tuneful than his singing, he does have a limited repertoire of only a few tunes. Even if he starts humming or whistling one, which he may have heard during his ride to work, it will soon turn into one of his old favourites. His brain works on automatic in these situations, so he relies totally on his subconscious state of mind to determine the noises that are emitted from between his lips.
One of Georgie’s hundred-and-five year olds came to her front door once and commented, “Hello, Bruce.”
She had a preference for calling him by a different name on each visit.
“I didn’t know you were here already because I hadn’t heard your silly whistle.”
Georgie was thinking, “Come on, Fairy, that’s a bit rude.”
Regardless, he bit his lip and said,
“Do you want ‘How Great Thou Art’ or ‘Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner’, Mrs Old?”
Those two usually go down well with that age group but she seemed happy on this occasion for him just to breathe whilst tending to her outside windows. If Georgie was Fairy Old maybe that’s all he’d have wanted from his ‘WC’ too.
The other tunes that he seems to randomly exhale are as follows: -
‘Bachelor Boy’
‘Have I told you lately that I love you?'
‘When I’m sixty-four’
‘For the good times’ … which invariably becomes ‘I did it my way’ before he gets to the end of it.
‘Wild Rover’ may occasionally take over, or for some inexplicable reason one of the other old rugby songs will come to the fore. This may be any of the following.
‘An Engineer told me before he died’
‘The Mayor of Bayswater’ or possibly one of another four or five, which have become permanently etched on his brain.
If Georgie ever does vocals at work then he makes sure nobody is within earshot.
In which case,
‘A Boy Named Sue’ will be closely followed by
‘The Prettiest Girl’ or
‘The Coward of the County’ or, as a last resort
‘The Cow Kicked Nellie’.
The words to these songs will stay with him forever. As a general rule, they are usually sung to an audience with a few beers inside them. In that situation the quality and tone of voice is not really important anyway.
But that’s about the lot, so regular customers know what to expect when Georgie is out there doing it, from now on. It is some consolation that most comments from customers are complimentary rather than insulting. Usually,
“It’s good to hear a man enjoying his work,” or
“You must have found your true vocation, Georgie.”
Just today, as Georgie had explained that his arrival was delayed because of a conflict with another vehicle in town, his lady said, “You sound too cheerful to have just been involved in an accident, Georgie.
”Maybe it was nerves, or his unusual reaction to shock. He was hoping the sick feeling in his stomach would go away by whistling.
“What, Ronnie?”
Georgie’s mother always said,
"More haste, less speed. It’s better to be five minutes late in this life than thirty-five years early for the next.”
Mind you, she never did practise what she preached to her kids. Now, at 86, she still drives to kill.
Anyway, many tunes do come into Georgie’s mind, while he’s in a world of his own, cleaning windows in the 21st century. They are unlikely to be the same tunes that George 1st will have been singing on stage in the 20th century, particularly during the nineteen thirties and forties.
People remembering these songs are a dying breed: -.
‘I’m Leaning on a Lamp Post’
(More recent releases by Bob Dylan and Herman’s Hermits may have kept this one alive.)
‘If you don’t want the Goods, don’t Maul ‘em’
‘Auntie Maggie’s Remedy’
And … wait for it …
This would seem to be an appropriate opportunity to remind you of the song lyrics that helped make George famous, back then, and part of this script, now. I take no credit for these lyrics and give those that may be due to Formby’s songwriters. I have merely copied them from a website that seems to publish endless lyrics from any eras, past and present.
‘WHEN I’M CLEANING WINDOWS’ to the tune of … ‘When I’m cleaning windows.’ By all means you can try singing this one to the tune of Pokarekare Ana if you like but I wouldn’t recommend it!
"Now I go cleaning windows to earn an honest bob
For a nosey parker it’s an interesting job ♫
Now it’s a job that just suits me
A window cleaner you would be ♪
If you could see what I can see
When I’m cleaning windows
Honeymooning couples too ♫
You should see them bill ‘n coo
You’d be surprised at things they do
When I’m cleaning windows ♪
In my profession I’ll work hard
But I’ll never stop
I’ll climb this blinking ladder ♫
Till I get right to the top
The blushin’ bride, she looks divine ♪
The bridegroom he is doin’ fine
I’d rather have his job than mine ♫
When I’m cleaning windows
The chambermaids’ sweet names I call
It’s a wonder I don’t fall
My mind’s not on my work at all ♫
When I’m cleaning windows
I know a fella, such a swell
He has a thirst, that’s plain to tell ♪
I’ve seen him drink his bath as well
When I’m cleaning windows
Pyjamas lyin’ side by side ♫
Ladies nighties I have spied
I’ve often seen what goes inside
When I’m cleaning windows ♫
--------- Ukulele / banjo ---------
Now there’s a famous talkie queen ♪
She looks a flapper on the screen
She’s more like eighty than eighteen ♫
When I’m cleaning windows
She pulls her hair all down behind
Then pulls down her … never mind ♪
And after that pulls down the blind
When I’m cleaning windows
An old maid walks around the floor
She’s so fed up, one day I’m sure ♫
She’ll drag me in and lock the door
When I’m cleaning windows
When I’m cleaning windows ♪
“Smutty, Ron?”
When Thornby starts a job he likes to know of his reward
His customer will likewise want a price he can afford
So Georgie walks around the house and a sum will come to mind
He’ll always try to make quite sure that a fair price he will find
Firstly, however hard he tried, the end result of each job was never entirely satisfactory in his own mind. He was setting himself a standard that was not being fully achieved, simply through lack of practice and experience. He knew that comments from early customers, which were made to encourage him, were in many instances very patronising. Just because Jo pretended to be happy with an 80% success rate, Georgie was far from that.
He knew it would probably eventually come right but in order to achieve greater satisfaction he was going to have to improve his technique, sooner rather than later.
Secondly, talking money did not come easily to Georgie. Running a business operation for the first time in his life was his cue to start doing so, at the right price.
I’ll discuss this second point during the next few pages.
The novelty of being handed a wad of notes every so often was new to him. Salary cheques did not feel quite the same. He couldn’t really spend them, as shopkeepers or publicans turned their noses up when he presented one of those and asked for his change.
Nor was it the same buzz, when checking a monthly bank statement, to realise what a struggle it was to make ends meet.
Now, things were different.
Employment had always been on the understanding that so much money would be credited to Georgie’s bank account. The sum total of these payments, at the end of each financial year, amassed an agreed salary total, which gave him a certain status in life.
As a self-employed person, if Georgie now worked hard and long hours he may be able to earn up to a great deal, or even more. Alternatively, if he chooses not to or if work becomes unavailable, then he would earn proportionately less and could even be poor one day.
“Mr. Thornby. You have studied long and hard, over a number of years since leaving school, so now you are worth ‘this’ or ‘that’ much. This is your entitlement due to you being a qualified professional in your particular field, with these certificates and your current experience. This is your social standing, so long as you reside in Britain.
Enjoy your life, always remembering that towards the end of it you will be entitled to claim a superannuation allowance. That should be sufficient to pay for your stay at ‘a big house for the elderly’, until you die. Really, it’s your money anyway, because we’ve been taking it from your salary each month for forty-odd years in the hope that you won’t claim it all back before you peg out.”
The truth hurts, doesn’t it?
“If you continue to work hard and conscientiously, Mr Thornby, you will receive good reports, which will stand you in excellent stead for your personal enhancement in later years. You may never become rich but you should always be able to pay your bills. You have the security of knowing that you and your family will always have a roof over your heads and you may be able to take your children on holiday each summer until such time as they fly the nest.
Please try not to stress out too much or you’ll die early and won’t get your money back.”
Now, it was
On the other hand, if we don’t want that to happen and if things go well we may be able to work hard and play hard. We can even decide when we work, where we work, when we take a break and when we go flat out, in order to save extra hard for something special. That may be a trip home to England to see the family or it may be to update some whiteware for the kitchen, or a new mower to keep on top of the grass.
Nobody will be writing progress reports about us, or telling us what to do. If we have lots of customers and we look after them, we won’t be made redundant overnight. We shall need to provide Jo with precisely what he or she wants. That may not be too difficult, assuming we use our brains and acquire some new skills, en route.”
Sounds good, doesn’t it? If sensible, we should probably do most of the above without incurring too much stress. At least, if we do find any stress initially then those levels will decrease, as we become more familiar with our situation.
That’s odd because in the past, as Georgie has moved up through the ranks, stress levels have increased for him, in proportion to the size of his income, his additional responsibility and his accountability.
Now, it’s the opposite!
Initially, he thought that it would be sensible to charge by the hour. Let’s say, if he worked for one hour he would be able to earn $20 (this was back in 1992) so if a job took him three hours he would be able to earn ... hang on, I’ll get my calculator.
That’s a little dig at the current generation, who no longer learn their times tables, parrot-fashion, like we did as kids. "Sorry, 'Young'uns. I realize that's a bit condescending."
This created a few teething problems. Sometimes Georgie felt rampant and eager to please. He had more energy than he knew what to do with on those mornings. At others, he may have felt a little under the weather and a bit stiff from a squash match the previous evening and a late night to boot. “Remember, that age creeps up on everybody.”
A job may have taken an hour-and-a-half to accomplish in October, but three months later, after a bit of a break and finding it hard to get back into routine, the same job may now take him fifteen minutes longer. Georgie would not dream of charging any more than he did previously but he would effectively have lost a quarter of an hour. On the other hand, if Georgie’s holiday period had had the opposite effect and he returned in January fully recuperated, doing the same job fifteen minutes faster, you can bet your bottom dollar that Mrs. Frugal will have had the egg-timer on Georgie and would expect to pay less.
To say the least, this seemed a bit one-sided.
As a result, Georgie soon managed to reach a stage when he could assess quite accurately what a job would be worth, at a glance. The ability to do this took him a few months to learn and even then there was no guarantee that he’d be spot on each time. At 'quoting time', to give the potential customer a ballpark figure gave Georgie a little room for adjustment (a bit like when the elastic in his underpants had gone).
For example,
“I do a clean in the next street, for which I charge the gentleman $80. I reckon your house is very similar to his. That should give you a vague idea of price and I’m usually pretty close with my estimates.”
Then, on completion of the job he would make it clear to his customer that in future he would charge slightly more, slighty less or the price he had suggested. Today’s price would be less than the estimate, or that price, but on no account would he charge more.
In no time, Georgie learned not to underquote just to obtain a new client! If Georgie were pretty sure that the price was right, then he would give his customer a three-year guarantee of that all-inclusive price, for that same job to be carried out on a regular basis during that period.
In time, rather than count individual panes of glass as each being a single unit, Georgie was able to assess how many units a pane was worth to him. Remember that the number of windows was only one consideration. It was still important for this calculation to be carried out, as he circumnavigated each building in turn, to assess the worth of each new job.
Georgie also soon got used to identifying different types of windows, some taking him longer to achieve the desired result, than others.
In the early days he may not have been aware that a Shugg window (excuse my language) may take up to three times as long to do than a basic, sash-free pane. Also, that certain faces of other tricky-to-get-to windows involved time-consuming manoeuvres to reach them. At other times, the number of paint spots from the DIY decorator’s pathetic efforts may have been rather excessive.
Once the total number of units had been calculated for a building then Georgie needed to find a consistent way to convert this total into monetary value. Initially, that was accomplished by trial and error (as was the entire project) and he worked out a formula to use.
For example, it may have been 80 units for $40.00 at the start of operations. As time progressed Georgie realised that his services were becoming more valuable, according to supply and demand, largely attributable to the improving quality of his work and the apparent shortage of local people offering a similar service. To achieve the ultimate result, he is forever fine-tuning his technique. He is always looking at ways to improve the end product, as a keen golfer continually strives to find ways of improving consistency in his play, in order to reduce his gross scores on Saturdays.
At one stage 60 units became worth $40.00. Then, only 50 units were worth $40.00 and later 50 units were deemed to be valued at the equivalent number of dollars. This was easier to work out, like scoring a golf card for an eighteen handicapper.
If you don’t play golf just pretend you understand and read on.
Nowadays, a single unit is considered to bring into the coffers more than a dollar and so shall its worth continue to creep up, as does the cost of living and demand for Georgie’s services.
He always tries to foresee any potential misunderstandings about Jo’s expectations and requirements of him. He clears these up before starting work at a new job. He establishes a good understanding with Jo, early on in the peace.
“Do you do the frames and eaves, Georgie?”
“I focus on the windows but I’ll wipe round the frames too. However, I am the window man rather than the guy who washes down the house. The eaves are not really my job but if I can reach an ugly cobweb from where I’m standing I’ll oblige by flicking a rag at it.”
When giving the initial quote, Georgie makes it clear that he and Jo are only negotiating a starting price for the job. Regular customers have already been given a three-year guarantee before their prices are adjusted again. When that time does arise, a further three-year fixed price is then agreed upon. Georgie has a unique way to work out the size of this adjustment, to give his regulars additional benefit by staying loyal to him.
He does not increase his ongoing customer’s price at today’s going rate i.e. the longer a customer uses the Thornby’s services the bigger his financial gain (not George's). Instead, he looks closely at the building again, as he had done three years earlier. He walks around the perimeter and calculates the number of units. He then takes into account all the other issues involved and he tells his customer what he would be quoting a stranger, at today’s rates. He then splits the difference between the existing price and that one. Then he gives that customer the compromising figure.
“Today’s price will be the same as it has been for the last three-year period. The increase will take effect from my next visit.”
The thinking behind Georgie and Mildred deciding to choose this lengthy period between price adjustment was simple. It was so that he and Jo knew exactly where they stood, without having to talk money at each visit. This created a win / win situation. Georgie was happy to have a regular, rising income and Jo knew that charges for other customer services were usually reviewed more frequently, so he felt he was getting a good deal. Bear in mind that the customers on Georgie’s books are considerable in number, they have their windows cleaned at different frequencies, and they took him on at different times of the year. It doesn’t take an I.T. buff to work out that Georgie’s overall income will rise continually, without any individuals feeling the pinch. Neither will they think they are being fleeced by their ‘WC’.
Maybe an IT buff wouldn’t see that?
“Sit down, Eric, you Geek! I’m only Joking.”
All business people need to keep their heads above the surface, or they’ll drown.
That’s life (or perhaps not, if they don’t).
From time to time an opportunity will arise for Georgie to quote for a new job, where one or two windows are far too difficult and risky for him to try to reach. He is never afraid to explain to Jo how much he values his own safety and how unfortunate it would be if he were to slide down the slippery roof and remove a length of spouting (Kiwi for guttering) in the process. Also, how much more unfortunate it would be if Jo had to find another ‘WC’ in the future because Georgie has to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair, if he is still alive after his fall.
“Ron!”
The scariest moment, so far in Georgie’s ‘WC’ career, was at a big house in the countryside, outside his current boundary. Without mentioning the names of his employers, if you lived in New Zealand or Australia, you would have heard of his employers. If you lived outside New Zealand the chances are that their names would still be familiar to you. Far be it for me to name drop but these people have won many of the richest horse races in the world and are continuing to do well in that field, although have since moved away to pastures new.
All that matters is that I relate this story to you, exactly as it happened, on that sunny day in autumn a few years ago.
This house had two storeys but you’re only getting one.
When Thornby arrived, the East Side of the building was certainly benefiting from the early morning sunshine and the slate roof was as dry as the proverbial bone. Not so the opposite side of the house, which, due to inexperience on Georgie’s part, was where he had decided to start his day’s toil.
Ground level. Great! A good idea to keep out of the hot sun.
First Floor. Not so great, as the slate roof was not totally dry, after all. Closest to the wall were a few tiles still in the shade. To say they took Georgie by surprise would be an understatement. He had reached the pretty high section of the roof by slowly and carefully climbing up the dry tiles.
So far, so good.
What happened next did so much faster. Georgie’s heels led the movement, followed closely by his arris and then his torso. The squeegee and washer flew away because all that was on Georgie’s mind was his entire life, past, present and future. He remembered his first day at school, how much moss was on the roof and that he had only been in a chopper once before, and that particular one had not been Air Ambulance, sponsored by a Kiwi bank.
What a thrill / relief for Georgie to suddenly realise that his descent had been halted by jabbing his heels into the guttering. This was the same channelling that was probably fifteen feet vertically above the gravelled driveway. Just a tiny blessing was that it had not given way, despite being pretty rusty.
Amazingly, no apparent damage had been done. Georgie spent a few minutes sitting with his heels firmly set in the spouting, his heart beating like Ringo’s drums used to, in the sixties.
Between coffee and lunch Georgie was still shaking like a jelly but was very grateful that his Maker had decided that it was too soon for a rendezvous.
In cases like these, Georgie has now learned to give his quote with the exclusion of any dangerous windows. Occasionally, he won’t get that job but he will at least have shown how professionally he runs his business, with safety first in mind and by taking into consideration the well-being of his customer’s property.
The owner would probably call him back later, when nobody else would take it on either.
He tries not to under quote.
Most Jos are fully aware that if they pay peanuts they’ll get monkeys. Georgie has met many chimps on his travels, working for his customers (or not, as the case may have been).
“Quickly then, Ronnie.”
At one monthly clean of Thornby’s, at a restaurant in town, he came across a cleaner wiping the floor with a sponge mop.
I’ll keep it short. She was a new face
“Are there any cameras in here?” she enquired of Thornby.
“I have no idea,” replied Georgie. “I just get on with my job.”
She was gouging a groove into the floor with her mop. Backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards, along the same few tiles, for ages.
The owner of the premises arrived. He pulled up at the kerb outside.
“Watch out! Here’s the boss,” she panicked, as her mop sped up and was moved on to cover an adjacent section of floor.
Now, she was a monkey of the first order. Georgie was not surprised to hear that the commercial cleaning company that employed her paid peanuts to its staff!
clear what his time is worth to him, based on a proven track record.
clear what his time is worth to him, based on a proven track record.
Georgie continually hears that Jo has found a lower price for a job to be done. That Jo will employ somebody to do a cheap job, for an even cheaper price but will be totally let down. In these cases, next time his windows are dirty, he’ll either do them himself or he’ll look for a more realistic quote. Then he may find a more reliable and effective cleaner.
That’s when the Thornby phone rings again.
Early on it seemed to be a good idea to enquire of each new caller how he came about Thornby’s name. Invariably, Millie was told that it was by way of a referral from one of their existing customers. That spoke volumes. The Jo in question was obviously happy enough to recommend Georgie because he provided him with value for money. If he hadn’t, Jo too would have been looking elsewhere and certainly would not have been telling others of the worthy service provided.
Who would be the fool to deliver goods for less than their value? That would become a win / loss situation and the Thornbys would be the losers, particularly if they were already finding it hard to fit new customers into their busy schedule, due to demand.
Too cheap, he loses. He should be unhappy.
Too dear, his phone stops ringing. He could have made other people happy.
A realistic price, he and Jo both win. Everyone is happy.
Somebody asked Georgie recently,
“Do you quote according to a potential customers’ means?”
“No!”
When somebody requests a quotation Georgie takes a number of factors into consideration.
One of these is not, “How rich do I believe this person to be?”
Some of the things he needs to consider are listed here: -
The type of window(s).
The accessibility of the windows.
The number of windows.
His travelling time and distance.
The customers’ precise requirements.
(He makes sure there are no misunderstandings when he gives his quote.)
Are there many interior windows? Do these need doing by Georgie or does the house cleaner do these?
Are the frames visible or have spiders and overgrowth taken over completely?
The condition of the paintwork and the frames themselves.
Whether or not Jo would like separate quotes for outbuildings on the premises.
How much crap is on the glass.
The general state of the glass itself.
Whether the job looks as if it has ever been done before.
Whether or not it’s a brand new building and therefore likely to be covered in building materials and dust.
Maybe there are windows that may only be accessible in certain weather conditions.
His first impressions of Jo.
Does he want the job?
The approximate time it is likely to take him.
Whether there are other jobs that he does, resembling this one.
If so, what does he charge for those similar jobs?
etc.etc.
With a little more thought, I could probably add other considerations to be taken into account but I believe the list above is sufficient to enable Georgie to come up with a ballpark figure. He will have taken a five-minute walk around the outside of the premises. It seldom takes him much longer, assuming he is allowed to make this circuit uninterrupted. He doesn’t need company at this stage of negotiations. He needs to be allowed to focus on all the above prerequisites in order to come up with a fair price.
He does not need to know how rich the potential customer may be, or not?
“Ronnie! Tell the readers about Mrs S.”
Here is a case in point, from the archives of past experiences.
Mrs Shadow phoned one evening to ask Georgie for a quote. He had duly left home the following morning, fifteen minutes early, because he wanted to provide Grace with an efficient service. However, he did not want to arrive late for his first job of the day. He had confirmed with her, on the phone, that she was indeed an early riser. This was not being nosey but was in order that Grace and her family would not be too put out if he arrived at 7.10 a.m.
“Thanks Grace but I’ll be full of tea already and in a bit of a hurry. I always have two cups with my breakfast. I have one with my first piece of toast, which has mixed berry jam on it. I brew up with Mildred’s, which I always take in for her before she gets up. I then have a second cuppa with my other piece of toast, which has lemon marmalade on it, just before I leave for work.”
(That was solely for effect. He didn’t really say all that but it did cross his mind.)
He didn’t really feel up to competing, as Grace’s bar had been set too high.
When he arrived the next day the front door was open. Grace was in her gardening clothes already, standing on the step, waiting for him.
“Hi, Grace. I’m Georgie.”
He shook her hand politely, as he does when he first meets Jo or his wife. She had kept her gardening glove on but she probably wasn’t expecting a gentleman to arrive and Georgie hadn’t given her much time to take it off.
“I’ll nip round the outside and suss out the job, if that’s OK. Two or three minutes and I’ll tap on your door to give you an idea of price.”
She didn’t take the hint.
“Which part of England are you from Georgie?” she enquired as she took off two steps behind him.
“Lancashire.”
“My Hank’s from Norfolk. That’s not far away is it?”
“Well, as the crow flies it probably wouldn’t take more than a day,” he replied.
It was the first thing that came out of his head.
“We had a lovely trip over to England in 1964. It rained the first three days. Well, the first two days, then we had a sunny day and it drizzled a bit on the Sunday. No, that was the fine day. I think on the Monday it was a bit damp again.”
“Hang on, Grace. I’ve lost count. I’ll need to start again.”
Having returned to the front door he moved off anti-clockwise this time and a bit faster but that didn’t work. She was hard on his heels again.
“My neighbour said you do a very good job.”
It was only then that Georgie recognised the right-of-way that led down to a previous customer’s house. He’d done some work there but years earlier. He thinks it had been just a one-off job prior to a family wedding or a surprise sixtieth party or something, which was probably why it hadn’t sprung to mind straight away.
“I’m glad she was pleased. I’m just like you, Grace. I love to have a chat but I must be at another house to start a job before the lady goes to work this morning so, if it’s OK with you, I’ll catch up when I’ve done my quick lap of your house. I’ll see you in a jiffy.”
She still followed him. She stuck like sh*t to a blanket. He must have given away that he was becoming rather on edge. Perhaps she had noticed the steam coming out of his ears.
“OK, Love. I know what you mean and I don’t want to hold you up.”
“Thank goodness” he thought. “She’s finally got the message.”
As Georgie continued, he just took a guess at how many windows he’d already passed, rather than return to the front door again to resume counting for the third time. He got round to the rear decking and noticed that the ‘barbecue’ window (most Kiwi houses have at least one of these) was smarmed in half-an-inch of fat.
The sliding door opened.
“Did you say Lincolnshire, Georgie? My Hank says you could walk that far in less than a day from Norwich.”
He lost count again but rounded the price up to $50 to the start of the decking.
“No. Tell Hank I’d said Lancashire, which is a bit further from Norwich and I was only pulling your leg about the crow.”
He returned to the start of the deck and began to jog round the next corner in an attempt to end the conversation. It was 7.25a.m. and his next customer was three or four minutes away. He actually gave up counting and sprinted on to the front door. Grace had noticed his sudden turn of speed and sure enough was there to greet him once again.
She must have played open side flanker in her youth.
“What’s the damage going to be, Georgie?” she asked.
“Sorry to be in such a rush Grace but I’ll pop back about lunchtime and take a closer look. I’ll give you a price then. I must get to my lady before she goes to work. She asked me to be prompt because her boss has called an early-morning meeting and she has to drop the kids off at school on her way. She’s his secretary and he doesn’t have a clue, without her being there. At least, that was what she told me.”
“Hank’s taking me out for a birthday lunch but we’ll make sure we’re back by the time you get here, Georgie.”
“Happy Birthday, Grace! You go out and have a leisurely lunch and I’ll phone tonight to give a price for your job. I’ve got your number. You don’t need to be here, as I don’t have to go inside to work out what I’ll charge you.”
“When will you be able to fit us in? Only I’m at W.I. on Mondays, Hank plays bowls on Tuesdays, we both go to play cards at our friends’ house on Wednesdays ... but we'll be in until about 11.45 this morning … Fridays, we’re always both in. Do you work Saturdays?”
By now Georgie was shouting from the gate. The entire neighbourhood had formed a gallery. It was worth them being late for their own appointments just to have a giggle.
This was free, impromptu entertainment for them.
“I’ll have the diary in front of me when I ring you this evening. We’ll sort out something then. Don’t worry.”
As he left a cloud of dust behind him he could still hear Grace’s dulcet tones reverberating after him. He could feel earache coming on too.
Georgie actually made it to his next house on time. The wrist-watch-ahead-of-actual-time trick had worked again!
Nice one! Just what he needed!
With one hand raised and the other covering his wound he gabbled,
“I haven’t really got time now, Grace, and I don’t want you and Hank to be late for your lunch date but I promise to have a look later and shall be in touch with you this evening.”
“We’ve got cards tonight, Georgie.”
“I’ll call you before you go. What time do you go to play cards?”
“Well, Hank usually gets the car out at about ten to seven whilst I’m putting a face on. Then I spend a penny …”
Georgie is standing there not really wanting or needing quite so much detailed information.
“We might still be having tea. I’m doing a new rice dish. We had a talk from a proper chef at W.I. this week and Mavis Smith and I said we’d have a go at it tonight to see what it was like. Mind you, her husband is very fussy. Don’t tell anyone I said it, but he’s really finicky, if you ask me.”
“OK, Grace, I’ll keep it under my hat but I won’t be asking you anyway.”
He didn’t say that either, by the way. He was just doing the listening and couldn’t get a word in edgeways, even had he wanted to.
“I’m not sure what to choose for my lunch today. Sometimes, if I have the ‘soup of the day’ as a starter I’m too full to eat dessert and I like my puddings. I can’t have soup without a couple of bread rolls with it, that’s the trouble.”
“I’ll leave a message if you don’t answer the phone. I’ll give you a rough price and we’ll go from there. You could give us a ring later if the price is OK.”
“We haven’t got an answer phone, Georgie.”
“Have a good day. You’d better get going or they’ll be serving evening meals by the time you get there. I’ll be in touch.”
With that he was quite rude, or sensible enough to walk away and cop a deaf’n.
“OK, Ronnie. You’ve made the point. Go back to sleep now.”
If Georgie does not get held up he can usually work out the price of a quote quickly.
You’ll be pleased to know that he was fortunate enough to be awarded the job at Hank and Grace Shadow’s house but they have since moved to a small unit adjacent to a Rest Home, where the staff are responsible for the window cleaning, thank goodness.
Georgie actually only went there twice in total, not counting his performance at the quoting ceremony.
Jo ‘A’ might say, “That’s a bit dear, isn’t it, Georgie?” (Some people will say that instinctively, whatever they really thought.
Jo ‘B’ may react differently, to the same quote for the same-sized job.
“Is that all? That sounds very reasonable, Georgie.”
He takes note of a first reaction but he doesn’t read too much into it.
Jo ‘B’, “How much extra to do the frames as well?”
Jo ‘A’ “I presume that includes the frames?”
“Yes, Dear.”
If you have a facetious streak in you, you will be able to appreciate what went through Georgie’s mind at this point.
“… as well as this little package, Mrs Stingey:- the sills; the drainage channels; a genuine and earnest attempt to give customer satisfaction; my travelling time and expenses; the interior glass; your grandchild’s Dolls’ House windows; the granny flat windows; the wind break partitions surrounding your decking; any dirty mirrors within; a reliable and friendly service; punctuality; consistency; honesty; integrity; complete trustworthiness; a three-year price guarantee; a phone call each subsequent time that your windows are due to be cleaned but no obligation for you to have them done each time I call; a whole-hearted attempt to fit you in at short notice, if requested; … and I’ll even tell you a few funny stories over a coffee, if you offer me one, but I’m guessing that you probably won’t be so generous.”
Half the battle that Georgie faces is sticking to consistent policies, with all the many and varied personalities he comes across on his travels.
Before I progress any further, here’s another true story, which didn’t happen long ago. I’m inserting this tale here because it does have to do with a quotation for a job that Georgie was recently required to give.
Wake up Ron! You tell 'em.
Although communication with Mr. Cravat (Thai?) was not easy, Georgie presumed his gesture was to ask for a quotation for the cleaning of the windows at his new restaurant. Georgie already had a good idea of the price because he used to clean them for the previous owner. However, he guessed it would take quite a while to make himself fully understood and to explain clearly the service that he offered. This assumption was correct. Georgie did not have many spare minutes on that particular morning, so he assured the gentleman that he would call in later that same day to discuss the issue.
He could actually have saved his breath because it was blatantly obvious that the guy had not understood a word. Regardless, he politely nodded and beamed at Georgie, just before he returned from whence he’d come.
Cravat probably thought he’d been snubbed.
Georgie was about to do the right thing by leaving a note on the windscreen, when a beautiful Asian lady (presumably Mrs Cravat) made him at ease, walking towards him from the nearby Thai restaurant. It was soon evident that there was not going to be any ranting or a scuffle, so the crowd diminished almost as quickly as it has formed. What utter disappointment for those vultures!
Without saying anything, Georgie’s body language had showed his remorse for what he’d accidentally done and Mrs C’s expression was showing more concern for his embarassment than for the damage he’d inflicted on their vehicle.
Georgie was also concerned, both for the Cravats and for his inevitable late arrival for his final customer of the day. He had tried to contact him, to inform him of his plight, but his mobile phone had decided to go dead.
“Sod’s Law, in operation!”
By this time her spouse had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and Georgie followed them into their restaurant, tail very much between his legs. As he knew about as much Thai as they did English he spoke to a middleman on Mr. Cravat’s phone. Georgie gave him his details, as well as a brief explanation of what had happened. This gentleman (in every sense of the word) was apparently ‘The Guvnor’. Georgie also gave him his assurance that he would pay cash for any damage he’d done to his employees’ vehicle.
The earnings from that busy day (and the next) just about compensated Georgie for the repair. The incident was soon to become history and life goes on, as it does.
Thousands of gallons of water have passed under that bridge since.
(Nearly $500 for a scratch! What a rip-off!)
By the way, the Thornbys got the window job and I’m glad to say that I suspect this could be the start of an ongoing and mutually agreeable business relationship.
Georgie just hopes that they will recognise him when he takes Millie into their restaurant for their next Thai meal. He reckons a complimentary dessert would seal a lasting friendship!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Travel Problems
From one job to another will involve some transportation
Sharing roads with others works OK with co-operation
Road sense is important. Road users should give way
That’s something many drivers don’t even think about today
Georgie’s vehicles have certainly seen some action over the years. On one occasion he was trying to get home in a hurry to watch the second half of a Man. Utd. game, which he’d taped in the early hours of the morning. He had watched the first half over breakfast but had carefully avoided listening to the sports news during the day, as it was a good contest and the last thing he wanted was to hear the score, before getting home to watch the remainder of it.
Mrs Thornby’s soap operas on TV are priority viewing, for her. If she was to miss five minutes of any one episode then she’d have lost the plot. It would take her a few weeks to catch up. On this day, Georgie knew that ‘Neighbours’ started at 5p.m. For him to watch forty-five minutes of his match meant being home around 4 o’clock. He could always fast-forward the injuries, the streakers, the spitting and the bookings, so 4.20 p.m. would be OK. It was already 4.25p.m., when he’d finished his last clean of the day, which was just up the hill from home.
Travelling slightly faster than he should have been, he tried in vain to negotiate the exit farm gate. The fence strainer seemed happy to remain where it had been for years. It didn’t want to budge, although Georgie attempted to take it with him. As he dismounted from the driver’s seat he was guessing that there would be a scratch along the nearside, rear passenger’s door.
He had under-estimated! To call it a scratch would mislead you. It was a dent, along the front passenger door, the rear door and the rear panel. Again, he thought of his old Mum’s advice.“If a job’s worth doing, then it’s worth doing properly.”
He had certainly done that!
“Here’s another for Little Ronnie.”
We have ‘metal’ roads in New Zealand.
The lesser-known definition of metal, used in this context, is ‘broken stone for railway ballast', or 'for use on roads'
There are alternative ways to employ these 'metal' roads: -
… as a means of getting from A to B in a motorised vehicle, especially helpful for farmers in rural communities. For the use of their tractors and farm bikes, to transport the workers, their sheep and cattle into paddocks that have more or less tucker than in others.
… as a route for keep-fit merchants, along which to jog, to take in the breathtaking views of the New Zealand scenery, as they condition their bodies.
… as a racetrack for ‘Boy Racers’, who lose up to 100 IQ points the instant they sit behind the wheel of a car. Legally, these idiots may be as young as 15 and in New Zealand do not have to be insured to drive on public byways or highways.
Now, two of the above are perfectly sensible uses for these roads.
OK, when they were originally cut out, tar seal was probably not thought of and wouldn’t have existed in New Zealand. For grip on dirt, or mud roads, the use of gravel was obviously introduced. As time moved on, more and more roads became tar sealed, particularly in urban districts. Even in rural areas nowadays the number of dirt, mud or metal roads is reducing.
As an immigrant to New Zealand I must congratulate those responsible for the maintenance of roads, particularly on the major routes, in a country housing so few people. I am sure that the average tourist here will think the same way, but he must be careful when venturing onto the metal roads, which require an alternative driving technique altogether.
The following stories will verify this statement.
Once upon a time, it was late morning on a Thursday in New Zealand, a small, island country near Australia. Thursday was the designated day for the local golf club’s midweek competition. Georgie had a pretty easy half-day and had hoped to make the first tee by 1p.m.
He’d started out very early, as the ‘WOF’ (‘MOT’ for you Brits) was due for his van. He was fortunate that the garage proprietor always loaned him a vehicle, whenever his lackeys were working on Georgie’s van. On this occasion, he had the use of an almost-new station wagon and it was the only time anyone at the garage had asked him to sign for the temporary use of one of the loan vehicles. He had done so, without batting an eyelid.
On that particular day, their foresight had been better than Georgie’s.
He had made sure that none of his jobs that morning required the use of his extension ladder, which would not have fitted into any vehicle shorter than his work van. Later, that same morning he phoned the garage, just before completion of his last job, to see if the van was ready to be collected. The response was negative, so he assured them that he would be there just before they closed, late afternoon, to swap vehicles over. He hoped that by then he would have completed his golf round as economically as possible. His plans for good economy that day later went out the window.
“No worries!” was the garage’s retort.
(At least, there were none at that point in time.)
As Georgie cruised downhill towards home he noticed that workmen had been grading their road. It was one of the aforementioned metal roads, out in the country, ten minutes from town. This grading process happened from time to time to ensure that a sufficient amount of gravel lay fairly evenly to prevent too many disasters, like the one about to happen. There were three main contributing factors, causing the following, unfortunate incident to occur: -
(i) the metal was piled up at the sides of the road, awaiting redistribution later in the day;
(ii) Georgie was using a vehicle with front wheel drive, which he was not accustomed to doing;
(iii) he was running tardily but wanted to make his tee-off time, on time, so he was driving faster than he should have been, considering the temporary condition of the road.
I may be flattering myself but I would like to think that was the case.
Yes, it did turn out to be an expensive morning and Georgie missed his tee-off time.
He also lost his sense of humour, again, for the remainder of the day.
One of his first, work-related accidents was when he was transporting two batches of venetian blinds back to Te Awamutu, a drive of about thirty-five minutes from home.
These two, old lady customers had been receiving preferential treatment for a year or two already, as they were the last two people for whom they did work, so far south from home. How could the Thornbys say to a ninety-nine-year old and her young pal of ninety-seven that they would have to clean their own blinds and windows in the future?
“Georgie couldn’t.”
It was five already, so he was unlikely to be back home before six-thirty for his tea, if things went according to plan, which they didn’t. He had collected the blinds at 7a.m. but his customers knew the score. The ladies had to be up and about early, because Georgie wasn’t going to use part of a second day, to return their blinds. They were aware of the other option and therefore were pleased to be out of bed on Georgie’s arrival.
It was an annual ‘Christmas-was-approaching-fast’ gesture from the Thornbys, to be doing them at all.
Georgie actually remembers the precise date of this incident. It was exactly a week after one of those really unforgettable incidents, when the Twin Towers in Downtown New York were demolished by terrorists. Many Americans had tragically expired the week before.
It was now Tuesday, 18th September, 2001.
“They were in no way obstructing my controls, I might add in my own defence, Your Honour.”
This was a metal road. As Georgie, the blind man, wound his way up the outside of a tight and obscured bend, he received a split-second’s notice that an idiot was travelling in the opposite direction. This twit was travelling at the speed of light. The police later confirmed that this moron’s skid mark was considerably longer than Georgie’s, which was all of eighteen inches and was the result of a desperate and indeed futile attempt to avoid the collision, given the circumstances. To add to his confusion / shock / horror, after the first head-on collision, ten seconds later a third vehicle literally joined the two others, at a similar velocity. The additional, unwelcome vehicle had arrived from the same direction as had the first lunatic and it compacted all three vehicles to form an untidy but pretty dense heap.
Usually, there is no phone signal from up there. Georgie was lucky that this time his phone did work. Sod's Law, in reverse for a change!
The police and ambulances responded to his beck and call, just prior to an imminent eruption of fraying tempers.
George painfully removed his left limb from the twisted wreckage of his cab. Fortunately, it was still attached to his pelvis. He squeezed his entire body through the electric window of the driver’s door. (This was becoming a bit of a habit!)
Luckily, the window had remained open during the collision, which Georgie was quite happy about. He was having a surprisingly amiable discussion about the incident with hoon number one. He was a lad of maybe seventeen and he was being most apologetic and appreciated the fact that this victim of circumstances was trying to reason with him rather than pulverise him. His first reaction was to make sure that the boy was OK.
Georgie felt that he was putting to good, practical use his basic prison officer training, which had drummed into him that in situations like this, one’s mouth is the most effective weapon one has: not one's fists.
Hoon number two, by sheer coincidence was hoon one’s brother (as was later divulged). He was threatening to throw Georgie into the adjacent ph**kin’ paddock, at his earliest opportunity, when he was in a more favourable position to do so. Georgie put this thug’s threatening and unreasonable behaviour down to his unique reaction to shock. In a much quieter tone he suggested to him that they probably had enough worries between them already, without beating each other up, to add to their grief.
As I’ve already said, a scrap did not actually take place, largely because assistance had arrived, just in time.
In answer to Plod’s first question, 'hoon two' denied knowing 'hoon one' despite being his older sibling. By this denial, I believe he was trying to infer that they had not been racing each other home from town.
Georgie’s second, third and fourth phone calls were to Mrs Thornby and his two old blind ladies, respectively. He had to explain his situation and to make a heartfelt apology to these customers, for the tardy return of the blinds.
The following morning, despite his insurance company refusing to pay up for the damaged blinds, Georgie was able to make good use of the policy document. He wiped his arse with it.
However, later in proceedings he was reimbursed in full for a replacement van, as he was absolved of any blame.
The youths were later reprimanded in court by being slapped over their wrists with a wet tissue and told not to write anybody else’s van off, ever again. Two weeks later, one of them was involved in a similar incident within two kilometres of the earlier one!
They had also been asked to contribute towards the court costs but I doubt if they ever did.
I believe the law to be as big an ass in New Zealand, as it has always been in the UK.
It’s a good job this country has so much going for it, other than its Justice System, and its drivers.
“Right, I deserve a break! I’m off to bed with my supper drink and a ‘hottie’ (Kiwi for hot-water-bottle) before I get too upset.”
(Too late!)
As he racks his small brain, Georgie does not recall any other major motor vehicle incidents, since being a ‘WC’ in ‘NZ’.
However, he does have another set of admissions, but not confessions, to make.
He is using quite a chunk of his credibility, telling tales on himself, but the truth is the truth.
(As the lawyer said to his dentist, "Take out my tooth, the whole
tooth and nothing but the tooth.")
Besides, by the time this book goes to the publisher Georgie will be a much older and grumpier-even-than-he-is-already old man and he won’t be able to care less about who thinks he’s a public liability.
(To be honest, it wasn’t until he sat down to write this book that he realised quite how stupid he’d been over the years.)
In 1993 the authorities first introduced speed cameras, within the Hamilton boundaries, and they wanted to test them as soon as they were put into use.
Georgie obliged.
Unbeknown to the authorities, or to him, he was to become one of their first and most regular Guinea pigs.
One of these confounded things appeared, but not to Georgie, on the northbound side of State Highway One, in Hillcrest. This is a built up area on Hamilton’s southern outskirts. Because a large amount of Thornby’s work was still in and around Hamilton, his daily route was through Hillcrest, to get to many of his jobs.
“Ronnie!”
In Georgie’s defence, I do not consider him to be an excessively fast, or dangerous driver. His biggest problem is that he is very often, very preoccupied, whilst driving during the daytime. His focus is not necessarily on his driving, which he admits it should be.
“Where’s my next job?”
“Where shall I park up for a coffee?”
“Who is it I’m playing at squash after work? Nippy. He’s a big head and always ‘boasting’.
Think about it … squash?”
(If you’ve never played squash that one might have lobbed you, or gone over your head.)
“I’m sure the key was under the mat last time. She must have forgotten I was coming today.”
“He nearly ran that woman over.”
“I’d better do the big house next, with the slippery roof. It’ll rain later and become dangerous.”
“How much did I charge Mrs Tight last time?”
“Damn! I forgot to email Nobby last night.”
“Which band’s that on the radio? What year would that have been? 1968/9? No, before that. I must have been about thirteen. Don’t tell me. I’ll get it.”
“That was Eric Burden and The Animals.”
“Damn it! I was just about to say that. Give us a bit of time to think about it, Mate.”
“I’m running a bit late. I’d better phone Mrs. Grump to let her know I’m running a little behind schedule. That’ll make her day.”
“I’m getting a bit low on rags.”
“I need some fuel.”
“What a Dickhead! He must be tired of living. He’s trying to overtake me on a double yellow line.”
“Yeah! Same to you Mate! Get a life!”
“**gger it! I’ve got a committee meeting tonight. I’ll have to beat Nippy in straight games.”
“Mustn’t forget to do that quote on the way back.”
“I’ll cash that cheque on my way to the squash club.”
“There’s Jimmy Whatsit from golf. I’ll give him a toot.
Beep!
I’m over ‘ere, you loser. Typical! He didn’t see me. He’s as blind as a bat.”
… and so it goes on.
Georgie is always thinking!
It’s his brain. If he doesn’t use it, he knows he’ll lose it.
Most of Georgie’s ideas seem to come to him when he’s at work or in the middle of the night ... but he has to write them down or they’ll be gone.
“OK, Ronnie. That’s enough.”
Anyway, Thornby remained oblivious to having broken the law until another week had gone by. He then received two identical envelopes in the post, on the same day. They both looked somewhat official. He thinks they had Old Bill stamped on them, or something similar.
He’d been snapped on the way into town and then again on the way back, that same afternoon, by that very camera. What a cheek! 60 bucks plus the price of petrol to get to Hamilton and 90 bucks to get home!
I won’t bore you with all the details, but without a word of a lie, I reckon they had it in for Georgie. In the space of eighteen months he’d had six letters from Bill, with fines ranging from $60 to $120.
His annoyance was that the fastest he was ever travelling was 67 k.p.h. “Sh*t! That’s about 40 m.p.h. Any slower and he’d have been in second gear.”
They should be looking out for the hoons, driving at three times that speed on the main roads, when it’s peeing down with rain, or doing wheelies, making circles with rubber in built-up areas, at 3a.m.
A week or two ago, we’d had several frosts, on consecutive days. On his way to work, early one morning, Georgie was driving very cautiously, at about 40 k.p.h. around some terrible bends on his hill. The surface of the road was shiny and threatening. From first-hand experience, mainly in Blighty, he knew how dangerous black ice could be. The speed limit was double what he was doing but the kid behind him, in his souped-up wreck, seemed to think that 80 k.p.h. was a recommended speed, not an upper limit. With lights on full beam, base vibrations resounding and without an inkling that it was dangerous, he overtook at the first opportunity and how he didn’t kill himself, Thornby will never know.
Maybe he will not always be so lucky.
All Georgie is trying to do is get to his next house on time. In the process, he’ll still give way to other cars and will stop at pedestrian crossings. Yet, during that period he received fines in the post nearly every time he saw his Postie.
Life isn’t always fair.
Go away Ronnie!”
“I’ve just thought of a joke.
The week before last this guy received a speeding fine, with a photo of himself in his van, supposedly doing fifty-eight in a fifty limit.
The following day, he sent back a photo of his cheque!”
He did notice that it wasn’t long before they increased most of the speed limits from 50 to 60 k.p.h. They must have been feeling guilty, or embarrassed (although I doubt that) about collecting so much revenue from so many drivers. Maybe they couldn’t find the time to count all the money they were getting?
‘What a rip-off!’
Georgie hadn’t had a fine before that period and he hasn’t had one since. Mind you, I think you get a mark on your licence now, whereas all they wanted back then was your dosh.
“OK. So you think I’m a Whinging Pom! You should switch on to talk back radio sometimes and listen to the real whingers, and they’re certainly not all Poms, I can assure you.”
Georgie can’t stand it for longer than a coffee break and that’s only when it tunes itself in, with the automatic button on his posh van radio. (He hates all this hi-tech stuff.)
He may listen to it for ten minutes, just to see if it’s got any better since the previous time. It hasn’t done, so far, in sixteen years.
As for the adverts on the radio, don’t get him started!
Why does he need tablets to boost his sex life? What an insult! Besides, that’s his own business.
“Ronnie!”
The advert, which does Georgie’s head in completely, is the one telling all drivers to slow down, every time the weather conditions change.
It is inevitable that this advertisement, for the safety of us all, is not having the desired effect. If it were, then all vehicles in New Zealand would be stationary by now.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
What stresses people out these days, is often down to money
To have more to pay than is coming in, is never really funny
To avoid the issue is to keep on track, by looking at the books
If every time they balanced, there’d be many fewer crooks
This is a long-winded passage of heavier reading, aimed specifically at anyone keen to set up a similar business, as did Georgie and Mildred.
Business operators have many sums to do before they reach a bottom line, which will give a clue as to how well they’re doing.
The secret is to minimize outgoings and to maximize income, in order to find a decent profit margin. However, be fair to your clients and don't rip them off.
The Thornbys felt that to stay small was the way to go, for them, given their circumstances when they started in business.
If a company employs large numbers of staff then it needs to pay sufficient wages to keep its employees happy, thus maintaining stability. That creates a wages bill at the end of each month, which is likely to become a major and regular outgoing.
If the company needs to own or hire premises from which to operate, then more big numbers will help to reduce profits.
If a fleet of vehicles is necessary to transport its staff, its materials, the end product, or whatever else needs shifting, then there is another considerable debit for the accountant to throw into his calculations.
I shall not insult your intelligence, by pretending I know more than you do on the matter, but I am just trying to think logically.
“I’m not certain that I need your help here, Ron."
Be quick, then!”
Inevitably, business boats would not float without some sort of expenditure to take into account, if only the initial outlay for the boat, the fuel and the maintenance required for it to operate.
Also, the time used by one lone sailor to run it. The likelihood is that even this ‘sole’ member of staff (excuse the pun but that’s the name of a small flatfish, where I come from) would need to have a fishing rod or a net to catch anything. In time, should his catches increase in size, then the boat may become noticeably too small for increasing numbers of fishermen, who would be required to join him at sea. The same vessel would probably start rocking and may in time capsize. So, before that happened the managers would need vision and imagination.
A bigger boat, or bigger boats, would be required and then other operations would create more expenditure for ‘Captain Birds Eye’ and his partners, or delegates. These would include administrators, sales representatives, organisers and managers of new departments, and so on. In other words, if the demand for the fish increased then so would the outgoings for that particular company. That is, in order for it to meet the growing demand from Jo and his mates. Of course, so would the income increase and if the boss and his administrators had got things right, so too would the profits.
Yes, Little Ron. Another wordy introduction to a new topic.”
… but who wants to read a thin book?
Georgie and Mrs Thornby had left it pretty late to go into business alone and were sufficiently aged not to need too much worry for themselves. Stress goes with running big companies, as well as with dying young. They can now appreciate the advice that a variety of people told them at the onset. The biggest challenge for them would be to stay small, if Jo wanted to use the services offered.
These people were absolutely correct.
Remember that Georgie and Mildred had bought a venetian blind cleaning operation to kick-start their project.
They targeted their ‘blind’ customers accordingly i.e. if venetians were in the windows those people became targets and Georgie would be knocking on their front doors, to introduce himself.
On offer was a friendly, efficient service and they showed their clients their appreciation for the support they were getting.
Their charges were regulated, in order not to be too expensive or too cheap.
Away they went!
Then, the opportunity arose to diversify, and expand their services and they took it willingly. Window cleaning became an essential part of their programme.
To succeed, they needed: -
1. An initial amount of capital.
2. Some initiative and common sense.
3. The ability to communicate with other human beings, which is a skill fast going out of fashion these days.
4. Much patience, early on.
5. Enthusiasm. Not to mention faith, hope and charity. (Too late! I have done now.)
Unavoidable Business Expenses (Outgoings)
*Where you see an asterisk, you will find a comment to show how avoidable expenses can actually be avoided. That is no reason to suggest they may not become necessary expenses later, as profits increase.
Initial Expenses
These were expenses that were required to purchase equipment, sufficient to offer the service they wanted to, for Jo. Also, to set up a pretty basic ‘PLIP’ (a public liability insurance policy). The equipment needed for the windows operation has already been discussed in detail and the insurance policy was easy to obtain and not too expensive. The fact that two claims were made during the next ten years, and neither was covered, suggested that you get what you pay for. Over the years, nothing major has happened, so this precaution has actually been surplus to requirements for the Thornbys. However, we all know ‘Sod’s Law off by heart. As a result, we are fully aware what would happen next week, if we failed to pay the insurance premium this week.
Ongoing Expenses
i Time.
Georgie did not only have his own time to take into consideration. Mrs Thornby also put in a few hours, or he certainly would not have coped during those early days. Apart from his own input there were other necessary jobs behind the scenes to be done. These included the paperwork and the organisation that was necessary for the Thornby boat to float.
*They have maintained a policy of never having to take into account the time of other staff members. Any work that they could not manage themselves has never been taken on board. Had Georgie and Mildred been younger, they would almost certainly have had bigger ideas, and therefore greater aims to achieve.
As it was, they weren’t and they didn’t.
ii. Fuel.
You can’t run many businesses without some kind of transport. This certainly includes one that involves working in and around a community, especially where a substantial amount of equipment is required to be transported.
*You don’t need to go out and buy a brand new van. The Thornby’s first vehicle used for their business ran on LPG (Liquid Petroleum Gas), which was very cheap to run. Georgie clocked up a few kilometres and they felt this had been a good move initially. Later, they invested in vans running on diesel and now they have a van that uses lead free petrol, as the price difference has become negligible.
Buying fuel is a necessity, so weigh up your own options.
*What they have done, over a period of time, is reduce the radius of their customer base, in order to save themselves time and travelling expenses.
iii. Advertising
It’s OK having a business but Jo needs to know about it.
One option to kick start operations would have been for Georgie to invest in radio or TV advertising, for a fee. Another would have been to employ a herd of sales personnel, for several fees. A third was to place an advert in the local paper, for more outgoings.
These methods would have meant increasing payments made from capital. They had done quite a bit of spending already, to acquire the bare necessities.
Going back to 13th April 1992 the Thornbys could not ignore that their business venture did not yet have an income, despite a reasonable amount of their savings having been used already, to prepare for action.
Now that the essentials had been acquired it was time to establish an income, to replenish those funds already used and to cope with inevitable forthcoming and ongoing expenses.
*It was time to do some hard yards and to become a little frugal. They would not have to go without food, drink or shelter but they would have to wait a while before they could ignore bank statements and fritter money away.
(Mildred would never let that happen anyway.)
*Georgie decided to write an article about the Thornby’s arrival in New Zealand and he asked a representative from the local paper if he would be interested in publishing it, mentioning the new venture to his readers.
He was and he did, for no fee.
*There was also a local, free magazine being shoved weekly into mailboxes, whose editor did the same thing. In full-page spreads, with photos, they informed Jo and his mates of the service that Georgie and his wife were offering.
The phone began to ring in the Admin. Block (the Thornby’s spare bedroom) which was the office. This provided them with their founder customers, as well as with evidence that there were people out there, who were reading the local rags.
*As a member of the AA (Automobile Association: not Alcoholics Anonymous ... yet) Georgie was entitled to a number of complimentary, large-scale maps of New Zealand’s residential areas. He soon had in his possession detailed maps of Hamilton, Te Awamutu, Cambridge and Morrinsville, which were pretty much equidistant from where they lived, in Matangi.
Every single road name was clearly indicated on each map for Georgie to highlight, as and when he’d walked it.
*For a number of weeks Georgie then invested his own time and employed some initiative by seeking out customers himself. Later, as he had hoped, these people would do his advertising for him, at no additional cost.
It worked but it didn’t happen overnight. Patience is not only a virtue but is sometimes also a necessity!
Concurrently, he was learning about the localities and was absorbing names of streets and suburbs, as he went. Twenty seconds was sufficient time to get across his message, as each front door opened, and after a brief introduction. Practice enabled him to decide within a very short space of time whether or not the new face liked his. More to the point, whether or not that person was likely to be interested in having his windows cleaned by him in the future.
His policy has always been not to pressure anyone.
On approach, he would have in his mind a ballpark figure of cost, if asked the question by a seemingly interested, or nosey party.
He knocked on each door. He promptly and cheerfully made an introduction and gave a brief description of his service. Then he handed the person a flier and politely retreated.
Moving away, he would turn his head and show some diplomacy with just a few words, such as,
“Sorry about my intrusion. I won’t hold you up any longer but please feel free to ring us if you think we could be of any help to you. We don’t want to twist any arms to get work but we’d love to hear from you. Nice to have met you.”
At the end of a typical day perhaps Georgie will have visited ten or twelve streets and two or three hundred properties. He will have walked up every driveway or path and knocked on every door, even though the mailboxes were positioned at the road end. It wasn’t just that he needed the exercise but that he wanted to meet his potential customers in person.
*You can’t beat eyeballing people, so long as you do not threaten them in any way. Make the people you meet feel at ease.
*You can’t beat eyeballing people, so long as you do not threaten them in any way. Make the people you meet feel at ease.
I know what you’re thinking: -
“Why did he not just leave fliers in the mail boxes?”
Have you ever collected the post from your mailbox and disposed immediately of any glossies that may have been hiding amongst any slightly more interesting envelopes, such as the power bill or the phone bill, or even a letter from Old Bill?
Even if you haven’t, which I would find hard to believe, I can assure you that a large percentage of people do so, on a regular basis.
Having invested a sum of money in printing a batch of fliers Georgie did not want the majority of them to be thrown straight into the rubbish bin. He could have done that himself after breakfast and by doing so will have saved his own time, fuel, effort and shoe leather.
Then he would have had to pay for advertising, unless Millie was going to volunteer to do some roadwork.
“What? No chance!”
(More points to collect, at home later?)
In the event of not getting an answer to the tap on the front door, then a flier was duly placed in the mailbox, en route to see the next door neighbour.
The entire project was based on percentages.
That left 20 apparently genuinely interested parties. Of these, half said they would give the Thornbys a call that evening, to book a time, but in reality only 20% of those actually would, so the Thornbys had two customers.
Hang on! I forgot Mrs Keen, who was so interested in the service that she had already booked in on the spot for next Wednesday. Also, another two, who had later discussed the issue with their better halves, had spoken to Mrs Thornby on the phone during the next few days and had booked in as well. Plus, three had called from having received fliers in their mailboxes and one of those, Mr Read did actually book his job in.
So, from that first day’s outing the Thornbys had six potential, regular customers to add to those who had booked in already, having seen the article in one of the two local publications, mentioned earlier.
However small the response, it was a start.
Gradually, because a slowly increasing number of customers were utilising some of Georgie’s canvassing time, he did less street walking and more window cleaning. That meant he was actually earning some money.
For the first time the business had an income but it was still a bit too soon to put the flags out or to invite all the neighbours round for a party in celebration.
It was going to be a few more weeks, even months before street walking would not be necessary.
But that time would, and did eventually come.
*The only expenses that advertising had incurred were the printing of fliers and business cards and a new pair of trainers from the Warehouse. Less than one 'fill-up' of fuel had been used, as the van was parked up for most of the time.
OK, plus the cost of two listings in the phone book.
To illustrate how cheap and effective word-of-mouth advertising really is, I shall elaborate a little more.
The following people may not necessarily be linked to the Thornbys’ founder customers, as it is sometimes difficult to pin-point the source of this form of advertising. However, they would belatedly like to thank their early customers, who may well have sewn a seed or two, on their behalf.
One thing is certain. *They did not receive an invoice from any of their customers, for recommending their service!
I must remind you that this 'word-of-mouth' method will work 'against' the Thornbys at a much faster rate than it will 'for' them. Therefore, they try hard not to give Jo any cause to bad-mouth them.
On hearing back from one of the couples, after holding a committee meeting about their window cleaning options, here is an example of the phone chat.
“Is that Georgie, the window cleaner?”
“The price you mentioned, when you called round last week, was $30 for all my outside windows. Does that include GST, travelling and your service charge?”
“$30 is thirty dollars, Sir. I shall not renege on that. That is my price.”
So, the job will have been booked in, carried out and paid for within a day or two.
At this stage of operations there was no lengthy waiting list. Without wishing to sound desperate, the Thornbys wanted the work last week, or at the latest, yesterday.
“Tell them how it works, Ron.”
Sharon tells her sister, Judy, that same evening about Georgie’s efficiency and what a good job he’d done for her. She also thought he was very reasonable.
After he’d cleaned Judy’s windows, she told her neighbour, she in turn told her Mum and her Mum told her best friend. Her best friend told her daughter, she told her three mates at kindy and they in turn mentioned the Thornby’s service to one of the helpers there. The helper told her husband, who then mentioned it to his mates at the squash club that night. When the rugby had finished on the big sceen, the boys (local farmers) had just about finished yet another discussion on the subject of milking cows and had predicted some rain coming over from Aussie on a westerly breeze during the night. Then, the late sports bulletin showed three or four more replays of one of the All Black tries from a recent win.
At that stage of the evening, one of them had started talking about household chores that Mum (Kiwi for the Missus) never got round to doing. That was when Georgie’s name came up.
“She wants me to ph**kin’ clean the ph**kin’ windows."
“Ph**k that!”
Did you really think the author would use such language himself? Please, wash your mouth out!
“Let me know what sort of job he does ‘cos Mum never does ours either. That sounds like a ph**kin’ good idea, if he’s any good. That’ll save me a job and some ear-ache.”
Mildred or Georgie will sometimes remember to enquire of a new client how he got their number. If it happened to be through an existing customer, then a polite word of thanks would be appropriate, next time Georgie does his or her windows.
*Being polite costs nothing!
To be honest, they don’t really need to be in the phone book any more. However, someone may want to ring Georgie up about golf on Saturday or might want to talk about soccer (although he is unlikely to be a Kiwi).
“What is it, Ronnie?”
"You’re going on a bit, Mate.”
“I know but there may be a few readers out there showing a bit of interest.
“You’ll send ‘em to sleep.”
(Those of you who may not be, and are nodding off, move on a few pages, by all means.)
iv. Stock.
It is almost embarrassing to admit how little stock this business needs, to tick over. In a small cupboard in Georgie’s garage is a brand new cardboard box, full of juice, which is not going to need re-stocking for the best part of a year. It contains a dozen plastic bottles of Squeegee-off. Each one contains 1 litre of detergent, no more potent than Mum puts in the dishwasher, which will last the best part of a month. Some days Georgie will only have one job to do. He uses a squeeze of juice when he kicks off in the mornings and probably another when he replenishes the bucket of water, after he’s had his lunch. On other days he may have seven or eight small jobs around town. He does not need to replace the contents of his bucket for every individual task on his programme for the day.
Funnily enough, he now thinks the same way. It’s not the state of the water that is important but the care taken later in the process, with the dry rags.
Georgie does not keep ladders in stock. If a ladder needs replacement then others may be used in the meantime. Remember that Georgie has at least two of most pieces of equipment, so if one goes AWOL during a job he may use the other until it turns up again, which invariably it does. If a rag gets lost it will probably be found later in a flowerbed by the customer and six months after that it will probably be returned to Georgie. washed, ironed and well-aired,
v. Maintenance and Replacement of Equipment.
*The procedure then is for Mrs Thornby to keep her eyes open for a deal on good quality step ladders and perhaps $150 will need to be spent, to replace the deformed one. This will duly be itemised under Business Expenditure and the appropriate tax allowance will be made at the end of the financial year. These write-offs do not happen as frequently as once a year, so it is not considered to be a major outgoing for the Thornbys.
I have mentioned that from time to time over the years the primary means of transport has needed to be replaced i.e. the van. Even being the largest single expense, fortunately there has always been sufficient money in the appropriate funds to finance that eventuality. A 'used' vehicle will replace the previously 'much-used' vehicle and life will go on, very much as it did before. Apart from this substantial amount being withdrawn, as a lump sum, to pay for the new van there will be no additional, ongoing financial demands required. The new vehicle belongs entirely to the business from the moment the deal is done.
*There is not a monthly payment incurred, interest free or otherwise, because provision will have been made in advance to pay for the replacement van.
vi. Taxes.
Inevitably, a percentage of earnings is required by the government, to be returned into its coffers. This is part of economics, wherever one happens to earn a living
The Thornbys have an idea of when and approximately how much will be due, on certain dates during the financial year. They are therefore able to make sure that the appropriate funds have been deposited into the relevant bank accounts. This has always been Mrs Thornby’s concern and she has, with the reliable help and advice of our accountant, Bill Numbers, always coped admirably with the job. She is very organised and has a good head for figures, which enables Georgie to focus on what is necessary in order for the funds to continue coming in, to regularly boost these bank accounts.
Just don’t ask Georgie for more detail than that because he does not consider it to be his department. That knowledge is currently superfluous to his requirements. He’d much rather be sat typing, playing cards or out on the golf course, trying to reduce his handicap.
* “Unless your own background is accountancy, when you set up your business, be sure to find an accountant on whom you can depend, to oversee your financial management.”
Another outgoing that the Thornbys had budgeted for was Georgie’s membership of the nearest golf club and a joint membership of the local badminton club, for Mr and Mrs Thornby.
Golf club membership was a blessing, because having traipsed and verbally repeated himself, so many times for so many days: so many times for so many days: so many times for so many days, for six or seven hours, for six or seven hours, of each, by three o’clock, by three o’clock, in the afternoon Georgie was keen to play five holes of golf, on his way home.
“Mustn’t grumble, though.”
There is one specific skill required for a transparency enhancer
Georgie is not a singer, nor a comedian or a dancer
To speed up the drying process, here follow several tips
He should make good use of both his wrists, to fan away the drips
Firstly, this course of the meal is a 'Smoko'. Now, that’s a new word for any foreigners, who may have decided to make Australia or New Zealand their new countries of residence. That only applies if they haven't wached Aussia or Kiwi soap operas on the box in the past.
“Explain, Ronnie.”
"A 'Smoko' is a coffee break, down here. One does not need to be a smoker to make smoko part of his daily routine. Neither do you need to be a brain surgeon to work out that this term will have been derived from the 'good old days', when the majority of workers were gasping for a fag by mid-morning, and the boss allowed them a break for a cuppa and a ciggie.
For much-publicised reasons during more recent years, largely to do with health and budgeting, more and more people have thankfully kicked the habit into touch. Years ago, the comparatively few non-smokers would probably have either made themselves scarce, for fear of choking in the 'Smoko' room or would have, in their ignorance, put up with the risks of inhaling secondary smoke during their breaks. This topic was nowhere near so widely publicised back in those days. Largely due to subsequent research and therefore acquired knowledge, this group has become a vast majority, so the situation has become reversed. The few smokers remaining have understandably become ostracized and are obliged to carry out their filthy habit on the pavement, or in the car park of their work premises.
Georgie speaks as a smoker, 'til fairly recently, but one who is able to understand those of Jo’s mates, who no longer partake.
Ronnie’s Ode to HKA
Georgie did a trip home, by himself once, via Hong Kong. He fancied a beer and a cigar during his lengthy wait at Hong Kong Airport. He eventually managed to find the one and only facility that was available for smokers. This was a room about the size of a big fridge. In he went, lasting nearly two minutes before crawling out again on his hands and knees, at a height where he was still just about able to breathe.
"Hong Kong Airport’s room for smokers, for all the addicts and all the chokers
It was like an early morning fog, or London’s thickest, blackest smog
Side by side and back to back, a puff, a blow, a cough, a hack!
With Georgie’s Panatella lit, he couldn’t chat, he couldn’t sit
He took a drag and began to think that he’d never known such a dreadful stink
He had one more puff and a swig of beer. “Now, why on Earth did I come in here?”
With that, he opened up the door. With his exit made, in went two more!
Having compiled that verse, whilst in there 😃 he bade farewell to all his new acquaintances and left them, hidden behind the dense fog.
He hadn’t exchanged any email addresses whilst in there, so he had his doubts that they would ever meet up again, unless, by sheer coincidence they were buried next to each other later on, in the same cemetery, just outside the same town, somewhere.
Probably not and they wouldn't recognise each other anyway, as 'brown bread'!
Never mind! Thanks, Ronnie.
Fanning.
Georgie has just about mastered the art of fanning, for which he needs ongoing practice, if he wishes to maintain his kudos as a ‘WC’. This process saves time and may impress Jo, which is useful for Georgie, when he’s in a showing-off mood.
Fanning is a term used for methodically squeegeeing the bulk of the moisture from the glass, after the washing process has been performed. The rubber blade remains in contact with the glass throughout the fanning procedure.
The squeegee moves left to right, arcs back from right to left and this continues until finally it comes to rest, at one of the bottom corners of the pane. Believe it or not that complete manoeuvre only takes seconds to accomplish. The squeegee can then either temporarily be placed on the window-sill or slid back into its holster.
When Georgie started cleaning windows he pulled the squeegee from the top left side of each pane to the top right, then lifted and returned it to the left and repeated this procedure a bit lower down, until he reached the window sill. He knew it was slow and cumbersome, although thorough. He’d seen dozens of window cleaners performing the art in circular motions, with the same gadget, but couldn’t actually do it without looking inadequate, which wasn’t good for his ego. So, he went home, faced a big pane of glass and practised until he felt he had reached a high enough standard not to be ridiculed by Jo in the street the following day. In fact, tomorrow had arrived by the time he’d got the knack, as he went to bed at 5.30a.m., with an aching wrist. The alarm went off at 5.40a.m., when he jumped out of bed, fully refreshed and raring to go. He couldn’t wait to put his newly acquired skill to good use.
Before starting, he’d make sure that the rubbers had been cut to the right lengths. They had to protrude a little, at the ends of each metal holder. If he were negligent in this respect, there would be the risk of the metal scratching the frame*.
*Tips like this one may save the cost and embarrassment that Georgie suffered early on, through lack of knowledge and experience. Fortunately, he learned some basic lessons the hard way in the early days.
Bridge players learn quickly from mistakes. Those errors may cost them a little pride and maybe cause some embarrassment, but not money!
Here we go, but you'll only need to focus if you're planning to earn money as a WC in the future!
He holds the squeegee loosely in one hand or the other. He shouldn’t squeeze the grip too hard, any more than a golfer should, using a pitching wedge, when flopping a golf ball onto the green (not that Thornby has ever managed to do that, yet)!
He likes to give each hand a turn, which over a period of time has made him fairly ambidextrous, where squeegeeing and ragging are concerned.
Next, he points the end of the rubber into the top corner. This applies, whether he’s pulling (and it is a pull, not a push) from left to right or vice versa. This end of the squeegee becomes the leading edge, with the blade slanted, at about 45 degrees. It slides sideways, taking beads of moisture with it. If he’s indoors, he must be sure to hold a rag in his spare hand, under the bottom end of the blade, to catch moisture that would otherwise run down the rubber edge and drip. When he’s reached the opposite, top corner of the frame, the leading end of the blade will arrive first and should be poked gently into it, before rotating his wrist to bring the same end down the side of the frame. The opposite extreme of the rubber now takes the lead, as movement is horizontal again but this time in the opposite direction. The top of the rubber blade overlaps the line that was formed at the bottom of the previous stroke. When he reaches the frame again, below the corner where he started, he’ll rotate his wrist the opposite way. Now, the leading end moves down the edge of the frame and again becomes the inferior end, for all you medics out there. If necessary, he’ll repeat the whole process until he gets to the bottom of the window frame. He may already be there, if he’s only been working on a small … ish pane of glass. It’s best to practice on a big window, so that he practisess several ‘there and backs’. For more practice, he’ll use a smaller squeegee.
“Clear as mud, eh?”
I can hear you cursing. You reckon it must be simpler to explain than that!
Actions speak louder than words, so get a ruler, a lengthy piece of wood, a long pencil or a knitting needle and try the action in mid-air in front of your face. If you are serious enough about your future to have bought a squeegee already, you could even try with that.
“Good idea, Georgie!”
Now, just as Georgie did, get outside, where you can drip to your heart’s content, and practise. Wet the window and away you go. Begin slowly and at a steady pace. Jo is not around for you to impress or to put you under any pressure and you won’t be losing time that will be costing money. It’s only you out there and the squeegee.
You don’t need dry rags or juice yet. Just the bucket, with a couple of inches of water in it and either a wet rag or even a golden glove, if you have been shopping already. (“If so, good on ya! I like your positive attitude. You’re a doer, not just a talker. You’re keen and motivated. You’ve probably already written your resignation letter, to give to your boss on Monday morning.)
Here’s a word of advice.
Don’t be too fussy with the squeegee. If Jo sees Georgie in the street and says,
He’ll slide the squeegee back into its holster and will grab one of the rags from his belt.
He’ll slide the squeegee back into its holster and will grab one of the rags from his belt.
Now, you do need to get fussy.
There’s no more fanning required to be done on this pane, but plenty of ragging, as you know, or will soon find out!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SAFETY (FIRST)
A window cleaner must watch his step, as Thornby soon found out
Early in his experience, some near misses came about
People working on solid ground have far less cause to fret
Than those who work above it but occasionally forget
This chapter does not contain sex scenes or bad language but it does have information in it that needs to be observed carefully. Falling off a high ladder may be horrific and bloody ... or just bloody horrific!
‘PG’ is recommended.
Never undermine that one’s entire success or failure, as a ‘WC’, will depend on how efficient he is. Always remember that for Georgie to neglect his own safety will directly effect his efficiency. I have already stressed how important technique is to a window cleaner and to his customer. That remains true. If I did not also stress the greater importance of ‘SAFETY’ (In capitals, underlined and in bold italics) then I should fail you, the potential ‘PWC’.
Georgie’s customers would miss him if he were in bed at a big house for the poorly, or if he were otherwise incapacitated. However good his technique, it means nothing if he is unable to perform.
There can be no argument that being a complete ‘WC’ is a dangerous way to make a living. Nobody is able to guarantee that he will survive in this occupation but the chances of doing so will be increased by adopting precautionary tactics.
Many perils involved 'on the job' are blatantly obvious, but others not quite so.
You, the reader, may be involved in another job that might be equally detrimental to your health, or potentially more so. Sure enough, there are many other occupations that also require taking great care. I do not doubt that self-preservation is also going to be a major concern to people involved in those activities. It is not the author’s intention to undermine or detract from the dangers of other risky professions. However, the perils involved in Georgie’s art are those to which he can relate. They are the only ones that concern him, here and now.
Very few buildings are built with all their windows easily accessible. Sure enough, the nearer they are situated to the ground, the shorter the distance to fall but Georgie tries not to be complacent, at any level. Read these statistics, which is data collected from memory during Georgie’s entire career to date.
1. Trips, stumbles and falls, at ground level. Quite a few but seldom delaying progress for longer than the time it takes Georgie to stand up, regain his composure and re-grip his tools.
2. Falls from his little stepladder. Many and frequent but none of these have resulted in serious injury and delay has always been minimal.
3. Falls from his A-frame ladder. Not many, but one or two injuries have resulted and these have affected progress to some extent. Indeed, one or two trips to ‘A & E’ have eventuated but even concussion and a sprained wrist have not prevented Georgie from returning to work within a day or two.
4. Falls from his extension ladder. Only one. The real danger of working on this ladder, at an altitude of five or six metres, was over. But, on his descent, Georgie made a simple miscalculation. Thinking that his left foot had reached step one, there were twelve inches of unaccounted-for fresh air, above the floor. He was actually still on step two. The outcome caused an almighty bang, as Georgie dented the marble floor. “Well, it felt solid at the time." His brain had been too slow to notify his right foot that it had not quite reached the hall floor.
The lady customer, Mrs Sirten (Shall-i-ring the emergency number?) came rushing out from her kitchen and understandably thought Georgie had hit the floor from a drop of twelve feet rather than one of twelve inches! On reflection, Georgie could have made a big scene but his customer appeared to be shocked enough already, without Georgie winding her up. Instead, he jumped up and moved into the lounge to resume work.
Mrs S returned to ‘la cuisine’ to empty her dishwasher.
This data shows that Georgie is always spatially aware. He never takes risks, especially when the outcome may be critical, or even fatal. He always remains extra-focussed, whilst up there among the clouds!
Georgie frequently finds himself in tricky situations. Sometimes, to enable him to reach a pane of glass he may realise that there is an element of danger involved. Then, it is essential that he takes the long route rather than the risky, short one, to eliminate any risk. This may mean the loss of a few seconds and the absorption of two or three calories but he must accept that as being par for the course. The ladder may need a slight alteration, to enable him to safely achieve his objective. To accomplish this, he may have to climb down, make the adjustment and climb back up again. Then, that is what he must do.
Short cuts can often be made to save time but there is no justifiable reason to make them in certain situations.
He doesn’t over-stretch.
Here follows a very brief recollection of Thornby’s. It fits in here.
One of his customers, a well-groomed English lady, lived alone in a very large property. She greeted him on one three-monthly occasion, as she always did on his mid-morning arrival.
“Here’s a little tip, to do with diplomacy.”
Georgie picks the jobs where he makes an early start. Very seldom will an elderly person, living alone, appreciate him being there before sunrise. He chooses to commence his day where someone goes jogging or to the gym at 6 a.m. Maybe a horsey person, who picks up sh*t at 5.30a.m. It’s a far safer bet than aggravating an old lady.
He was in the process of setting up his gear for work. He is not being insulting in any way but Mrs Spice is very well spoken. As kids, we might well have referred to her as being quite 'posh'. To hide this lady’s identity we’ll call her Posh, which in this instance could just as easily mean nice, pleasant, or just well brought up. He’d pulled the extension ladder out and was stretching it to a height sufficient for him to hop up onto her roof. As they always did, they passed the time of day for a while, before Georgie pressed on with the task in hand.
“How was your trip?” she or he would have asked, depending on which of them had most recently been back to the Motherland for a family visit.
“Pretty good, thanks, although it’s nice to be back,” would be the standard response from either of them.
“Would you like a cuppa before you start, Georgie?
“No thanks, Mrs Spice.”
Posh had returned indoors. Thornby had been up on her roof for some time, as there were not only windows up there but also two or three skylights. These were not opaque or frosted, as those above bathrooms and toilets should be. One of these was a large, clear pane above the kitchen sink and Georgie is pleased to inform his readers that it is the only one through which he has ever observed Posh ... thank goodness. Mind you, it does worry him that they may both be unlucky one day.
“Come on, Ron! Get on with the story.”
"OK. But there is no real punch line."
As Georgie climbed back down his ladder, having accomplished what he needed to up there, his customer was at the bottom of the ladder.
“Oh, there you are! I thought you’d fallen off.”
“Do you mean my ladder, or to sleep?”
She chuckled, sharing a similar sense of British humour.
Nasty Plants.
I realise that nature has provided members of the Plant kingdom with ways by which to protect themselves from predators, so I don’t mean to sound rude to plants. After all, they don’t get much say as to where they grow up. I’m sure most of them are not really nasty but are probably very pleasant. Cacti are bad enough and these are often to be found on sills, inside a house. But from Georgie’s own experience they are not the most threatening or dangerous to him, by a long chalk.
Why do people spare little thought for the ‘WC’?
I can almost hear a conversation that takes place between two young newlyweds, owning their first garden, at their newly-built house, just after their return from honeymoon.
“We’ve taken out a huge mortgage but let’s buy everything we need straight away. How wide is next door’s flat screen TV?”
“2.4 metres, I think.”
“We’ll get a slightly bigger one than that.”
“We’ll have an office each, two computers with Broadband, two printers, two fax machines, a photocopier and the latest compendium of computer games”.
(This will be out-dated before I finish my book, so I won’t bother to look up the model numbers now.)
“I hope the garage has organised my new car for me to drive off the forecourt this afternoon. I’m giving Steph a lift to work tomorrow and she’s bound to be impressed.”
“Shut up, you Grumpy Old Man. You’re just jealous!”
“We’ll dig out some flowerbeds at regular intervals, 'Love'. (I did say they’d just been on honeymoon.) We can have a heart-shaped lawn, with oval rose gardens and tidy, well-defined edges surrounding the kidney-shaped pool.”
“What a venue that will be for friends’ weddings and barbecues!”
“On the other hand, perhaps not. Maybe it would be easier to plant one or two roses under each window, so that they’ll grow up and block out the view of the garden from indoors. That way, the windows will be much harder to get to and Georgie, when we employ him, will get cut to shreds. We may even be able to squeeze a Yucca in between each pair of roses. They'll look nice, even though they are pretty sharp.”
“We’ll go to the garden centre this weekend.”
In a recent survey the Yucca topped the rankings for the plant most likely to blind Georgie and his mates.
Well, would you like to be poked in the eyeball with a sharp needle?
No single cacti, rose or bougainvillaea will ever match the pain to be inflicted by an attack on the iris by nature’s sharpest prick, the Yucca leaf. There is now a variety, which grows much taller and is known as a Yucca Tip.
“What’s that, Ron?”
Georgie does know of two sharper pricks than the Yucca. One used to be a bridge club member and the other has since recently left the golf club. They both have name suppression.
In previous employment Georgie has been stabbed in the back many times, but far more recently and more frequently he’s been stabbed by these things in the front, the back, on both sides and down the middle.
This breed can be a real safety hazard in New Zealand. I know I'm treading on eggshells here but it has to be said.
The following is just Thornby’s viewpoint, so don’t point fingers at any other Poms, even though they will agree with George. Neither do I refer to all Kiwi drivers, as these are generalisations. This is his considered opinion, made over many years of sharing roads with others in New Zealand.
So, we’ve agreed that not all drivers using our highways and byways are Kiwis. Many are tourists. Many used to live overseas but have since settled here.
Georgie tries not to leave home late. That alone reduces his need to speed.
Since travelling on New Zealand roads the egotism of other road users has never ceased to amaze Georgie.
There are three likely reasons for its driver being in such close proximity.
i. He has possibly left home a few minutes later than he should have, in order to arrive on time at his destination. If he’s bound for work, being late would probably not phase him or his boss too much, anyway. But, it’s still a good excuse to go fast.
ii. He may think it’s a race.
iii. He could be in another world altogether and will have no regard for his own, or anyone else’s safety.
Whatever, his wish is granted and Georgie lets him overtake. Having done so, Thornby has learned not to expect a politely raised hand, in acknowledgement of his gesture. More likely he'll be shown a middle finger.
On one occasion recently the Thornbys received advance notice of a party, to be held just a few doors away. Someone’s child was going to be sixteen, eighteen or even as antique as twenty-one.
They will be a bit tanked up but the police won’t need to know about them, so phone us first if the noise is bothering you. We’ll get them sorted.”
“Yeah! Right!” is also a commonly used term these days, which I feel I should employ here, to show how up-to-date I am with modern lingo.
“Wicked, eh?”
Whilst I’m having a gripe about the demise of my native tongue, see if you can spot the following grammatical error.
‘There is lots of cars likely to be in use at the party.’
The older Georgie gets the more he appreciates having had a decent education. However, fewer people notice, because they don’t recognize it.
“Go back to bed Grandpa! Who cares?”
“Be quiet. I’ll finish having my moan. Where’s your respect?”
Later, I shall be devoting an entire chapter to do with Georgie’s dislikes.
Kiwi drivers and radio advertising can’t wait that long.
Radio advertising.
A company, using this medium to advertise its business, may be called Billy’s, Bobby’s, Benny’s or Bunny’s (probably without the apostrophe). At the end of the jingle and the allocated thirty seconds for the advertisement, a voice will say,
“You will find us under ‘B’ in the telephone directory.”
Put your hand up if you would have looked under ‘H’ or ‘W’?
I apologise if this upsets anyone but if I should ever need to look up the number for the Citizens’ Advice Bureau of my small Kiwi town, then I realise that I would need to address the ‘C’ pages in the local directory.
It would console me to think that there would be very few of my readers looking elsewhere in the phonebook, to find the relevant number.
(Perhaps those people should seek advice from another, more appropriate source.)
I consider it to be a direct insult when the voice on the radio tells me to find the number under ‘C’ in the White Pages.
As did most people, brought up in civilized countries during recent times, Georgie went to school for at least ten or twelve years, as a child. Even though one of his specialist subjects was truancy, during his latter years at school, he still had attended frequently enough by then to have learned the basics in most subjects.
He reckons the same amount of time spent at school would have been enough for even a chimpanzee to learn the alphabet.
What are kids learning at school these days?
Maybe Georgie is the oddball?
He honestly does not understand!
There seems to be a mentality in New Zealand that has no regard for death, caused by road accidents.
A vehicle is not a means of transport, by which one arrives safely at a predetermined destination.
It is a means by which to reduce the time taken to get from A to B, at any given time of day.
A vehicle is a toy.
A vehicle is a status symbol and it does not need to fit into a schedule.
“Sit me behind the steering wheel of a car and let the race begin.”
“Wherever I’m going, I have to get there as soon as I can. If that means ignoring the needs of other drivers, so be it. I mustn’t let another vehicle into a space between me and the car in front, whatever I do!”
“Why do I need my lights on? I can see where I’m going.”
One day soon, Georgie will learn how to text.
“Where was I, Ron?”
This eight-year-old had gone to bed for the night but he kept disturbing his parents, who were trying to watch a film on the box. He came downstairs for the umpteenth time and repeated himself, much to his father’s annoyance
“Dad. Please may I have another glass of water?”
“Again?” he retorted. “That will be about your twelfth, since you went to bed.”
“Well. My room’s still on fire, Dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
(Nineteen was dragging on a bit!)
Because most of Georgie’s safety is down to common sense
He tries to think before he acts or he’ll fall, at his own expense
There’s the very thin ozone layer, too. He must think of his protection
Wasps and prickles, biters too, open cuts that cause infection
When Thornby realises that either of his stepladders, or one of his longer ladders is needed to reach a window, then he does his utmost to position it correctly before taking on the challenge.
“Ron!”
This next story is set in the back garden of a house near a golf club in Hamilton. It was ages ago and Georgie can’t even remember the name of the road, or much else about the job. It was a new one, which Millie had booked in, so to his knowledge he had not previously met this customer.
He had just resumed work, after one of his frequent caffeine breaks in his van.
Here’s a little tip: -
When a window is behind overgrowth e.g. when a flowerbed beneath it has apparently not been touched since Adam was a boy, it is sometimes necessary to use a foldaway ladder. This type may easily be converted into an ‘A-frame’. Two of its feet will conveniently slot in behind the plantlife and the other two will remain on the path, or the lawn, in front of the flowerbed. The ‘A’ of the frame allows Georgie to access the window, situated above the triffids. In this instance, he had set the ladder up. He had climbed up the near side and put his leg over, which doesn’t happen quite so frequently as it did in his younger days. As he’d reached the half-way stage he stood upright before attempting to step down the rungs closest to the kitchen window. Before he knew it, the steps had gone one way and he the other. He had landed horizontally, with his heels, his arris and his head hitting the ground simultaneously. As he lay supine, looking up at the stars (which hadn’t come out yet because it was only lunchtime) he heard a car engine stall in the driveway. Georgie’s employer had returned home from his office, for lunch.
“This could be embarrassing,” Georgie mused.
Georgie just hoped that Mrs Murray had told her partner that the window man may be at home, or he’d have every right to assume there was an intruder and he may already have contacted Plod. Fortunately though, apart from identifying the van, with its WINDAS number plate, he apparently had also been well briefed.
He peered out through the kitchen window and saw both Georgie and his ladder, both lying amongst the shrubbery. He stepped down from the porch and inquired,
“Hi, Georgie. Are you hurt?”
“That's reminded Ronnie of another joke.”
These two male friends were at the fair. They were very good friends and I have nothing against that, as it’s none of my business, apart from it fits, telling this joke.
Cyril said to Cedric,
“I’m going on the big wheel. Are you coming, Ced?”
“No fear! I’d be scared stiff. I’m just not brave enough, Cyrrie. I’ll stand over there and watch you, though. You are so brave.”
To cut a long story short, on about the ninth circuit the ride seemed to go out of control. The wheel suddenly increased its speed by at least twenty r.p.m.s and everyone was screaming. Cyril’s gondola separated from the main structure of the wheel and went off through mid-air, at a tangent. It landed about three hundred metres away. Ced was first at the scene. He’d sprinted at top speed, only to find his partner covered in blood, limbs sticking out at all sorts of angles but he was still just about conscious and breathing.
“Are you hurt, Cyrrie? Are you hurt?” he yelled, almost having a fit.
“Of course I’m hurt, Cedric. I waved to you eight times and you didn’t wave back once!”
Not only did this guy know Georgie’s name but he was also sharp enough to realize that he’d had a fall.
“I hope I haven’t snapped off too many plants. I think I landed on a rock. I’ve done me back in.”
“Can you move it, Mate? Are you still playing soccer?”
Georgie rolled over and got up onto his knees. Then he managed to stand up. The physical pain in his back did not outweigh the psychological hurt he was going through, particularly as the person who owned this voice seemed to know him from some time ago.
“Muzza!”
Georgie recognized his customer from having played soccer with him for a couple of seasons, when he and Millie had first arrived in ‘NZ’. He put two and two together, once he’d remembered the name Marie Murray, written in his diary.
“The missus said we were having the windows cleaned today by a Pommie bloke and I thought it would probably be you. Are you sure you’re OK, Georgie?”
“Yeah! I’m all right, Steve. One foot of my ladder was higher than the other and it threw me.”
In this instance, and there have been a few similar ones, the front right foot of the ladder had been planted on the six-inch plinth, around the outlet drain surround, beneath the kitchen window. Its twin brother was consequently standing on half-a-dozen inches of fresh air.
It was six of one and half-a-dozen of the other.
The action of the ‘A’ frame was to move rapidly to the left. This had caused a re-action for Georgie to be catapulted to the right, the two lying end to end, with a considerable distance between them. Only one of them was in pain.
Ladder Usage (ii)
Ladder Usage (iii)
Georgie may sometimes be called upon to attend to a high pane of glass. His access to a high window may be easier from outside than from inside a building, providing the weather conditions are in his favour.
I refer to a situation here, which caught Thornby out one morning, big time. The large floor mat in the hallway had appeared to be static, as a fitted carpet would be. As was usual, Georgie was at Mr and Mrs Wellorff’s mansion by the time they were due to leave home for work. It was one of the fortresses at which he works, where he had entered the code number for their electronic front gate. He had driven slowly to the parking lots, at the front entrance. He had picked his spot, where the van would remain for the remainder of the day. This lengthy driveway seemed to get longer each time he visited. There was a self-service gas pump halfway along it! 😊
“Go on then, Ron. Be quick!”
The 10% of times, when he’d sooner be inside, may be due to not having obstructions such as rose bushes, yuccas, hydrangeas, barbecues and pesky dogs that keep nicking his tools. Also, there are fewer passers-by wishing to talk about the technicalities of the new rugby laws, when he’s short of time.
“Thanks, Ron. Carry on.”
Georgie decided to take a short break, before returning to take on this challenge. His longest ladder would be required, which he seldom needed indoors. After his packed, picnic lunch, he lugged this piece of equipment through the big front door and turned it round to face the entrance. The sections needed to be fully extended for him to accomplish the task ahead, so he did what was necessary and placed the ladder at a safe angle to the wall. Before I continue with the saga, I should mention that there is an optimum angle required, between the ladder and the wall, to ensure the WC’s personal safety. I am unable to give you that, in degrees, but it is somewhere between too steep and too wide. Too steep and he’ll risk the top of the ladder coming away from the wall. Too wide and it may slide down the wall.
He has to remember that if the ladder moves while he is on one of its rungs, he will move too. Anyway, on this occasion Georgie got lucky. He was wiping dry one of the highest and smallest panes, which was almost at ceiling height, where the atmosphere contained little oxygen. The massive rug below him began to slide towards the kitchen / diner. It was at such a slow pace that it caught him out. Georgie had carefully and deliberately placed the feet of his ladder on this mat, partly to protect the sanded floor, but also because the required ladder angle was exact, so theoretically it was in the right place.
Slowly but surely Georgie’s toes were moving away from the wall. Slowly, is not really the word! Maybe, unnoticeably fast would be nearer the mark.
Whatever the speed was, or lack of it, it was increasing. There was only a split second between Georgie becoming aware of any movement and his dismount. He stepped down about eight of its rungs and then jumped the remainder of the distance. The entire manoeuvre had taken him less than a heartbeat to achieve. Even in slow motion it would have looked fast. He quickly changed his underwear and glanced up to see whether or not any damage had been done. Thank goodness, very little. Two vertical lines were visible on the wall but his luck was very much in. Those marks rubbed off with a wet towel and resumption of work was forthwith. He folded the big, Indian rug back, which had previously been the middleman between the floor and his ladder’s feet. A damp rag now replaced it. That allowed similar protection to the floor and better traction between the two solids involved.
The snake was still in its basket and the snake charmer had gone into the kitchen to put the jug on.
Georgie! I’ve got another joke.
“You’re getting worse, Ron. Go on then!”
This guy was wandering through a busy London street. He looked up at a fifth floor balcony and saw an eastern-looking gentleman, shaking out his rug.
“What’s up, Abdul? Won’t it start?”
The floor surface beneath this rug had apparently been prepared for skating. Georgie was relieved to have been the only person who, until now, knew about the incident and its favourable outcome.
His selflessness knows no bounds.
Seldom does Georgie need to use cleaning solutions that are detrimental to his health. As was mentioned in an earlier chapter, he does occasionally use an acidulous powder that reduces the chances of leaving fatty marks on kitchen or barbecue windows. He follows the simple instructions, found on the labels of any containers. He has a stash of sticking plasters to cover open wounds, not wishing to encourage poisons to start swimming in his blood stream.
Georgie made use of a powder on one particularly memorable occasion.
This is how I remember what he told me about the incident: - He was using a chemical product, which contained 250g/kg sulfamic acid. He had sensibly and religiously read the sticker on the jar (while kneeling on a soft cushion).
‘Corrosive. Avoid contact with eyes or skin.’
‘If skin contact occurs remove contaminated clothing and wash skin thoroughly.’
‘If in eyes, hold eyes open, flood with water for at least five minutes and see your Doctor. (Health Professional)'
Georgie took the above advice into account. Towards the end of a long and windy, mid-June day, in about 1994 (that’s a calculated guess) which had been spent cleaning some of Hamilton’s windows, Georgie chose to finish work prematurely. He had driven to the Accident and Emergency Department of the Waikato 'big house for the poorly', for fear of losing his sight. He had performed First Aid, as above, after a gust of wind had earlier blown a puff of talc into his face. Before the end of his shift the pain behind his eyes was excruciating and he had telephoned home to inform Mrs Thornby that his dinner would have to be re-heated in the microwave, when he eventually arrived home. Nobody is able to predict how long or short (Yeah! Right!) a hospital visit may be.
Red-eyed and weary he announced his arrival at the front desk of A&E and routinely was asked to fill in a form.
“I can’t read it. My eyes are full of sulfamic acid.”
The obliging young lady offered to fill in the form with Georgie.
"I’ve turned up to see a doctor because I’m in agony and I may be going blind. I’ll do the paperwork afterwards.”
“You have to fill in this form on arrival.”
With his subsequent response Georgie attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the considerably large and congested room. Two ten-year-olds were having a fight, at the far end of the room, whilst their mother was ignoring them. I don’t think they had noticed. Certainly, all those behind the desk were fully aware of his presence and of his reluctance to try filling in forms at that point in time.
“I’ll try to speak to one of the doctors,” announced Ms. Wett, behind the ears.
I’ll spare you the drawn-out and tedious detail of the entire evening that followed. Suffice it to say that after three hours of attention, several eye baths and a long drive home, Georgie realized that he would have been no worse off had he returned home for his tea, immediately after work. He had acquired little benefit from making his lengthy trip to the hospital, as per instructions on the powder packet.
If you have a similar tale to tell please forward it to me, in no more than 200 words, before next Friday. Every letter received will entitle the sender to be in the draw for a free trip to his local hospital’s A&E Department, on any given Saturday night.
There is little doubt that you will have been through this experience, or one like it, so my address and email contacts have just been deleted. We all have our own stories to tell, eh? ... and I don't need to hear yours, either.
In New Zealand, at certain times of the year, usually at the end of a lengthy dry and warm period, honeycombs appear wherever a convenient timber corner may be found, in the structure of a building.
One of Georgie’s customers always has a can of insect repellent at hand, for his first visit of each New Year. He is more than happy to oblige by eliminating a few of the nests, which will have been manufactured by Asian wasps, without building consent. You can tell where they’re from because their eyes are half shut.
This has become part of his service for one or two selected clients, who would otherwise not manage to rid themselves of this seasonal plague. Whilst up his ladder, it doesn’t take much of Georgie’s time or effort to aim a squirt of poison in the general direction of the offending residents. Even he finds it difficult to miss from point blank range. Very few are sharp enough to get away from the spray before it hits them. Those cowards, who generally look for a safe haven, stay well away from the nasty odour inflicted upon the remaining members of their family, who hadn’t found time to do a runner. Georgie has yet to find one wasp, or bee, that likes it. He’s not a sadist but can’t help gaining an element of satisfaction from watching the dying victims of his attack shrivel and fall to the ground, or curl their toes up and die limply, without seeking anywhere else to end their lives. The entire operation is pretty nasty really.
“Life doesn’t seem fair sometimes, does it?”
The point of the story is that Georgie needs to be wary of these little nests because Asian wasps can be vicious in their defence, if given sufficient warning beforehand.
Flies are a pest but they are good for business. They are not a threat to Georgie, any more than two and three-year-old toddlers, who also oblige by finger-marking panes of glass, at their own level. Dogs and cats do their share of applying blemishes to windows, so Georgie and his mates have a vested interest in not trying too hard to discourage them. There is little doubt that they play their part in speeding up the frequency of his visits to see his customers.
This may sound selfish, and out of context in this chapter, but it is a thought worth consideration.
Fly sh*t happens during the hotter months but is more likely to concern Georgie as the weather cools down. It is then that people need to rid their windows of summer deposits.
Protection from the Elements.
Having mentioned the stuffier months, Thornby must be wary of the hot sun, particularly between Christmas and Easter, down under. The ozone layer in this part of the world is much thinner, even than Georgie’s hair. Also, it's much skinnier than where we Poms come from, up over.
When the sun shines in England, off come the shirts, a sprint is made to the nearest beach and the towels are rolled out to lie on for as long as it takes to get red. Two or three days later, having peeled off the top layer of skin all over the bathroom floor, there is the base on which a tan may be formed. This always looks best when posing under ultra-violet light in a white shirt, at the busiest nightclub in any resort town.
In Australasia there is the need to be a little cannier when the big red ball appears, unless one has a craving to be fried alive. Anyone not wearing a hat, with a bare torso or without sun cream on is likely to be recognisable as an uneducated being from the Northern Hemisphere.
Frying times are actually announced on weather forecasts here.
The guy on telly says,
"You will only take eleven minutes to get burnt tomorrow, so don’t forget to slip, slop and slap.”
I’m guessing that means slip on a shirt, slop on some cream and slap on a hat. If not, it will be a similar derivative of those three.
As a ‘WC’, Georgie is at risk, working outside for much of each day. He therefore takes heed of these warnings.
There are far more essential reasons to be cautious in the sun: - Melanomas and skin cancers are far more common here than in the UK and they need careful policing and management. They will develop over a lengthier period than the scenario of the mad dog or the Englishman, getting frazzled at noon. Early detection may save much grief later on.
He wears a hat in the open air most of the time, as heat loss through one’s head is considerable, when the weather is on the nippier side.
So, he takes cover.
As a keen cricketer, he sometimes wears two hats at the same time.
That’s extra cover. 😏
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
(MORE SAFETY.)
To O.S.H. staff: - Surely I've covered myself here? 😏
Damage to Third Parties.
When Georgie was a little boy he was taught to consider others
“Try putting yourself in their shoes”, was a motto of his mother’s
“Respecting other people and their possessions too
Not putting them in danger and they’ll do the same for you.”
The previous aspects of safety concerned dangers that may directly affect the operator’s health and well-being.
I now move on to other safety issues. These apply to avoiding the possibility of causing damage to third parties. These may be animal, vegetable or mineral.
'Prevention is the best cure', so Georgie does his utmost not to let accidents happen. He gives each potentially dangerous situation the consideration it deserves. Murphy says that accidents never happen when it's convenient, and always when least expected.
However, by adopting correct safety procedures, during the course of a normal working day, they may be avoided altogether.
Safety of Others
In the course of a ‘WC’s duty, a variety of occurrences may occur.
If his equipment needs to be positioned in a place that Jo uses e.g. on a pavement in the High Street, at the library entrance, or on a set of steps that Jo is entitled to use as a thoroughfare, then Georgie must be very careful.
He has in the back of his van a couple of those brightly-coloured hazard cones that roadworkers use. He stands them near his steps, in order to let Jo see where he’s working.
He’s careful not to drop a wet rag or a squeegee onto Jo. He’s on duty to earn money but not to fund costs to defend himself in court. He may well have a public liability insurance policy but the last thing he needs is to use it. He is also fully aware that insurance companies are very astute. If there is some small print in the schedule that works in their favour, they’ll find it.
Whilst cleaning windows at the Post Office a Senior Citizen may kick his bucket (Georgie’s) whilst focussed on his pension cheque. Thornby doesn’t leave it where that could happen.
A three-year-old may be poking around with Georgie’s equipment and he may have left the safety cover off his scraper, which is almost as sharp as a yucca leaf. Toddlers just love poking around in buckets. He tries to ensure that he is not responsible for letting infants cut off their fingers. Rest assured, it wouldn’t be their fault, but his. They are merely acting upon instinct and want to learn from first-hand experiences, by finding new mediums. Naturally, they are inquisitive. Georgie doesn’t let them experiment with his equipment, because Mum and Dad would not be happy with him at all, when Junior is looking for three missing fingers.
On dismounting from his ladder he may inadvertently step back and knock over an old lady, who may have been admiring his expertise for the last, and possibly her last, ten minutes. He must put his peripheral vision to best use, at all times. Also, he needs to see either side of where he’s working.
(That may prove to be wasted effort on the author’s part!)
Just as easily, if his bucket has not been strategically placed away from danger, he may step into it himself, on his dismount. Even if he doesn’t fall and hurt himself, it will be embarrassing for him, with Jo present.
Of that Georgie is absolutely certain because he has been there and back, more than once.
“Ronnie!”
This little story fits in pretty well here.
"I’ll be brief."
It was reaching the end of a long day’s work at Richard’s home. This was another mansion, although only at ground floor level, when Georgie was backing down from his smallest steps and was ahead of himself. Instead of touching down first, then moving the steps and bucket along and re-mounting, in order to reach the next window, in his own mind he had confused the sequence of events. His foot went directly into the middle of his bucket, which in turn tipped over, onto the carpet. The sofa could feasibly have covered the resulting wet patch in a feeble attempt by Georgie to hide it, until it dried out. That devious move would later have pricked his conscience. He would have had less sleep that night than Mildred.
Rich Pickings was apparently moving house soon, so having a temporary wet patch on the carpet but under the sofa, did not noticeably put him out.
Georgie was asked to quote for the windows at Rich’s new, even bigger house. I suspect he considered Thornby’s price to be more (or less) than he wanted to pay. Who knows how rich people think, or how they stay rich?
Remember, what I said earlier about different people's values!
I also suspect that Georgie did not really want the job. He didn’t get it either. That will have made both Georgie and probably three other potential customers very happy.
Making other comparisons, for each golf game that Georgie may be disappointed to lose, someone else will be delighted to have won. Similarly, every mistake he makes during a hand of bridge will make two people very happy.
Every move pleases somebody.
I am immediately reminded of another incident.
There is a young lady in town, whom Georgie sees on a pretty regular basis, as they each go about their respective duties. She carried a tray, full of attractive-looking snacks. These are never more attractive than around ten to ten-thirty in the mornings, as people in offices, shops and factories are getting peckish and are just about ready to partake of their morning smokos.
Anyway, this particular young lady represented the local entrepreneurs by providing refreshment for local workers. She sold filled rolls, sandwiches wrapped in Clingfilm, sausage rolls, chips (Kiwi for crisps), sticky cakes, etc.
She was about to enter office premises, where Georgie happened to be cleaning the two large, swinging front entrance glass doors. On this occasion he had seen her coming. Not wishing to hold her up during the few precious minutes of smokos in the neighbourhood, he was holding the door wide open for her. All was well until she felt it necessary to nudge the left-hand door with her shoulder to open it another two inches, to make the gap for her entrance slightly wider. Unbeknown to her, Georgie was already at full stretch (but not over-stretching, at that point in time) with his hand on the far doorframe and his feet on the second of his smallest ladder’s three steps. His intention had been for her to pass under his outstretched arm to save her time. Those two inches were crucial, as was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Georgie is five feet seven tall but he needed to be five feet nine for just that instant.
He landed on her tray.
Jo and his mates were highly amused to have been there, on the spot, to witness the incident first-hand. Georgie has decided since not to be quite so helpful. He now makes a point of dismounting from his steps first, to make the same gesture, or he simply stops work, stands upright on them and allows the person in question to negotiate the entrance unaided and unobstructed by the ‘WC’.
He doesn’t mind entertaining the general public but he prefers not to do so at his own expense.
Above are just a few examples of what may happen if Georgie drops his guard, for just a few seconds. I could think of many more similar situations but it shouldn’t be necessary in order to make my point.
(Just read the translation below if you think I'm making this up!) 😉
“Tu as fait mes fenêtres ajourd’hui, Georgie.”
The cogs were moving fast. It was one of three customers.
“Est tu la Georgie? Are you there?”
(“Of course I’m here. I’ve just picked the phone up. What’s the problem? It’s pitch dark, so they shouldn’t look too bad at the moment …”)
“Mais oui! Franςoise.”
Got it! She was the only French lady today!
Nous venons juste de rentrer de l’hôpital, Georgie. Nous y sommes allez vingt minutes aprés que tu sois partir”
“Mon dieu! J’espère que vous allez bien tous les deux.”
Tu as fait un trop bon travail. Pierre s’est casse le nez sur la porte de la véranda. Il pensait qu’elle était ouverte.”
“Je suis désolée madame.” (“Je laisserais plus de marques la prochaine fois.”)
“Ne sois pas désole, Georgie. Ce n’était pas de ta faute. Tu fais un trés bon travail. Je te téléphone juste pour te dire.”
“Peut-être que tu devrais mettre des petits autocollants sur ces portes, Franςoise?” C’est une première pour moi, je préviendrais les clients la prochaine fois que je ferais des baies vitrées. Merci pour ton coup de téléphone. J’espère que tu iras mieux bientôt.”
“Bon nuit, Georgie.”
“A bientôt, Madame Le Nez.”
Thornby reckons that’s the only time he’s been responsible for sending a customer to the 'big house for the poorly'.
Another lesson learned!
From then onwards Georgie was always aware of that particular danger. When he’d finished cleaning at one Hamilton golf club he always stuck a beer mat with sellotape, in the middle of each doorpane.
Here endeth Georgie’s lessons on safety. May this information have been digested, without any choking episodes.
There is insufficient time available at this point to explain Henry Heimlich’s manoeuvre, in detail.
Here follows a translation of the previous conversation, in case any readers missed the gist. In brackets are some thoughts but not audible comments!
“You did my windows today, Georgie.”
The cogs were moving fast. It was one of three customers.
“Are you there, Georgie? Are you there?”
(“Of course I’m here. I’ve just picked the phone up. What’s the problem? It’s pitch dark, so they shouldn’t look too bad at the moment …”)
“But of course, Francoise.” Got it! She was the only French lady today!
“We’ve just got back from the hospital, Georgie. We’ve been up there since twenty minutes after you left us.”
“Oh, Dear! I hope you’re both OK.”
“You did too good a job. Pierre broke his nose on the conservatory door. He thought it was open!”
“I’m sorry, Madame.” (“I’ll leave more smears on it next time.”)
“Don’t be sorry, Georgie. It wasn’t your fault. You do a marvellous job. I just thought I’d ring you to let you know.”
“Maybe you ought to get some small stickers for those doors, Francoise? That’s a first for me but I’ll warn customers in future, when I do big door panes. Thanks for ringing and I hope Pierre comes right pretty soon.”
“G’night, Georgie.”
“I’ll be in touch, Madame Le Nez. Goodnight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Window Cleaning Technique … Brunch
Glass panes come in different sizes, so procedures sometimes vary
There really is no magic, so Georgie doesn’t need a fairy
It took him time to suss it out but some blades he’s thrown away
Time moves on and new ideas replace those of yesterday
Louvre windows are coming back into fashion. Most of these are to be found in kitchens, bathrooms, toilets, laundries and sheds. These are being fitted into trendy new buildings, partly to create extra ventilation. The frames are manufactured in a variety of materials, including aluminium, timber (cedar in particular) and stainless steel, as well as in a number of different plastics, to use the word very loosely. The slats are usually made of glass. Some are clear but many opaque or frosted. Others, one can only see through the gaps. If there are only one or two of these to contend with then they may be worth points to the ‘WC’. Whatever they are made of, he gives them a wipe with his cloths and hopes the customer will notice his generosity later. But, should they amount to a significant number then he must quote separately for them.
Georgie used to have an intense dislike for louvres but over a period of time he has adopted an easy way to cope with them. They are certainly not in the same league as ‘Shugg’ windows. No longer does he use the washer-and-squeegee method, which proved to be very time consuming over much too long a period, before he sussed that out. As you very well know by now, the wet rag / dry rag method has been a Godsend for Georgie, although it does have its limitations.
I’ll start with a typical toilet or bathroom window, which has been installed by the builder to ensure a modicum of privacy in these smaller rooms of a dwelling. We are all entitled to do our own thing, our own way, in our own time, during these private sessions. An audience is the last thing anyone needs during this ritual. In particular, a ‘WC’ peering in at 7.30 a.m. This would not be on any customer’s ‘What I like most, first thing in the mornings’ list.
The likelihood is that this window will contain a pane of glass with a rough side and a smooth side, facing in or out according to the builder’s preference, or instructions. The smooth sides do not necessarily face in (or out).
He uses a wet cloth to wash the glass and the frame, followed immediately (twice) by a dry cloth, then another and finally another, if not by another, for good luck. Done! That took thirty seconds maximum, unless he encountered a stubborn mark or two, or someone stopped to chat.
On the smooth side, he uses normal procedures for removal of heavier-duty marks.
In due course, he may mention these marks to his customer, so that he knows that an honest attempt was made to do a proper job. These panes need to be just as clean when he’s finished them, as do all the others. He mustn’t think he can skimp on them, as smears will show up just the same in the wrong light, if he’s been slack.
The reason he uses a wet cloth for the washing process is because it’s a smaller pane than normal and he’ll save time but he’ll do just as good a job as with sheepskin, squeegee and rags. Besides, on the rough side a squeegee will be no more use than having an ashtray on a motorbike. It is only functional on the smooth surface. Toilet window or not, it still has to be bone dry to be smear free.
“What about fiddly little panes of glass, leadlight windows or stained glass?” you ask..
Well done! You have put these in the same box for good reason. The individual surfaces of the glass are all in the too-small-to-use-normal-procedures category.
In church, he’s wary, because one side of a stained glass window often has little twists of wire to hold them in place and these are bl**dy sharp. He remembers where he is, when they unforgivingly damage his skin. Before he curses, he shows a little respect. He’ll get down from his ladder, he’ll go outside and mutter what he feels is relevant but he won’t waste too much time before returning to God’s house. He just has to watch out for those pointed bits when he goes back inside. He will almost certainly be under the microscope in there, so he must watch his ‘P’s and ‘Q’s.
He always works with the assumption that every Jo who employs him will also employ a team of observers and another of inspectors. Once he’s left the premises, those teams will advise his customer as to whether or not he should subsequently forward his cheque. There is no valid reason why he should ever give less than his best, in order to satisfy his customer. That especially includes God, or any other clients who may be invisible or working elsewhere, while his toil is in progress.
If he employed people, he would like to have the confidence to know that his employees’ level of performance was always of the same high standard, whether or not he was supervising them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
George's Pet Hates
Georgie likes his way of life and he's happy with his lot
He and Millie have been well-blessed with everything they've got
But he is only human and sometimes he cannot rest
So it doesn't hurt him now and then to get things off his chest
Far from it, especially since he’s been with Mildred (animal-lover personified). A little of her affinity with animals must have rubbed off on him during their acquaintance. He may not be as gentle with the dogs, as she is with them, but he could never hate them. Nor rabbits, cats, hamsters or budgies or anything else that breathes and has a personality!
Who knows? Next time round, he may return as a goldfish himself, and he wouldn’t want to be mistreated by his owner, leaving him in an empty bowl, to do the opposite of drowning.
However, he does have a few 'Pet Hates' and this is probably a good time to divulge some of these.
Whether or not they are to do with window cleaning does not worry him. They are certainly to do with Georgie Thornby and he is the main character of the book and the author, rolled into one! He has no desire to drag anybody down with him. This is optional reading.
For those of you with adequate staying power, the following are some of Georgie’s ‘P.H.’s.
He has many others but the following are all somehow connected to his daily routine.
(i) Losing bank notes
It’s not so much that a five, ten or twenty dollar note would break the bank. It’s just the annoyance of knowing that it must have fallen out of his pocket. That’s a wind-up and it happens now and again.
Perhaps it will have been handed in at the local police station?
Yeah! Right!
Never mind!
'Shit happens' and 'finders, keepers', so he hopes he has occasionally made someone very happy.
Awkward customers
As you know already, in his previous employment Georgie has very often come across awkward customers. In particular, whilst he was doing his stint working for Her Majesty, there were many low-lifes, hell bent on making his job difficult. (They were just some of his fellow officers.) 😁
Then there were the prisoners, some of whom were also very non-co-operative.
Ex-window customers have been equally obnoxious in the past, although they haven’t actually thrown punches at Georgie.
Here’s an example.
Firstly, this lady was a new customer. Her previous ‘WC’ had obviously had enough!
Before any niceties were returned, as this was their first meeting, Amy got straight to the point.
“Would you start in the second bedroom this morning? In a little while I’ll be looking after my granddaughter, Waverney (Way for short). I’ll be putting her down, as soon as her Mum delivers her.”
Georgie felt like saying,
“Is your daughter a Courier?” or
“You know it’s going to be a girl then?” but he didn’t.
Some customers would have seen the funny side but Georgie guessed rightly that this person would not have appreciated such flippant remarks, so early on in their relationship. He did not know her very well at that stage, and he still doesn’t, thank goodness!
Fortunately, they never did have a relationship, of which to speak.
“Certainly, Mrs Ward. *Nobody else still in bed to disturb?”
*Georgie makes this comment frequently to his customers, to be diplomatic. He does not wish to intrude on other family members, trying to catch up with lost sleep. Most customers appreciate his thoughtfulness.
“What do you mean?” she aggressed.
“I’m just making sure you have no late risers. I would not like to disturb them, if you did have.”
“My children are all grown up and have left home. We have six grandchildren.”
She made this statement as though Georgie already knew the relevant details.
“Bully for you!” he thought to himself.
“Mildred and I have a couple of grandchildren but they both live in England. There’s a third on its way. Is your bath handy, Mrs Ward, for me to fill my bucket, please?”
“You’ve just passed a tap on your way in.”
He put his shoes back on, returned to the outside tap that was ten or twelve metres away. He squeezed in some juice, half-filled his bucket, placed it on the doormat again on his way back indoors, took off his shoes and quietly pushed open the front door. It was half open already.
“Keep the front door shut!”
No pleases or thank yous’.
“Certainly.”
Mrs Ward had been at the front door, as Georgie returned to the outside tap. He had not actually left it open but obligingly latched it behind him, on his way back in. He was very tempted to, but refrained from slamming it and running away.
He proceeded to clean the windows, as requested.
“Shall I nip out straight away to do the other side of your little girl’s room, Mrs Ward? That’ll mean I won’t wake her up, should she be asleep when I do the outsides, later.”
“I don’t see the point! She will be sound asleep by then. Nothing will wake her.”
“OK. I’ll carry on down the hallway and work clockwise round the house, if that’s alright with you.”
“My last window cleaner used to go the other way round!”
“No problem. I’ll go that way then. It really makes little difference to me.”
He continued, at her suggestion, to suit her preference. He could not help noticing that all this lady’s statements were exclamations! She had a very abrupt manner but we’re all different, aren’t we?
When he caught up with her again, she was polishing the kitchen bench. She kept looking at her watch.
“I don’t know where they’ve got to! … I thought you were going to do the lounge first.”
Georgie felt like reminding her of his Christian name but he didn’t want to sound petty.
“I changed my plan, as you’d asked, Madam. Maybe they’ve been caught in a bit of traffic?”
“She’s never this late!”
As he finished the kitchen panes the doorbell rang and her ‘VIP’ had at last arrived.
He continued through the lounge / diner and eventually had done the full circuit. He reached the last bedroom, which was the one before Way’s. Remember, he’d done that one as soon as he’d kicked-off (his shoes, for the second time).
He crept past and was putting on his trainers again at the front door.
The brat started screaming.
“You’ve woken her up!” yelled Mrs Ward.
Georgie doubted that very much but it would have been hard to prove in court.
“I tried not to make a sound, as I crept past her room. I don’t think it had gone very quiet in there yet. Perhaps she hadn’t quite nodded off?”
“Go and do the outsides, please! I’ll try to get her down again.”
‘twas the only please Georgie ever heard Amy say. He wondered if she’d had as much trouble with the other five grandchildren.
He didn’t really need to wonder, because he knew she would have done.
Even that please was more of an order than a request.
He finished the job half an hour later and went round to the kitchen entrance to avoid the need to tap on the front door again. He didn’t want to wake the child up, for the third time.
“Yeah! Right!”
“All done, Mrs Ward, apart from the outside of Mademoiselle’s room. I’ll pop back this afternoon to do that one, on my way home.”
“I told you to do it when she was asleep.”
“Yes, I realise that but I didn’t want to risk waking her up again and I wasn’t certain that she was asleep, with the curtains drawn. I don’t mind coming back later to be safe rather than sorry.”
That entailed a bit of a detour for Georgie but nothing life-threatening to him. He didn’t mind, so long as it would make Madam happy.
“Perhaps I mind?”
“If you’re not here later it won’t matter, Amy. They will be the last two panes of the day for me. Then I’ll skedaddle.
“What about paying you, though?”
“Most of my customers are happy to pay me on the day but that’s entirely up to you. I’ll leave you a bill if you like. Perhaps you’d post a cheque off to me sometime. I trust you’re not leaving the country?”
“If you’d finished the job, I would have paid you now. What do you mean, leaving the country?”
Some people are completely void of humour.
“Don’t worry. I won’t forget to do your bedroom window on the way home. Now, I’ll just do a quick walk round the outside of the house before I go.”
“Why do you need to do that?”
“It’s part of my routine, Mrs Ward. I’m a creature of habit. By doing my lap of honour I can ensure that I won’t have missed out any panes of glass or left an old rag in one of your flowerbeds. I’ll also check for smears, streaks and fluff, in different lights. Then, I’ll sleep soundly tonight, knowing I’ve done the best job possible for you.”
“You talk a lot don’t you?”
“I always try to stay chirpy but it’s not always easy!”
It certainly wasn’t being so, today.
“I think I’ll get my last window cleaner back next time. You talk too much.”
Funnily enough Georgie had dropped two rags. He finished the kid’s window, as he did his lap of honour and was pleased to be out of there. Her cheque did eventually arrive, two or three months later and that was the last of the working relationship, which hadn’t really worked at all. He has seen her once since but he didn’t waste his energy by running across the road to give her a cuddle.
Georgie bumped into Shiny Smith, one of his opposition, in town. They always had a chat. Last time he saw him he said,
“Georgie. Did that Old Boot in Happy Street get you to do her windows?”
“Yes. I presume you mean at number 17.”
“I used to do them but she gave me the sack.”
“She’ll be ringing you up again soon, Shiny. She doesn’t like me. I talk too much and make too much noise, when her granddaughter’s asleep.”
“Oh, Dear! You’ve had that problem too, have you? She told me I was too quiet to be trusted. I reckon she’ll be doing her own windows in future.”
“That’s a shame, Mate,” they said in stereo!
Here’s the other example. This customer was also awkward but in a totally different way. He still remains a customer.
Most of the regulars know the score. The Thornbys book in their work monthly. There is some inevitable fluctuation and flexibility. But these customers know where they stand. They are allocated a guaranteed slot, at a guaranteed price, during each of the scheduled months. Six-monthly, January and July, or May and November. Four-monthly, February, June and October, or April, August and December, or whatever the frequency may be.
Consistency works both ways, for Georgie and for Jo.
Usually, it’s,
“Hi, Jim. It’s Georgie. September’s just round the corner, so we’re getting some work booked in this evening, in advance.”
“When are you coming, Mate?”
“Is Friday 17th OK, Jimmy?”
“No worries. See you then, Georgie.”
The point is, that conversation used up thirty seconds and each party wanted to please the other. There were no complications and each knew where he stood. The entire booking session would be done in thirty minutes, if they were all like Jim.
They also have a customer on their books called William. I feel bad giving him a mention in this section of the book. He doesn’t mean any harm, or he wouldn’t still be a customer.
In answer to your next question, because he is such a nice man and deserving of the Thornby’s service.
Whenever they ring this guy to book in his three-monthly clean, it doesn’t suit, for one reason or another.
“Leave it ‘til about this time next month please, Georgie. I’m going out next week.”
“So what?” thinks Georgie.
or
“Would you bring it forward, Georgie, to this Thursday? I know you’ll be able to squeeze me in because you’ll be in town anyway.”
“How does he know that?” thinks Georgie.
or
“Hi, Mildred. No, next month’s no good for me. I’m going away to Te Awamutu.”
“That’s twenty minutes away!” thinks Millie.
“Would you be able to leave Georgie a key somewhere, William?”
“No, Love. I want to pay him. I’ll give him cash.”
“Would you be able to leave his pay in an envelope for him to find, Willie?”
“No, I don’t know how much it’ll be.”
“It’ll be the same as always, Will. $40.”
“No, Love. I’d rather be at home when he comes.”
“OK, William. We’ll ring you for the following month. Would you rather we booked it in now, to save us pestering you again?”
“No, Love. I’m not sure what I’m doing yet.”
It’s only a small unit and they always succumb to his wishes. Down to him, there is absolutely no uniformity about the months in which they do his job. He’s an exception to the rule and really has become a welcome source of amusement for Millie and Georgie at booking-in time. He’s a great guy and the Thornbys like him.
Millie finds his card and she says,
“Here we go! Do you think Mr. Ornott will want his windows done this month, Georgie?”
He replies,
“Willie Ornott?”
His phone call takes four or five minutes. It’s a good job they’re not all like him.
It’s funny how the Jo with the least to do is always the hardest to fit in!
Anyone who knows Georgie knew this topic had to be part of this chapter.
Today’s Younger Generation.
One of Georgie’s customers recently made a passing comment about the current, younger generation.
I’m guessing that this guy was probably in his thirties, somewhere between Georgie’s generation and the subjects of this discussion.
This began a long conversation between them, about kids of today. In fact, the topic was just up George’s street.
For the next ten minutes he could sound just like his Dad used to, forty years ago!
“If you are one of this breed and vintage, please don’t be too offended or defensive. Georgie and the other moaner were only generalising, after all. They were just venting a few feelings between themselves.
Mind you, it wouldn’t hurt to look at yourself later, should any of these traits apply to you.”
Much of the discussion took into consideration the way things have evolved during the past twenty or thirty years.
I suppose a kid, in the context of their discussion, would have been aged somewhere between four and twenty-four.
If you are wondering why I am bothering to mention this topic at all, as part of a book about window cleaning, it is to give you an idea of the sort of conversation Georgie becomes involved in, whilst having dealings with the general public.
If he’s not chatting then he is at least thinking. Many a long hour of his own company gives him plenty of time to actively exercise his mind.
As Georgie tended to agree with this customer about much of what he said, he was consoled to know that they were on a similar wavelength, despite being from different generations themselves.
“What they need is to get wet now and again, on the way home from school. Each Mum picks up her own darling at the school gate, in her 4X4 wagon. She has possibly driven there in convoy, following her next-door neighbour from gate to gate.”
To claim a decent parking space she sits in her vehicle, at the curb in front of the school building, from about 2.45p.m. She knows that lessons won’t finish for another twenty-five minutes and that her kid won’t be out for another ten after that.”
“They are mollycoddled these days.”
“Even when I went to school, which wasn’t really that long ago, we walked or biked, even if it was raining.”
“What gets my goat is how over-protected they’ve become.”
“Life is about being competitive. It’s about winning and losing, enjoying the victories and coping with the defeats.”
“When I went to school we took exams that we passed or failed. These days, if a teacher told a student that he’d failed an exam, they’d both burst into tears.
Later, the teacher would probably be reprimanded, for not taking into account the poor child’s feelings.”
If he scored an ‘S’ or a ‘T’ his parents would probably think he’d done pretty well.”
“What do they think happens when they get out into the big wide world of survival?”
“They won’t be able to cope.”
“Ask a kid to tell you the cost of three ice creams, at a dollar fifty each. He’d find it hard enough, if they were a dollar each. Give him a calculator and he might stand a chance but what happens when he hasn’t got one handy?” OK. The till in front of him will tell him the price and how much change to give his customers, so long as they don't try to help him by rounding up or down with a bit of loose change. Not a good example given above but I know you know what I mean!"
“Mobile phones!”
“Texting.”
“Text-speak.”
“Spelling!”
“Wot?”
“Lack of respect for their elders!”
“Bad f**kin’ language!”
“It’s the TV to blame and all these X-rated videos, DCs and VDVs!”
“Computer Games!”
“Studs in their lips, ears and God knows where else!”
“Driving at fifteen!”
“No respect for each other!”
“Party pills!”
“Boy Racers!”
“Ron!”
At work today Georgie’s faith in the younger generation went up a notch. He met Bob the Builder and Jim the Joiner. They were skilfully and conscientiously constructing a decking, where he was cleaning windows. These friendly youths mentioned their hobby, which was messing with engines.
Immediately, Georgie responded,“Not two boy racers?”
Bob said,
“Not likely. What a waste of time and money!”
Jim added,
“We build cars that we respect and we have no time for ‘BR’s.”
Georgie was reminded, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover.’
“Drugs!”
“No respect for themselves!”
“Conversation! What’s that?”
“Looking after things, isn’t it?”
“Manners?”
“Under-age Boozing!”
“They need compulsory army training, as soon as they leave school, to learn some discipline and to toughen them up a bit. Bring back National Service tomorrow, or sooner.”
By the end of that job, the two of them had run down every school, every parent, every politician, every teacher and every kid in New Zealand, if not in the world.
They had agreed on most things but especially that ‘GOM’s (Grumpy Old Men) were OK.
Much of their chat was really spoken tongue in cheek but there were many elements of truth.
I am certain that both parties would be more than prepared to admit that there are many fine, younger
specimens out there, but this discussion (unfortunately) concerned the majority.
No harm was done, I’m sure! At least they were able to agree about much to do with the adverse effects that 'progression' appears to be having on many of our youngsters today.
Customers who are very happy to employ Georgie but think it’s beneath them to acknowledge him in town.
I’m going to illustrate this ‘PH’ with a prime example. Georgie won’t mention this employer by name but this incident actually occurred only yesterday, as he types. He would not be too upset if this individual were to read his book, knowing full well that this paragraph related to her.
“Whoops! That’s cut the field down by half.”
If she does so, and feels ashamed, it will be no less than she deserves. He apologises to you readers for sounding so nasty but sometimes Georgie can’t hide his feelings.
He was cleaning some gas station windows, as you know he does frequently.
A lady walked from the forecourt to the desk inside the building, to pay for her gas. She almost knocked over his cone, as she passed Georgie. It was standing beside his stepladder to warn her and others of his presence.
Georgie said,
“Good morning, Nora.”
That wasn’t her real name but it should have been! ("Nora Batty?")
“Are you keeping busy?” he added.
There was no response but Georgie gave her the benefit of the doubt. She may have thought he was talking to himself or to the pane of glass.
Three minutes later, this very familiar person to Georgie, as he was to her, returned to her vehicle. She sidestepped the cone once more, on her way out. She was becoming quite adept at it and totally ignored him again. She must have felt the heat of his internal rage. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they had recognised each other.
“Hi Nora! Beautiful day!” Georgie yelled at the top of his voice, just before she had reached her car.
From a considerable distance Mrs Ting turned and gave him a weak smile of acknowledgement.
I have a distinct feeling that Mildred will be unable to find this person’s phone number, next time her windows are due to be cleaned. If she does find it, Georgie may forget to enter the appointment in his diary.
“Georgie’s on-going customers are happy customers, with manners!” ... as others will have got the sack over a period of time ... but unofficially!
I have a feeling that 'Nora Ting' does not like to be seen by any of her friends, talking in public to someone as base as a ‘WC’.
In case you think the author is going mad, this ex-customer’s name is an anagram. To help you to solve it, it forms only one word, which is a character reference.
Nora is in the middle of the eight letters and it begins with an ‘i’ and ends with a ‘t’.
“Go on! Work it out.”
The other day, between jobs, Georgie was at the checkout of a supermarket. He was still clutching his lengthy shopping list, which Millie had given to him that morning. That was to save her a trip into town. It included a dog roll and a bottle of trim milk.
Thank goodness she’d written it all down!
The lady behind him in the queue had a trundler (Kiwi for ‘trolley’), overflowing with groceries. She also had a baby in the seat of the trolley and a toddler beside her. She was a pretty little girl, standing next to Georgie. He almost felt sorry for Mum, with her workload.
Georgie said to the little girl, with a smile,
“Hello. You’re helping Mummy with her shopping, are you?”
The woman pulled the infant by the hood of her coat, so that she was then behind her, hidden from Georgie.
He wasn’t absolutely certain, but I think the lesson that the child was being taught was not to talk to strangers!
What is this world coming to?
Georgie always encouraged his own kids to talk to people. That’s how to get on in life.
Do perverts really look like Georgie?
"Don’t answer that question!”
“I’ll stop there, for fear of using subject material for my next book about strange characters, with whom we share our lives. I'm taking a well-deserved break."
"You too, George. See you Monday! 😎
Interruptions
Thornby starts each working day with a schedule, or a plan
He knows he may not stick to it but he does so, if he can
Nothing’s set in concrete, so if someone wants to chat
Or if he has a puncture, then what can he do about that?
Some subjects are very personal and may be very touchy.
Thankfully, conversation is a large part of dealing with strangers. It is part and parcel of any negotiation, or social intercourse between a service operator and his customer e.g. between Georgie and Jo.
Georgie is at his best when left alone to clean windows but there are times when he has no other choice but to converse with people. He is usually quite happy to do so. It is part and parcel of his job. He is merely socializing with people, many of whom in turn pay his wages.
At times, though, Georgie wishes they would go away. He often has to work to a pretty tight schedule and such a rendezvous can be termed an 'interruption'.
Making conversation is a skill in its own right, which improves with practice. Diverting a conversation is an intricate aspect of this skill. To be able to diplomatically evade what is coming next is frequently a useful thing to be able to do.
“Ron!”
Michael Parkinson comes to mind. He is a Master of this art, with a big ‘M’.
He is a Brit, of whom you will have heard, who interviews individuals of considerable renown on his own ‘TV’ show. His series of very entertaining episodes has been seemingly running forever. His manner has never changed, even though he has acquired a few wrinkles and crows’ feet during the lengthy span of his show. We must all be grateful to live long enough for these features to become our own.
Make-up is cheating and it only hides so much anyway. Beauty comes from within.
Because his guests, who are invited to accompany Parky on his show, are famous for one reason or another, they all have something special about them. One common characteristic is their ability to articulate.
But none of them have this ability in greater abundance than Parky himself. He has the phenomenal skill to direct, or re-direct a conversation, wherever he wants it to go. Frequently, he uses the tactic of listening rather than talking but you can rest assured that he’ll be thinking hard, regardless of who happens to be doing the talking. Some have tried to take over his show but he knows exactly when to cut them down. Mind you, Billie Connolly was a serious threat to him once, if I remember rightly.
Parkinson would let them go so far, especially if he realised that the audience was being particularly receptive, but he would invariably have the last word.
“Long live Parky and all the repeats we keep getting here on UKTV”.
Once upon a time (I’ve always wanted to use that line, other than when reading to the grandchildren) Georgie stood listening to Jo. As he did, he just wished he’d had the same verbal skills as Parky.
Now, Georgie went to Sunday school as a kid and he does have his own religious beliefs. He was baptised as a teenager, which is a very personal thing. But he has never tried to overpower somebody with his own views on this subject, because he has always respected each individual’s right to have his own opinion, about religion.
This particularly objectionable person was very insistent that Georgie should listen to his views on the subject, without giving him an opportunity to voice his own, had he wished to, which he didn’t at the time. He happened to be very busy buffing glass and was somewhat pushed for time. This person was not somebody to be used as an agent. He was extremely off-putting and his arrogance would have been good reason not to be talked round to his way of thinking. He kept quoting passages from the Bible, chapter and verse. (Again, not unlike Dot on Eastenders).
He’d written his own script though!
Within just a few seconds of their rendezvous, for want of a better word, Georgie was longing for him to go to work, wherever that may have been. Perhaps Jerry thought he was at work already but Georgie wasn’t going to make his day, if he was on commission. He was left with no other option than to use a favourite line, by which he sent Mr Myer packing.
Another customer, on a different promotional campaign, was keen to assist the New Zealand First Party. Unfortunately for Winnie, she was trying to convert the wrong ‘WC’. This particular one was short of time and he gets very bored with political debate of any description.
Please try to remember that, if you ever want to disturb Georgie when he’s in full swing.
Most young lads in England are born with a spherical object at their feet and their Dads will almost certainly support a local football (soccer) team.
Most Kiwis must wonder, when first toddling, what on Earth is this funny-shaped object that’s bouncing in all directions, in front, to the side and behind them? If they are extremely fortunate it may even bounce up into their arms. Then, they can run with it until some bully decides to poleaxe them, so that he can have his turn.
Soccer is very much like a religion in England, as is rugby in New Zealand. A few individuals slip through the net but generally it is a big ask to try to convert one to the other, when he has grown up with one-eyed parentage and an in-bred culture.
You may already see the relevance of these examples, to the point that I am trying to get across.
If you need an explanation, this is it: -.
When Georgie is working, he generally has a timetable, even though that may, at times, be flexible. If he has the chance to pass the time of day with somebody, he invariably takes the opportunity to do so. But, if Jo thinks Georgie looks like a good candidate to be talked at, whilst trying to earn an honest bob, then he may think again.
As a tradesman, often very accessible to Jo in the street, it’s a good policy for him to have a few lines up his sleeve, to assist in abruptly ending a one-sided conversation of this nature. Georgie could bore you with a dozen or so of these but here are just two or three examples.
“You would not believe how much work Mrs T has booked in for me today. What a shame! I normally love to stop for a chat. Have a good one!”
“Oh, No! Not again! Look right up there, as high as you can see. I’ve left a smear on one of those windows. I was probably holding you up anyway. See you later, Ron.”
Make sure Ron’s gone before you climb back down.
“I’ll have to come back to this job later. It’s just that I’ve promised to give a lady a quote at 10.30 / 12.30 / 3 o’clock (whichever time fits best). Excuse me rushing off, just as I was enjoying hearing about your sister’s mate’s brother’s try, last weekend!”
Georgie frequently comes across one particular guy in town, who does not appear to work for a living. Most people here would call him a beneficiary. I’ll refer to him as Benny Fisher.
In Britain, Ben would simply be a waste of space or a malingerer. There are considerably more of these in the UK but, without wishing to sound rude, New Zealand would probably have more 'per capita', like everything else, per capita! (Whoops!)
There is no way Georgie would want to be too hard on this gentleman because he does not have everything going for him. Mind you, he doesn’t help himself much either.
Sometimes, Georgie has little option but to deliberately avoid Ben. Unfortunately, that is not always possible. He may just suddenly appear from thin air. The first evidence of his presence will be this sound.
“You’ve missed a bit, Georgie-boy.”
Georgie may spot him, roaming up the same side of the street that he’s on. But, unless he can instantly dismount, jump into his van and vanish, how can he avoid him?
He can’t.
This bloke could talk the hind leg off a giraffe. The problem is that none of Georgie’s dismissal lines work on him.
“You’ve missed a bit, Georgie-boy.”
(He’s never heard that one before!)
From that moment on, until Georgie leaves the scene, this guy audibly emits verbal diarrhea. At times it piles up to windowsill height. He tells the same two or three stories to Georgie each time they meet, which is far too often. He laughs so loudly at his own jokes that everyone in the street looks in Georgie’s direction, to see the lunatic.
Not Georgie: Benny.
Then he’ll ramble on about one of four topics. Fishing, tramping (that’s rambling or hiking, in English), politics or duck shooting.
Georgie knows very little about Mr Fisher’s pet subjects, so he also contributes very little to their conversations.
That does not deter Ben. Much as his knowledge on his own subjects is minimal, he is not prevented from holding Georgie up. To describe him as being perceptive would be a total lie. He does not understand, from body language, that the local ‘WC’ probably has a big day ahead and very little spare time on his hands.
There is no way out for Georgie, without being extremely rude (which would be totally out of character). But he consoles himself by knowing that the job in hand will eventually be finished. Until then, he will put up with the drivel, as he mentally re-arranges his schedule for the remainder of the day. His next job, which was to have been just down the road, will have to be postponed until later on in the day. He now has a new plan. It has suddenly become necessary for at least one of his afternoon jobs, further afield, to be done this morning.
If he did not reschedule he’d have earache for the next hour-and-a-half, rather than just for the following twenty minutes.
Flat tyres are a bit like crap. They just seem to happen.
Giving that analogy a little more thought, there is really quite a big difference. You never actually know when you’re going to have a puncture.
Having changed the wheel, it’s just another interruption in the day, for a ‘WC’ to go to get the puncture repaired. Not to worry, Georgie knows a good local tyre man, who always drops what he’s doing to give good service. Here’s a guy who knows on which side his bread is buttered. He looks after his regular clients, as though each was his one and only.
Georgie calls him Little Will Treadleft!
Another interruption, that frequently occurs, is not one that really disturbs Georgie’s progress at work too much. It’s just like a comma in a sentence, as somebody toots his car horn and waves out. Maybe one in three he’ll be able to respond to with some kind of recognition. He may exchange a polite wave, a big grin, a stupid remark or any other pleased-to-see-you expression. But it usually needs to happen instantaneously or the fleeting greeting will be over. Sometimes, there will only be time for an inane exchange of unitentifiable noises, with recognition coming only after the horse has bolted.
“Whooahoa!”
“Goyorogghaha!”
One very identifyable toot is from Millie’s little car. It speaks to him.
“Hi, Georgie! See you for a coffee in a few minutes.”
It happens on most 'first-Mondays-of-the-month', as the Formbys are usually both in town. It’s Mildred’s shopping day and one of Georgie’s small-jobs-in-the CBD days. That sound is well received, as his good wife usually treats him to a date scone with his shot of caffeine. His bad wife doesn't bother!
Now and again it happens without prior arrangement. There may not be a parking space, or one of them may be too busy to go for a coffee but they will always have a brief catch-up with each other.
“Watcha!”
“Watcha!”
“How’s it goin’?”
“Not bad. You?”
“OK.”
“See ya later.”
“I’ve just taken the dog to the vet."
“Nice one!”
“She’s got sore tits.”
“So would you have if you’d just had seven pups!”
“I’ve got some cream to rub on.”
“Hope it tastes nice or they’ll stop feeding.”
“Later.”
“See ya!”
Sometimes, it may turn into an interruption, as a third, mutual acquaintance joins in,
“Hi, you two! Did you enjoy the ‘do’ on Saturday?”
At least Georgie has the perfect excuse to get away, if, or rather when necessary.
“Sorry, I’ve gotta get on. I’ll leave you two to it. See you soon!”
That’s probably his most frequently used one-liner.
“Can’t keep a good man from his labour. G‘bye Georgie. Don’t work too hard.”
Most of these interruptions are minor and Georgie has the option of going up a gear, should he need to catch up a bit. Like a middle-distance runner, he has to pace himself. Fortunately, he does not have the same need to sprint to the finish.
He can wind down slowly.“It’s not a bad job, really. Mustn’t grumble.”
Window Cleaning Technique … Lunch
He tries never to do damage at other people’s homes
Underneath the windows he won’t tread on plants and gnomes
Prevention is the best cure, so he’ll empty all the sills
That should reduce the chances of breakages and spills
“Thornby respects property. Not just his own but that of others, too.”
He mustn’t drip or trip indoors.
You will remember that while reading the early morning helping of ‘WC’ technique’, Georgie was using his wet washer to clean an outside window, when he was dripping on concrete, grass or dirt, which didn’t really matter. He lifted the golden condom out of the bucket, without a care in the world about where he was splashing excess soapy water. However, when working indoors it does matter where these drips go. He may not splash on carpets. He may not drip all over floors. He is there to do his best for his customer. However well he may have cleaned and shone the windows during the day, when his customer returns from work to a wet patch on his carpet Georgie’s ears will burn, for all the wrong reasons.
You will remember that while reading the early morning helping of ‘WC’ technique’, Georgie was using his wet washer to clean an outside window, when he was dripping on concrete, grass or dirt, which didn’t really matter. He lifted the golden condom out of the bucket, without a care in the world about where he was splashing excess soapy water. However, when working indoors it does matter where these drips go. He may not splash on carpets. He may not drip all over floors. He is there to do his best for his customer. However well he may have cleaned and shone the windows during the day, when his customer returns from work to a wet patch on his carpet Georgie’s ears will burn, for all the wrong reasons.
Whilst fanning outside, with his squeegee, the resulting drips may drop where they like, or vice versa. But not so when he is inside. He must then hold a rag under the trailing end of the rubber blade, every time it reaches the window frame edge. If he fails to do that he is likely to end up with two wet spots, one beneath each vertical edge of the pane. Fine, if the floor is tiled, but Georgie has acquired the good habit of using a rag, regardless of the floor surface beneath each window.
Georgie has lots of habits. Most of his are good ones and he intends to share those with you in detail, in due course.
He snores, apparently.
Plus, he tries to take over conversations and he pees in the shower. He also swears, farts and picks his nose but he has no need to mention his bad habits.
Too late, again!
(“Thank goodness for that!”)
The ‘WC’ must protect ornaments and breakables
I’ve said previously that many customers are helpful enough to move bits and pieces from sills and ledges. They don’t need to feel obliged to do so, but it does help, and they should be encouraged to do it. If they don’t bother, it doesn’t matter. Georgie is happy to move and then replace the contents of the sills himself. It takes him a bit longer but it’s all in a day’s work for him. It’s no big deal, really.
When he arrives in front of a window the first observation he makes is whether or not there are objects on the sill. If a curtain (or drape, to use Kiwi lingo), or blind is hanging down, then these miscellaneous items may be hidden. He checks first and if necessary removes them before he proceeds. He does not recklessly yank the curtain to one side, dragging off a family heirloom, worth more than his week’s earnings.
“Ronnie’s got a joke for you.”
He accidentally knocked an antique statuesque onto the floor from a *grand piano, as he tried to get to a tricky pane of glass in the corner, behind the *'old lady'. It smashed to smithereens.
His customer shouted at him, “Do you realise how old that piece was?”
“No”, he replied.
“Probably older than your great-grandfather.”
“Thank goodness for that! I thought you were going to say it was brand new.” 😆
If anything is on a sill, then he carefully removes it. He works out the most efficient way to do this, to enable him not just to clean the glass but also to wipe the ledge. He may lose a minute or so, but if he rushes things, then he’ll do damage. I can’t remember if that was Murphy’s or Sod’s law but it is true, nine times out of ten.
He always tries to leave things exactly as he finds them, as Jo would like to know that his 'window man' has been considerate in any handling of personal belongings.
Ironically, I have just returned from a big day at the office and one of my jobs today entailed doing exactly what I am writing about now.
This one is not a joke.
It was a kitchen window, with two panes of glass, and a sill absolutely chocker with such a variety of objects that I wish I wasn’t writing this book. There was sufficient material on this particular window sill for me to have written a best seller, in its own right.
You name it and I'd be surprised if it was not on this windowsill. You will think I am exaggerating, for the sake of spicing up this paragraph, but I’m not.”
“Not another 'Little Ronnie distraction' coming on?"
"Yes, I think it is. Go, Ron!”
When we were kids, our parents used to throw old-fashioned parties, every now and again. These were not the sort of parties where you tipped wines, beers and spirits down your throats until you groped the next door neighbour, she groped your best mate, then you fell over, got up and threw up all over the carpet.
At these parties, several couples would arrive on time, between six-thirty and seven. The doorbell would be ringing persistently.
Each guest would have a couple of drinks and some nibbles and then Dad would have organised a few games to play. The first would have been a good mixer (the game, not the drink). Perhaps a treasure hunt around the house with a drawn partner? It would have been a fixed draw, so that a partner was not one’s own spouse. The master bedroom would have been out of bounds. They were all married couples in those days and a 'partner' was somebody with whom you played tennis; golf; snooker or bridge.
Dad may have posted anagrams on the walls of the lounge, for people to solve during the evening. The winners and runners-up of each game would win novelty prizes, wrapped up in gift paper and marked ‘M’ for male and ‘F’ for female. What else?!!? 😑
"Be patient, for Goodness sake!".
I was reminded of one of these games, as I stood in front of that kitchen window, this afternoon. Georgie’s Mum called it Kim’s Game but please don’t ask me about Kim, because I don't know. Mum will have prepared this test of one’s capacity for observation well in advance of anybody’s arrival at the party. She will have found the biggest tray she had, which would have been full of randomly positioned household objects. At some stage during the evening (probably while the guests were digesting the big feed that she would have inevitably put on), the game would begin in earnest.
“Ronnie! Tell them.”
Then the plates of savouries were removed and, like magic, others would have appeared containing cheesecake, which was a recent addition to a menu in the fifties and early sixties; jelly and ice cream; profiteroles; chocolate cake and enough cream to sink a ship etc. etc. Little piles of cardboard plates were stacked on top of one another. Piles of plastic knives, forks and spoons would have been sitting there, too. These were hopeless for cutting crusts and would snap at the thought of it. Some of the greedier and hungrier guests, in their ravenous haste, will have taken two or three of the plates, stuck together. Consequently, the last few guests had to pick and scoff from the table and make crumbs all over the carpet.
Each participant was given a piece of paper and a pencil, which one of we kids will have sharpened during the party preparation. A tea cloth, draped over the tray, hid the miscellaneous objects and was placed in the centre of the table, or on the floor for all to see. When the cloth was eventually lifted to divulge the items beneath there was deadly silence, for as long as the egg timer would have taken to transfer its sand from top to bottom. Then there was a general mumble, or groan, which inferred that this game was far too difficult. As the tray was smothered again with the cloth (time was up!) the silence would resume, apart from the scratching of pencils on paper and the creaking of cogs going round, as brains worked overtime.
The winner would be the person to write down the longest list of correct items, as the egg-timer reversed its process.
e.g. a teaspoon; a tube of toothpaste; a ‘Mars Bar’ wrapper; last week’s edition of the Beano; a whisk; a phone book; a sugar cube; a (clean) pair of knickers; a sticking plaster; a drawing pin etc. etc.
(I can actually remember more now than I could then.)
The winner was rewarded with an ‘M’ or an ‘F’ package. This may have been a revolving ashtray, as most blokes smoked in those days. Perhaps the winning lady would have received a container of cocktail sticks, for when she hosted her next party? The runner-up was thrown a Milky Way, like a fish to a seal, to consume at his leisure.
Those were the good old days! Wholesome fun, without sex, drugs or rock’n’roll ..... much!
It’s a wonder that the human race didn’t end during the fifties!
“Thanks for that, Ronnie!”
Well, that was it for the kids.
Bedtime!
So, it’s back to the kitchen window sill.
Nearest the left-hand window frame was a collection of drugs (a miscellany of different head-ache pills, multi-vitamins, little red ones, slightly bigger, two-tone white and beige ones, triangular pink ones (probably anti-biotics past their sell-by dates) and a tube of lip salve. Next was a pair of horse brasses. Then, a pot with a dead plant and most of its deceased petals strewn all over the kitchen bench below it. After those, a paperclip, a shrivelled piece of carrot and another three or four dead flies. Next, an empty vessel that had probably contained other dead flowers at some stage. This was full of more dead flies and daddy longlegs.
Georgie couldn’t help noticing that it was pretty quiet for an empty vessel, which usually makes most noise.
Then, was a pile of business cards, with Georgie’s 'Supa Clean Windows’ on top, he was pleased to observe. This was also covered in flies. An obsolete twenty-cent coin accompanied by two five-cent coins. (Both are now only of benefit to collectors.) Three little ceramic ducks were staring at the cash but couldn’t work out the worth because their eyes were so full of dust. Then, there were the remains of a bar of soap, stuck to the sill, as was the piece of chewing gum next to it. At least the dozen dead flies in attendance were dry, loose and unable to object to being flicked outside.
Penultimately, though it seems like a distant memory now, was a party invitation from one of the kids’ school friends. Finally, stood a big can of fly spray, which obviously seemed to be doing a good job.
The lady for whom Georgie did this job asked if he would give her a mention in his book.
He told her that if she were that lucky she’d have to recognise her alias and would have no proof of identification from the author.
“Miss Allanius. Does this list sound familiar to you?”
Georgie carries out all his work as if a hidden ‘TV’ camera was ever present, trying to record the instant when it would be able to send his business down the tube, with hard evidence from just one misdemeanour.
Just a couple of quickies?
Thornby went to see his shrink.
“What up, Georgie?”
“I’m at the end of my tether, Muriel. Everyone I speak to these days thinks I’m a liar.”
“I don’t believe you, Georgie.”
“How can I help you, Mr Thornby?”
“I’m not sure, Doc, but my head is killing me. I’m so confused! One day I think I’m a wigwam and the next I’m a teepee."
“Take these pills, three times a day, Georgie ... You’re two tents.”
"Doc. I think I'm a moth."
" So, what do you think I can do about it, Mr. Thornby?"
"I'm not sure, Doc. but your light was on!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Georgie’s Better Habits
This chapter is pretty lengthy, so expect to fall asleep
But Georgie had to mention how he tries to earn his keep
If his customer has faith in him, which to Thornby is a must
Then he knows he’s got the job for life, because he has his trust
It is common knowledge that we are all creatures of habit. I'm sure you will know the morning routine, or one very much like it!
Without any conscious effort, Georgie flicks the 'alarm off' switch and wanders out to release the dogs, for a pee and a stretch. He goes into the bathroom, to brush his teeth. He washes any cobwebs off his face. Without even realising it, he's already flicked the jug switch on, as he passed the kitchen bench, en route. With three pieces of bread in the toaster he pours the tea and delivers a cuppa to his wife’s bedside. He shuts the door quietly behind him. After breakfast, he puts the dogs in their runs, opens the garage door, then the gate, reverses down the drive and shuts the gate behind him.
“We know all that! You’ve told us already.”
Driving down the hill into town, he would have little doubt that all these reflex actions had already taken place, because he knows they happen daily, if only sub-consciously. Then, suddenly he’s aware that he’s reached his first job site of the day.
Similar procedures will no doubt be familiar to millions of you Jos out there.
But, over a lengthy period of time, Georgie has trained himself to carry out other practices, by force of habit, to do specifically with his job.
For instance, as most tradespeople will do, whenever he enters a house he removes his shoes at the door. This will happen, whether or not the occupant of the house says,
“Don’t worry about your shoes, Georgie.”
Many of his habits are to save time and effort. They have been devised for mutual benefit to himself and to Jo. Others are so that his customers will have greater faith in him, which should help to enhance his own reputation, in the long run.
Much is common etiquette and these are Georgie’s better habits.
He parks where his van is least likely to be a nuisance and he tries to be unobtrusive.
If it’s an early start, he makes as little noise as possible on arrival and begins his work on exterior panes of glass. He thinks about which windows would be least likely to disturb or embarrass Jo, as he rises to go through his own morning routines, including his daily ablutions. If there is an unoccupied outbuilding or a garage, then that’s a perfect place to start. At that time of day, Jo and his family may still be in slumber. They may not be aware that Georgie has even arrived.
A lounge, or a living area is usually a safe bet, particularly if there is movement in the distant kitchen, from whence may come a welcoming acknowledgement from one of the family within, as his toast pops up. When Thornby knows that his presence has been noted, then he can relax.
Not to be caught unawares, added precautions will now be taken by those within the building.
Before long, somebody will have commented on the weather. How dry it is still, or how wet. That more rain is coming, thank goodness! That there’s a black cloud in the distance but last night’s rain was no good. That tourists will be enjoying the sunshine. That the wind’s getting up or how foggy it was last Wednesday in Hamilton. That there’s snow on Mount Cook and ice on the glaciers … again!
By this time Georgie will know that any further surprise element to his arrival will have been completely eliminated.
He listens carefully to suggestions, requests and instructions from his clients and acts upon them, with no further reminders being necessary. Here are some examples of these, together with useful tactics he uses, lest he forgets.
“Hi, Georgie. How are you? Would you please leave Sharon’s room today, as she worked late last night and is sleeping in.”
"Don’t do Sharon’s room! He locks it into his brain. He hangs a note on her doorknob if necessary.
‘Sharon’s room. Don’t do it!’
“Georgie. Be careful not to cut yourself. Billy’s window was broken last weekend. Just skip it this time. The glazier is coming tomorrow.”
If he should be stupid enough to cut himself, on Billy’s window, he would need to hide the evidence!
Don’t lock up when you go, Georgie. Nobby’s out on the farm. He isn’t far away and he’s left his front door key behind.”
"Don’t lock Nobby out!" He’ll keep saying, “Don’t lock Nobby out!” and again
“Don’t lock Nobby out!”
He’ll even write it down, when he has his next smoko in the van.
“Don’t lock Nobby out!” ... for Pete's sake!
... ... Who the heck's Pete?
“Book me in, please Georgie, for the week before Ted’s 40th party in June. We’ll have a house full and I’d love the windows to look at their best for all the visitors.”
He'll confirm precisely when Ted’s birthday is, in June. He’ll make a written note of it straight away, even if that entails an extra trip back to the van before resuming work.
"Would you mind doing the outsides first today, Georgie? The place is a shambles and I’m going to do a bit of clearing up. We had a house full over the weekend. Teenage kids, toddlers, dogs, mothers-in-law. You name them, they all came to the party!”
Enough said. Georgie will oblige.
On his arrival, Georgie’s opening line is often,
“Good morning, Mrs Sewensew. In or out first?”
The answer is usually,
“Please yourself, Georgie.” but it beats mentioning the weather every time, which is rather impersonal and gets monotonous. He makes a concerted effort to remember whether or not his previous visit was just before a wedding, or any other special occasion. If it was, he asks how it went and shows a genuine interest, even if he is not genuinely interested. (Just jesting! Of course he’ll be interested.)
He does his utmost to remember and to use names, which is an excellent ‘PR’ skill to have. The customers’, their children and even the dogs’ names. Georgie can tell which of his customers work with people, because they will use his name, too.
That may seem a bit over the top but it is surprising how much this personal touch means, and there are ways to improve this skill. For example, one of Georgie’s old lady customers is called Dot. That’s his mother’s name, so he remembers the association and Dot always appreciates that he remembers her name at each visit.
Similarly, Polly may be Ivor Pett’s parrot’s name. Georgie had a mate at school nicknamed Polly, so there’s another easy one for him to remember, whenever he does Ivor’s windows. The parrot always squawks at Georgie with excitement. She finds it hard to believe that a guy who only sees her six-monthly, always calls her by name. Well, who knows what parrots think?
Mind you, Polly wouldn’t be a bad guess anyway, would it?
Georgie tries to vary how he does each clean.
At one visit, Georgie may elect to do the inside windows first, in a clockwise direction, followed by the outsides, anti-clockwise. Then, three months later he may well reverse the process.
If you think he’s not a full shilling, you do your job your way and leave Georgie alone. He has his own methods and the right to do exactly what he likes, when he likes and how he likes.
It’s why he very nuch likes being his own boss.
I’ve already mentioned that he tries to leave things as he finds them. If a sash window is wide open when he gets to it, then he leaves it wide open when he leaves it There are, however, always exceptions to rules. Maybe the prevailing weather has moved through ninety degrees and the rain is now lashing straight through the open window and onto the double bed within. He’s sure that his customer would very much appreciate him using a little initiative, by making sure that window is closed on leaving.
If a sash is slightly open, with a fly screen shut in front of it, then so it will be before Georgie moves on. Maybe the fly screen has a security lock at the bottom of it. If that’s the case, then he leaves it locked. If a door is shut before he enters a room, so it will be when he leaves the room. When a piece of furniture needs moving slightly for him to reach a bottom corner then it goes back to its original position afterwards.
This applies, however large the objects may be, or wherever they may be situated in each room. Garden gates, the same. Entrance gates, too.
He tries hard to avoid giving his customer anything to whine about, when he’s left the premises. If he’s not sure and the customer is there, then he’s not afraid to ask,
“Did you want me to leave the curtains drawn, as they were, Mrs Dark?
“You’ve pulled some of the beds out for me, Mr Pickford. Would you like me to push them back, as I go?
You can reckon that nine times out of ten the answer will be,
“No thanks, Georgie. We’ll sort them all out when you’ve gone. Thanks for asking but I know you’re always busy and will want to get on to your next house.”
These customers will have been thoughtful enough to go to the trouble of clearing the decks for him, before he arrived, so they are more than likely to be equally thoughtful to give the above response to his question.
He’s happy about that. He’ll nod appreciatively and will keep moving!
At the end of some jobs Georgie tips out the solution from his bucket, together with its contents.
He does a short 'inventory' to check he has all his equipment before he does his lap of honour. This lap may take three or four additional minutes but will always be time well spent. It may save him an unnecessary return journey, to collect a missing gadget, left behind at a previous location, when unknowingly he'd dropped it into a flower-bed.
During this circuit he will be able to pick up any stray rags that he may have dropped, which is certainly a frequent occurrence. He may occasionally observe a window that he has inadvertently missed, or one of his stepladders may be feeling rather lonely and abandoned in the porch or on the back lawn.
Most importantly, this will be a smear test, as a second or third look at each pane of glass may reveal some shoddy workmanship, in a different light.
Georgie knows he is only human, so he must make these checks.
“Ron!”
Without fibbing, the following events occurred on two successive days.
When petrol was thankfully cheaper than it is currently and at a stage when Georgie needed to cover more ground than he does nowadays, he did some very hard yards that taught him a worthwhile lesson. As a direct result, on both occasions, he temporarily lost his sense of humour.
On the Monday, having completed a morning’s work at the stud in Whatawhata, several kilometres west of Hamilton, he proceeded all the way to his next house, in Hillcrest. That suburb is situated on the south-eastern outskirts of the city. Time was not an issue, as his workload for the day was not excessive. Georgie had parked up for twenty minutes near Wetlands golf course. He had the van radio blaring again. He was relaxed and was enjoying his short lunchbreak. Life was rosy and his cheese and pickle sandwiches weren’t too bad either.
Twenty minutes later, as Georgie pushed the rear door of his van up, life turned on him. It was like an unexpected kick in the nuts.
No bucket, no squeegees, washers or scrapers, only one extension pole and a single stepladder! These bits and pieces were still in Whatawhata. "Whata, whata bl**dy nuisance!" he uttered.
Just under an hour later all had returned to normal, although the van had clocked up a bit more unnecessary mileage. He was however consoled to know that such a stupid lapse of concentration only happened now and again.
Today was now but unfortunately tomorrow was 'again'.
On the Tuesday, Georgie had risen at the crack of dawn and set off nice and early for a big job that was going to take him all day.
Once again, life was a box of fluffy ducks and all was well.
Up went the rear door of the van and down went Georgie’s bottom lip, again. There were plenty of squeegees, washers and scrapers, both extension poles and both stepladders.
But no rag bag!
Without all his squeegees, washers, scrapers, poles and stepladders, he would still have been able to carry out the necessary work for the day, albeit with some improvisation. So, if he’d left them back at the ranch it may not have been a total disaster. Without his rags though, he was stymied.
There were only two options that sprang to mind.
The first, an inevitable return journey home, to collect the vital, missing components.
The second, a trip into town, to the Sally Army store to purchase a couple of old flannelette sheets. These would then need tearing into a number of usable cloths, which may or may not have been any good for the task ahead. New rags have to be broken in gently and over a lengthy period of time. They need to be used in conjunction with others that have greater street credibility and a decent track record.
“Give me a middle-aged cloth any day, slightly torn and ragged but with experience, rather than a youthful first former, with a new school blazer.”
The sprog may be of no youth at all to Georgie. (I hadn’t mentioned his lithp before now, had I?)
It was another hour before Georgie was back at his workplace and fully equipped to continue with his day’s enterprise.
The only pluth was that Mrs Thornby had been half-exthpecting him, so the jug had been on the boil and the new tea-bag was in his favourite mug and was ready to be infused. (Millie had put one in, fifteen minutes before he got there, so the first brew was too strong and luke warm.)
Mrs T had placed the bag of rags by the back door, ready for collection. She’d anticipated that he’d be home again, very shortly.
They say things happen in threes but as Georgie recalls the Wednesday went like clockwork!
Most importantly, if the building is unoccupied when he leaves the premises, Georgie carries out a security operation, to ensure that all doors and ground floor sash windows are shut and locked before he departs. This is of paramount importance if he wants to maintain Jo’s trust.
The only exception to this is if Jo has already given him specific instructions to the contrary.
“Don’t worry about locking up Georgie. We won’t be far away.”
Before leaving a job, Georgie likes to make a small gesture. Usually this is just a ‘thanks again’ note, possibly with a small cartoon drawing, or a smiley face. This may not mean much to the customer but it hopefully shows that he hasn’t just grabbed his cheque and run, without showing some genuine appreciation for the prompt payment for his labour.
In Jo’s absence, if for any reason something untoward has happened during the day, Georgie will make a note of whatever it was and he’ll call Jo the moment he gets home. However petty, he feels it is a good habit to have. It may be to report a breakage or that a window wouldn’t shut properly, or that two schoolkids smashed their mailbox whilst he was there. They did a runner when they spotted the ‘WC’ indoors but they had too big a start on Georgie and they were on their bikes. He’s fast, but not that fast!
Now, thirty years ago that might have been a different story.
However incidental this may seem, it shows that Georgie has respect for Jo’s property and concern that he is not unhappy with his service. The breakage may be almost unnoticeable, or the latch on the window may not have been his doing, but he wants to reassure Jo that he would be more than happy to pay for a replacement vase or mug, or whatever else he may have accidentally knocked off a windowsill. Georgie also wants the reassurance that there was not a break-in between his leaving and Jo’s return, as a result of the broken window latch on the ground floor window.
Inevitably, if there had been a more major incident, then a subsequent phone call would be made later, as well as a note of explanation left on the kitchen bench.
We all know that accidents happen from time to time but it is comforting for Jo to know that a tradesman, left alone in his castle, is totally up front about things.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Interaction with Jo and his Mate
Thornby knows his toil comes first, as he has a job to do
But mixing with his equals in the street's important too
Some people would be happy to be left alone all day
But Georgie’s not a dull boy, who works but doesn’t play
This chapter allows me to go off at a tangent.
Still, it is vaguely related to my subject. Try to think in general terms, outside the square a little and you may be able to understand where I’m coming from, as I ramble on in my own little world. If nothing else, you’ll hopefully get to know Georgie a little more intimately.
We therefore learned how to play games. As a result, how to win and lose games, against other players. Computers would happen later, so the games I refer to were played socially, with other people. Packs of cards and board games were as familiar in Georgie’s home as were knives and forks, tables and chairs.
Whether it was Ludo, Snakes & Ladders, Monopoly, Happy Families, Snap or just a jigsaw on the table, not many days went by without some form of competition happening in the ‘Thornby Snr.’ household.
Mind you, I can’t remember how you win at jigsaws!
On reflection, we kids all benefited tremendously from having such an active involvement in sporting activities. The greatest of these was the confidence it gave us to deal with all sorts of personalities, throughout our lives.
It would have been very unlikely that Georgie would have spent so long in his early working years, being salary-paid as a P.E. coach, if he hadn’t been a game-lover, or if he wasn't able to mix or to take the rough with the smooth.
The following may sound a bit contrived but I would like to make some observations, comparisons and analogies between some of the activities in which Georgie has participated in more recent years.
To reduce the length of this passage I shall stick to just three of those. Window cleaning, golf and bridge. None of these he did in those bygone days.
Sporty people have an inborn, competitive streak in them. Partaking in any given activity, they always want to perform as well as they can. But Georgie has learned that there will always be people better than he is, others who will compete at about his own level and those who will not fare quite so well as he does.
This is not being conceited, or negative but is a fact of life.
I suppose there must be the greatest and the weakest in any chosen pursuit but nobody has the ability to perform at his maximum potential on every occasion. Neither will he stay at the top forever.
Today, I watched Michael Phelps surpass a long-standing record of seven gold medal wins at a single Olympic Games series. He has now taken the record over from his compatriot, Mark Spitz. Nobody thought that would ever be done but it has been. Phelps is now considered to be the new, best ever, swimmer on the planet. Records are made but will always be broken. In time, someone else will gain nine gold medals to take over Michael’s crown.
There will inevitably be arguments for and against individual claims that are made about best ever performers. Changing circumstances and advancement in technology will always devalue these. Ben Hogan was a good golfer and he’d never heard of titanium, or stiff shafts, as opposed to whippy ones. Golf clubs were golf clubs in those days and players did the best they could with them. The only soft balls in those days were in the players’ trousers. They certainly didn’t create extra spin. The golf balls were all as hard as each other.
The handicapping system was devised to allow games to be played on level playing fields. It equalised competitors. There are ways and means of using this method in most sporting activities, but everyone knows it is used worldwide in golf, so I’ll refer to golf.
This planet’s current number one golfer is undoubtedly Tiger Woods. Whether or not he is the best ever will always be debatable. When he enters tournaments his opponents are already on an equal footing, as professional golfers. Each of these individuals will experience good and bad days at the office, as do all workers, including Tiger. His opponents have two handicaps. One is being a professional in the same era and the other is having to compete against Tiger.
This golfing phenomenon sets himself extremely high standards, so what he considers to be a bad score, most club golfers would bid large amounts of money to have, if only once in their lives.
Georgie has a handicap of fifteen (since typing that, he’s gone out a bit!) and therefore is just an average club golfer. He knows he will never earn a living at the game. Hypothetically, if he were permitted to play against Tiger the handicapping system would allow him to stand a chance of winning, despite the cavernous gap between their respective abilities.
Realistically though, the opportunity is unlikely to arise because Georgie would probably be at work when Tiger wanted to fit in a game with him.
George also plays bridge, also as a very average handicapper and he will never have an income from that recreation either.
These are just two of Georgie’s supposed sources of amusement. In reality, whilst actively participating in either of these pursuits he frequently finds more frustration than enjoyment. Punishment would be a more fitting definition but despite that, as a born masochist, he enjoys both pastimes.
He has chosen to clean windows professionally, so if ever a handicap system were devised for this activity he would have to consider himself to be a pro. As a scratch ‘WC’, although far from being perfect, he is able to maintain a sufficiently high standard for a base of customers to require regular return visits from him. Remember that a pro. golfer does not always score low enough to win every competition he enters. However, he may still earn good money, because he is part of a circuit that attracts sponsorship and paying spectators. Presumably, pro. bridge players make money through sponsorship and prize money, too. I would have thought that live spectators would be rather a distraction to tournament players. In truth, I don’t know enough about that side of bridge and do not have sufficient motivation to look further into it. It certainly does not strike me as being a spectator sport.
All three activities are certainly very character building!
This entire chapter is a Little Ronnie (a ramble) but there is much common ground between golf, bridge and window cleaning.
I would like to consider this, if only for my own interest, as it’s my book.
Here are some comparisons: -.
The golfer is Jack, the bridge player is Ace and the window cleaner is King Georgie.
*Jack occasionally fires a ball out of bounds or misses a short putt. Ace may make a silly bid or will play the wrong card and King Georgie may well leave a blemish behind on a pane of glass, or he may be prematurely ejected from his stepladder.
*Jack does not deliberately let his partner down, by duffing a shot to the green. The same applies to Ace, by trumping his partner’s boss card and King Georgie does not intentionally let his customer down, by skipping a window.
*All three activities demand that the participant be on schedule for his start. By missing his cue, Jack’s partner will have to play on his own, Ace will either hold up proceedings for everybody involved, or his partner will have given up on him and gone home to watch East-Enders. King Georgie would probably lose a job, by upsetting an employer.
*Jack prepares in advance for a game by swinging in a practice net, or by firing balls out onto the driving range, in order to establish muscle memory before a round. He mentally prepares for his next battle and hopes it will all come right at the weekend, when it really matters.
Ace’s practice was either during his previous bridge session, or he may have been revising from notes, reading technical books or has been on line to study. He thinks about new conventions that he and his partner may be using and he prays for decent cards on the night.
King Georgie uses the same method of practice as he has adopted, so far, for sixteen years i.e. he cleans windows.
Mentally preparing for work may interfere with his other two hobbies. He needs all his grey matter to be fully operational on Monday and Wednesday evenings. Also, to a lesser extent, on Saturday mornings. He prays that he won’t fall from the top of his ladder.
*Jack, Ace and King Georgie all benefit favourably from building good relationships with other people.
*Jack and Ace must learn to play their games at a steady tempo and neither should King Georgie charge too much.
Georgie is always studying. He’s no great academic but he enjoys making comparisons.
“Ronnie!”
Here’s something for you to think about.
If ‘Jo Average’ mentions that his son is at University, he’ll probably say, “My boy, Jonnie, is at ‘uni’, or ‘varsity’, trying to do better than his old man did at school! He wants to be an engineer. From what his mother says he doesn’t appear to attend many morning lectures and he’s not reading much at all.”
Georgie does not consider himself to be stuck up. He is a working class guy doing an honest day’s work, for an honest day’s pay. He tries to be what he appears to be and he likes to call a spade a spade.
"You're a spade!"
“No, I’m not, I’m a shovel.”
He knows he’s just a ‘WC’ and he does not pretend to be a ‘STEF’ (‘Senior Transparency Enhancement Facilitator’).
He and Millie are small business operators. As such, they don’t need to sound mightier than that, by claiming to be managing directors of a highly successful glass maintenance operation, even though it would sound impressive on their CVs.
He practises window cleaning on most days of his life. He also reads a few pages of his bedside book, before he snuggles down at nights but that doesn’t mean he’s improving at all, or learning much.
He also studied ‘social’ogy years ago, and still does, even at his over-ripe age. It concerns him sometimes that people with very responsible positions never seem to become fully accomplished in their field, as they’re always practising.
It also worries him that some parents just can’t help being up themselves, wishing to sound superior to anybody and everybody else.
We’re all cogs in a bl**dy great wheel and to keep it turning we all need to do our own jobs, however grand or menial they appear to be.
There is little doubt that life is about being cool these days, in the eyes of our peers. Drinking bottled water and loosely holding a pink mobile phone. Going to the gym and daubing on tats and thick make-up, at thirteen to look nineteen, and so on.
Georgie thinks he’s pretty cool but he does not concern himself directly with any of the above examples.
In truth, he’s never paid for a bottle of water in his life and never intends to start doing so.
His mobile phone lives in his work van and is certainly not pink. It is only used for outgoing calls. He doesn’t even know his number. He gets enough disturbances at work without a pesky phone ringing every ten minutes.
He used to live in a gym but has since only cleaned a few gym windows.
He is also trying hard to stop wearing make-up, on account of looking old enough already.
However, Georgie realises that he does need to be cool, to a degree, to survive in his profession.
Here are some things that he tries to do, or not to do.
To be, or not to be … that is the question … QUOTE: William Shakespeare 1564 – 1616 (Reference: Hamlet: 1605)
*It is not cool for him to drop a sheepskin washer from the top of his ladder.
“Here’s a small tip from Ron.”
Hanging a wet rag over one of the highest rungs of his ladder serves as the ideal back-up, should he lose the grip on his washer. It may also save his embarrassment, by not having to climb down to retrieve it. This rag provides an alternative way to moisten the glass when washing.
Jo may say, “Do you want me to throw your washer back up, Georgie?”
He would casually respond, by telling him he threw it down there, intentionally.
*He must not fall off his little stepladder, in company. Jo will always be a key witness. Should this happen, he just gets back on his horse and will stay there until Jo has disappeared.
*He must try to whistle in tune.
“Is my whistling aggravating you, Jo?”
He’ll occasionally receive a favourable comment from a customer about the incredibly high standard of his whistling, as Jo may be tone deaf, too!
All compliments should be gratefully received.
"Keep going, Ronnie!”
Georgie was in town early one morning, as he likes to get on with shop windows before Jo’s day even begins. Perhaps, by then, Jo will be out of bed but will still be at home, getting stuck into his healthy breakfast of muesli and yoghurt. Or, maybe he’s on his own way to work already but has stopped for his less-than-healthy breakfast, at Mac's.
Georgie is usually alone, first thing, apart from the ‘EMW’s (Early Morning Walkers). These individuals belonging to this elitist club are a pleasure to watch.
Do you remember 'John Cleese' performing in The Ministry of Silly Walks, episode 14 of the Monty Python’s Flying Circus series on ‘TV’?
This was broadcast in 1970. The series itself consisted of forty-five episodes and was written and performed by a number of Oxford and Cambridge graduates. It was first aired on BBC television in October 1969 and lasted over a period of four years. Repeat showings are timeless.
“Good stuff, Ronnie! Good old Google, eh?”.
Well, if you thought those walks were eccentric you should be in town with Georgie, early in the mornings.
1. They have other commitments during normal working hours, or
2. They do not wish to be seen by anybody else.
Straight arm swinging, rapid striding and arris wobbling are the three prerequisites of this style of perambulation. It even became an Olympic sport for ladies in 1992. I say that because there seems to be an outright majority of the fairer sex indulging in this activity in the early mornings.
To witness the local members of this club is an added bonus for Georgie. It’s his reward for getting out of bed as early as he does.
“Thanks, Ron.”
Other Jos to first appear in town are children, on their way to school as early as 7.30a.m.
It amazes George how sound travels, when the town is deserted. He’ll hear a conversation, taking place between two or three individuals on bikes. They may not actually be shouting but he can pick up the gist of their conversations from three hundred metres away.
“I watched ‘Shrek’ again last night on TV."
“Wicked! I’ve watched it thirty-seven times so far but I didn’t see it last night. I was too busy doing homework on my Playstation."
On one occasion, Georgie heard a tuneless wailing, but at first he could not locate its source. There was only one other individual on his side of the road. He felt a bit sorry for her because she had a deaf aid in her ear. As she closed in on Georgie the wailing was getting louder. He put two and two together and realised that it wasn’t a deaf aid but an ‘eye’-pod she was wearing (nestled in her ‘ear’?). She was yelling at the top of her voice. This young scholar came to within two metres of Georgie’s step ladder, where he happened to be standing at the time.
In truth, she was actually miles away, in her own little world. Georgie presumed she was making up for having been omitted from her school choir.
The main thing was that she seemed happy and not to have a care in the world. She was probably glad that her parents had gone to work so early that she had been able to set off for her academy, nearly an hour earlier than she needed to have done, to arrive on time.
She may have been rehearsing for a spot on the audition of 'New Zealand Idol'?
In fairness, I guess most of us, with earphones on, sound pretty good to ourselves. However, we would probably prefer to do it indoors, or alone in the car, rather than on the main street of town, when you could hear a pin drop.
*He shouldn’t wear odd socks at work. If he’s wearing long pants he’ll get away with it but he must have a quip ready if he’s in shorts. Maybe, “I’ve got another pair like this one, at home”.
That usually gets a chuckle.
*He shouldn’t wear a jumper at work, unless in mid-winter. ‘WC’s are not whimps and they work in all weather conditions. If he’s cold, then he works faster.
*It is not cool for him to leave smears or streaks on the glass but he is bound to from time to time.
He should not become too discouraged. His employer will know the problem from first-hand experience or he wouldn’t have put Georgie on his pay roll.
*He shouldn’t leave equipment or clothing behind. He must try to remember to carry out his inventory at the end of each job.
*He must not ask his customer for too much money.
*He should not ask his customer for too little money.
It is strange how a customer may not remember Georgie amending a price in his own favour but if he’d said previously, “I’ll knock ten cents off next time,” he’d remember that!
*It’s far from cool for Georgie to ignore a customer in the street. Even if he can’t put a name or an address to the face, he must still give him a smile or a wave, or even have a brief chat. Two minutes passing the time of day is not time wasted. It is excellent ‘PR’.
If he’s not sure of the right name, to save any embarrassment he won’t use a name.
*He should make every attempt not to burp or fart within earshot of a customer. He checks that he’s alone on the premises, if he should feel the urge coming on. If he has company, he’ll save both for later.
*He mustn’t make promises that may slip through the net and be forgotten.
That is definitely a ‘NO-NO’.
"Ron!“
Here’s an example, hot off the press.
Today, this conversation took place, outside a lawyer’s building in town. Georgie was cleaning his windows for him.
What else? He doesn’t get into trouble.
“Hi, Georgie.”
“So would you be, at the top of your ladder. (High?)
“We’re going back to England in May. We’d love to come home to clean windows, so book the outsides in for the first week of June, please. We get back on 9th.”
“Consider it done, Ben. How’s Anne?”
At the end of the chat, which lasted two or three minutes, Georgie nipped back to his van and scribbled a memo for Mildred.
‘Mr and Mrs Dover. First week of June. Don’t forget! They get back from their holiday on 9th’.
They are in the diary for Friday 6th, as I type.
*Cool?
He was red hot, when once he forgot to turn up at all!
In sixteen years, Georgie has only once failed to turn up for a scheduled job. That’s not a bad record but it was certainly once too often. He could do nothing but apologise profusely and show his utter remorse for his mistake.
He was forgiven and this customer is still one of his employers.
*He must be careful not to splash Jo in the street. If this happens then he should be prepared for a number of different responses.
Some Jos will laugh it off whilst others will want to take him to court, and everything in between.
There are other ways that Georgie may be extremely cool..
He is an educator.
He is an entertainer.
His audiences want to learn and to enjoy, simultaneously.
Georgie feels he has a duty to come up with the goods. Without being ostentatious, he can gain mutual pleasure, by playing the part expected of him.
George does not make a charge and does not expect any applause.
He is more than happy to be an entertainer, should the opportunity arise. I’ve already explained why his peripheral vision is important to him. If he knows that Jo and his young lad have stopped in the street, specifically to watch him in full flow, then he makes his show as interesting as he can. So far as Jo is concerned, Georgie hasn’t yet noticed them standing there, so in their eyes the performance will be spontaneous.
But, if Georgie has turned to face Jo, before his flamboyant demonstration, then he’d just be showing off and they’d be on their way to seek out real talent, elsewhere.
In this case, if he’d dropped a rag or jerked his squeegee, he’d have appeared to be totally incompetent and a proper loser.
His fanning with the blade has to be smooth and easy on the eye. If he throws his washer into his bucket, especially from a reasonable height, then he must hit the target, for maximum effect. In the event that he should miss then he needs to run a commentary, to cover up the bad throw.
“That’s the second time I’ve missed. Last time was in late June, 1997.”
However, the likelihood will be that it will have hit the target.
“I wish my putts were that good on Saturday mornings!”
Another couple may have stopped by now. So, the audience will have doubled in size. He’ll give the rag a flick, at a cobweb. They’ll like that. That may be a little 'show-offy' but the audience needn’t know that!
He didn’t advertise his performance in advance, did he?
He didn’t insist that the twenty-five spectators now standing there must stop and watch, did he?
Some of them will still be unaware that Georgie knows they are watching.
Finally, he would slowly step down the ladder and give the crowd a look of surprise. He’d show his amazement that there are so many of them in the audience. He would not accept money, as a round of applause usually does adequately.
“Sorry, Georgie. I got a bit carried away there. I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer.”
However small the show was, it will hopefully have provided Jo with a modicum of light relief, as he was strolling down the street, carrying out his own business. His young fella may have a new hero in Georgie. He gave him a turn with his squeegee, which was a giggle and it made the boy very happy. It made Georgie happy, too, even though he was at work.
Life is too short to be miserable.
I have already mentioned that cosmetics really do work, sometimes.
Georgie frequently arrives on site before a customer has put on her war paint. There are times when he has to question whether or not the person he saw first thing in the morning was the same one that left the premises an hour later? It’s amazing what a lady can accomplish in the space of ten minutes, sat in front of her dressing table mirror. It may be an amazing transformation from one of the ugly sisters to Coco, the clown.
With a fella, when he gets up in the mornings, he will look much the same as when he leaves the house later. He may be more alert by then and he may have had a shave, brushed his hair and cleaned his teeth. He might also be wearing a suit but he will still be recognizable, as the person who was seen at the breakfast bar, on Georgie’s arrival.
Vanity is not a trait that does a lot for Georgie. He likes to meet his customer, rather than somebody else in disguise.
Some windows shimmer more than others.
The glass used during the period when old villas were built in ‘NZ’ have blemishes to show their age but they wear a sheen, or a brilliant lustre, which more than covers up their imperfections. They are a pleasure for Georgie to behold. Hopefully, also for his paying customer.
On the other hand, there are some panes of glass that don’t look too special when Georgie arrives and unfortunately show little improvement when he leaves. What surprises him is how differently individuals react to the results of his efforts.
There may be two customers, owning identical properties and for whom Georgie carries out the same procedures over a similar length of time. Despite his consistency, he may well receive two opposite responses for his toil.
Customer one, 'Nora Bone', on her return home from a day’s shopping with friends, may greet Georgie with,
“You’re slower than the other man I used to have, and more expensive. I thought you would have been long gone by now. I hope you didn’t upset Fido (the dog, not her husband). Did you remember to do the skylights? Leave me your invoice and I’ll get my partner to post the money to you, when he gets round to it. I’ll be in touch if I need your services again.”
Customer two, Rosie-Anne Happy, on her return from a hard day at work, might have a totally different outlook.
“Georgie. They look lovely! What would I do without you? Hasn’t the weather been gorgeous today? Would you like a cold drink, or a cuppa? You must be tired out. What a marvellous job you’ve done! I’ve just been to the bank to get some cash. I hope you don’t mind being paid in cash? Are you sure sixty-five is enough? I don’t mind paying you a bit more if you think it’s time to put the price up. You’ll ring me, as usual, when they’re due again, won’t you? That’s brilliant because it saves me worrying about doing them myself. You and your wife offer a marvellous service.”
I realise we’re all different but I reckon Georgie would rather deal with Rosie-Anne than with Bl**dy Nora?
Well, if he felt the urge to go the extra mile it wouldn’t be for Ms Bone and if he had to off-load a customer there would be no contest between the two of them.
“Goodbye Nora. It’s been nice knowing you!”
April Fool’s Day
On April 1st 2008 Georgie was doing one of his regular garage jobs again, as the first and third Tuesday of each month seemed to suit both parties. He thought it would be an ideal opportunity to carry out an experiment. The hypothesis was that people would be likely to react in different ways to having an 'April Fool' played on them, early on a Tuesday morning, mid-autumn in New Zealand. At worst Georgie would receive a punch on the nose but hopefully not. If that should have been the case then he would have had to accept the hint that Jo did not appreciate his attempt to interact, at that time of day. He would, under those trying circumstances, take the matter no further and would just accept that it was a bit risky and unnecessary but, "Nothing ventured / nothing gained, eh?"
The first gentleman just frowned, with otherwise a totally blank expression, as though he did not understand at all. At that point, Georgie was uncertain as to how Kiwis, in general, would react to April Fools' Day jesting. He reconsidered his motive for carrying out his experiment.
Perhaps this was just a British tradition and only Poms may have an inkling of what Georgie was on about. This was to be a random test, so identifying the participant in advance was totally out of the question.
Having received a nil reaction from his first candidate he had second thoughts, that maybe the idea was a bit stupid, so perhaps he shouldn’t even bother continuing with the experiment.
After weighing things up in his own mind he decided to give it one more try, not wishing to be defeated by that initial, insipid response.
“G’day, Sir,”
“G’day. How are you?” the guy responded, as Georgie held the door open for him. He was moving pretty fast, so didn’t wait to hear Georgie’s reply to his question.
“Not bad, thanks,” said Georgie but Jo was at the till by then.
When this gentleman had done his business at the counter he took a diversion and visited the loo, presumably to do some more business in there.
Eventually, he reappeared and made a beeline from the gents’ to the exit, where George again opened the glass door, on which he was still working.
“Did you realise your van’s got a flat tyre, Mate?”
“Oh, No! That’s all I need.”
“Only joking, Gov. It’s April Fool’s Day!”
“You Bastard! Nice one!” and off he went, highly amused.
That was better. Georgie had made someone smile at only his second attempt.
“Hi, there. Did you know your tyre was flat, Madam?”
“What?”
“Yours is the red Toyota?”
“Yes.”
“Your back tyre. It’s flat.”
She turned to go back out to take a closer look.
“April Fool!”
Again, the reaction was favourable. She gave Georgie a friendly tap on his shoulder as she went to pay her bill.
"I fell for that one, didn’t I?” she cheerfully admitted.
I won’t detail each example, for fear of you falling off to sleep, but the results of the survey were as follows: -
Sample cases: 10
After which, Georgie had moved away from the door and was working on the big pane behind the freezer, which contained the ice for local fishermen and for those hosting big social gatherings. The experiment had therefore run its course.
Positive reactions: 6.
On each of these occasions Georgie felt that he had enhanced someone’s start to the day.
Negative reactions: 2
On both occasions Georgie had probably caused a little discomfort or embarrassment. He remorsefully says, “Sorry.”
(That’s in case these two people should ever read this book.) 😀 None of the above: 2
These victims had apparently been totally unaffected by Georgie’s intrusion. The ultimate conclusion was that the experiment had been worthwhile.
60% of the field had received positive benefits from the exercise.
20% of the field may have been temporarily adversely affected but are unlikely to have any permanent detrimental effects from the exercise.
20% of the field seemed to have been almost unaware of Georgie’s presence at the door. They would not have known what day of the week it was. The word ‘humour’ was in neither of their vocabularies. We’ll call these two, 'neutrals'. My dictionary says, ‘Neither positive or negative … inert’.
Georgie says, “Sad cases!”
“One of the customers at the garage pushed to the front of the queue and asked the guy behind the counter for $5 worth of gas. In response, the attendant took his money, farted and handed him a receipt.” 😐
So, here’s the plan.
Ahead of the said date Georgie intends to have a tee shirt prepared. On its back, in big letters will be FREE WINDOW CLEANS but on the front will be APRIL FOOL. When he turns round that will wipe the smile off a few faces. Again, he risks a clip around his ear but he has another one on the other side of his head, if that should happen.
‘He who dares, wins, Rodney.’
‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’
‘Success is only achievable by those who are prepared to fail.’
(I’ve read that somewhere!)
If all fails and nobody has been amused, so what?
The sun will still rise over Gisborne tomorrow.
Window Cleaning Technique … A Piece of Fruit
Cleaning glass is easy, if you’ve been doing it long enough
Those, who cannot spare the time, are bound to find it tough
Old villas have old-fashioned glass that doesn’t just shine, it moves
The sash slides up and down, with thick rope in the grooves
"Didn’t you know that already?"
This part of the process will take the same amount of time to accomplish, however sh*tty the glass might be to start with. Thornby has to go through the same motions to reach the ragging stage. Rubbing hard uses a little more energy than rubbing gently, but will take a similar amount of time to achieve.
Blading some paint spots will take a bit longer but twice as long? I don’t think so!
Much as time is money, this doesn’t obsess him. If his timepiece says it is 4-30p.m. and he reckons he has about half-an-hour’s cleaning left before wending his way home, he won’t become too upset if he doesn’t finish until ten past five. Big deal!
He’s not charging Jo by the hour but to do the best job he can for him. If necessary, he’ll take until twenty past five. His beer isn’t going anywhere. It will still be in the fridge when he gets home. Millie certainly won’t have drunk it for him. He is no longer working for a boss, who doesn’t pay him after five o’clock. Next time he does the same house, he may well do it twenty minutes quicker, because he might be on a roll. He’ll have the same financial reward in his pocket, so he has learned to take the rough with the smooth.
It’s Mrs Thornby who watches Neighbours at five o’clock, not Mr.
One of those is moving house. A thrifty way to get onto the property ladder is to buy some land, then a house and unite the two at a later stage. Usually this union will take place when Jo is fast asleep. The driver of a big truck, with flashing lights and a team of workmates, carrying an even bigger house, will cautiously shift the second-hand building onto its new location.
“The burglars here are pretty serious,” Georgie thought to himself.
Here’s a tip.
No! Firstly here’s a word definition, so that we are comparing apples with apples.
"What’s he on about?” I hear you mutter.
Georgie’s understanding of a sash window used to be 'one that opens by sliding vertically up and down, operated by means of a fat piece of sisal'.
That has changed for him in recent years, since virtually becoming a New Zealander. From listening to Kiwis, including one or two involved in the window game, a sash now has a much wider meaning for Thornby and includes any window that opens, whether on hinges, ropes or whatever.
sash (i.) n. scarf worn over one shoulder or round waist esp. as part of uniform or insignia .
sash (ii.) n. frame holding window glass (this is it) usu. made to slide up and down in grooves.
When Georgie does an old villa for somebody the best method is for him to start work on the inside of the windows. The reason being that if there is any seepage of surplus water through the old sash windows, it is most likely to be from inside, running down the outside of the panes.
He works on percentages. This is not always going to be the case but the ‘LOA’ concurs with Georgie’s theory. That means he will be able to remove most of these runs on his routine, outside lap of the building.
I like to think I’m being thorough, rather than finicky, in stating this trick of the trade.
If he has been asked to do just the insides then he uses the damp cloth method. That way he reduces the odds of runs occurring down the outsides, by using running water, as he would with the washer. Similarly, if there is a crack in a pane of glass, he still washes it carefully but uses the same method to avoid seepage through the crack.
(George first heard that line at a positive thinking lecture in Cheltenham, back in 1973.)
He just did not realise that it would take quite so long to pass that thought on to someone else! 😉
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Physical and Mental Challeges
The Thornbys don’t do things by halves, as they go about their duties
Here are several stories and two of these are beauties
Aches and pains are rife now as they’ve reached past middle age
And you can see how Georgie thinks now, with a whinge on every page
If Georgie were overweight then he would have to work even harder. He’d have to carry those extra kilos up and down his ladder. They’d be with him from one window to the next, from his van to the back door of each building, up the decking steps at one end and down at the other. If he climbed onto a roof, those extra kilos would accompany him, like carrying the weight of a rucksack. As he shifted his bulk into the van for each smoko, the flab would join him.
If he were a more frequent and regular smoker he may experience a distinct shortage of breath after lengthy periods of exertion. Maybe he will at some stage, but he hasn’t yet.
Every cough, on average, would add a few seconds to the length of his working day.
“George? What are you on about? We all know what a cough is”.
At one end of the scale there’s the little tickle. Then there’s the frog in the throat. At the other end is the persistently aggravating croak that won’t go away and ultimately there’s the one that shakes the building, cracks a few windows and requires the use of a rag and maybe a trip to the bathroom, to clean up afterwards.
He does a tremendous number of knee-bends and arm-stretches. He could compete with the most enthusiastic troupe of Okie-Kokie dancers, at the end of a long night on the dance floor.
I would like to refer to one job on Georgie’s books, which is not quite his biggest. It takes him into a third day to finish, with only occasional ten-minute breaks to sustain him.
Forget the window cleaning for the time being.
Without cleaning the glass, it would probably take at least half a day just to pay a visit to all the windows of this mansion.
I do not jest.
To move his ladder from beneath one set of first floor windows to the next, to re-position it securely, then to climb back up to the top and back down again would take Georgie at least one minute but probably longer. He certainly could not safely do it in less than that.
Multiply that by thirty-odd, then add the additional time spent inside the three-sided greenhouse, which encloses the covered swimming pool. Its fourth side is the exterior wall of the reception area, breakfast room and the kitchen, which is approximately the entire length of the Thornby’s own dwelling.
There’s nothing boring about being a ‘WC’.
Now go back to the house.
“Oh! We’re still counting windows, are we?”
“Yes, we are, Try to keep up with the readers, Ron.”
If it is a dry day, erect your ladder and climb onto the south and east-facing slate roofs.
Then, carefully approach each pair of windows. There are sixteen small panes per pair and probably between twenty and thirty pairs. Be careful not to damage the roof tiles, any more than they have been already. On a wet day you will need to approach these panes from within. To do this you will have to park the left cheek of your backside on the left sill of each, in turn, to reach outside to clean the glass of the right sash with your left arm, then vice versa. Fortunately, each pair does have twin sash windows, so they are accessible from within. It is still preferable to clean them from outside, when dry. If your arms are as short as Georgie’s you will actually need to stand on each sill to enable you to clean the far corners, at the top of each. There is however one set of four pairs that do not open. You will have to get up to those from out on the roof. At some stage during the two or three days, pick a dry period, to do them safely but don’t be negligent by forgetting them.
“That took a while!”
“I know, Ron, but don’t think I’ve finished yet.”
Go into the ballroom and fully extend your ladder before moving it to each of the eight sets of windows in there. There are sixteen rungs of your ladder to climb up and no fewer to climb back down. You need to maintain a steady tempo when moving up and down your ladder. Too slowly and the job will take you a fortnight to accomplish. Too fast and you will be in danger of making a small trip but a very significant fall, which would probably end your career as a ‘PWC’.
You need to mount the winding staircase, which leads to the mezzanine above and to the first floor rooms. You must then enter each of the eight bedrooms and several bathrooms to access their inside windows. Each one requires the use of your stepladder, so take it with you. I forewarn you that just one bedroom alone has six sets of colonial-style windows. It also has a large balcony, which has its own four sets, with fifteen panes in each. Another bedroom, although not with ensuite, has eight window frames but there are only twelve panes in each of those. Yes, you’ll need your steps in there, too.
On the ground floor, from the ballroom, wend your way into the dining area, which has a massive table with twelve upholstered chairs. This leads through to the lounge, which also has a surface area equivalent to Mr and Mrs Thornby’s house, in total. The patio, leading from this room, is the same size as the balcony above it. Whilst in each room move your stepladder from one window to the next, climb it, dismount it and remember that when you do them for real, your bucket will need to go with you each time as well.
“Go, Ronnie!”
Georgie was in full flow at these premises one lovely, sunny morning. He was on the high balcony and his O-level English Literature syllabus came to mind, latent for forty-odd years. The scene was set and he couldn’t resist this opportunity, however stupid he’d look to those below him. He just could not help himself. He knew he risked embarrassment, as there was an extensive audience below him. There were numerous contractors, hard at their respective labours, as well as the ground staff, busy pruning the roses and the hedges.
Georgie yelled, at the top of his voice.
“Romeo! Romeo! Wherefore Art Thou, Romeo?”
The volume was far greater than the bold lettering suggests!
For a brief period all ongoing work ceased.
Within seconds, thank goodness, the status quo had resumed.
I may have forgotten to mention some of the windows but now imagine the additional time Georgie would need to actually clean all the glass, once he’d managed to reach the windows, which is all he’s done so far.
Add to that his travelling time and costs. Twenty-five minutes each way and three visits. He constantly needs breaks, so he may add another forty minutes to each day for those.
I am merely trying to give you some idea of the physical work involved, although thankfully this job is not typical of many others.
Well, that is Spring in the UK!
“Not again, Corbett!”
This tickled Georgie, on his way to work this morning. He heard it on the radio.
‘This new immigrant to New Zealand had bought a big farm. Even though he’d never farmed back in Ireland he was out standing in his field.’
(Take it or leave it. It makes no difference to me.)
Many customers are very thoughtful and kind. Today, Georgie returned from one of his many regular, retired-farmer-couple cleans, laden with freshly picked mushrooms. He had not expected anyone to be at the house on his arrival. There was a car in the garage but he still presumed he was alone. He’d made a token rap on the door, with no immediate answer.
As you know, variety is the spice of life, so on this occasion Georgie kicked off his work at one of the problem windows, situated at the back of the house. Last time he was here he’d started at the patio windows and went clockwise. He was now setting off in reverse because he didn’t want to feel giddy.
Without the plant life in front of this window it would have been a very straightforward task to clean it. What created a problem was the rose-bed in front of it, which was literally a pain in the rear end. Georgie was equipped with his ‘A-frame’ stepladder and knew that he had all the time in the world, as it was only two-ish and it was his last job of the week. It was outsides only, so he reckoned two hours maximum and then home to do some writing and maybe have a few practice swings in his golf net. He felt relaxed, so the only mental preparation he would need for his golf match the following morning was not to be over-confident. He learned during his years of training never to give a sucker an even break, meaning never to go easy on his opponents. Never feel sorry for the opposition because that’s when they’ll grab you by the balls and send you packing, with your tail between your legs, beating you fair and square.
As Georgie was doing his utmost to avoid being cut to pieces by a prize rose, he realised that he did have company, after all.
“How did you creep in unnoticed?”
“Hi, Mrs Giles. I saw your car in the shed but after tapping on your door a couple of times I presumed you’d both gone out, to buy a new tractor.”
“Sure, Georgie. Now pull the other one!”
Georgie had a bit of banter going with the Giles, so could afford to be a little bit cheeky.
“I must have been hanging out the washing,” she said.
“Would you like to take home a few mushrooms, Georgie?”
This deeper voice had come from behind him.
“G’day, Mr Giles.”
Georgie hadn’t noticed Carl at first.
“You must have both been ignoring me. Yes please, so long as I don’t have to pick them.”Fifteen minutes later, and three or four windows further along the west-facing side of the house, a large saucepan of mushrooms arrived, as promised.
“Give the billy back to Betty at bridge next Monday, Georgie.”
“Thanks a lot, Carl.”
“You’re welcome, George.”
Betty apologised for not having tidied up the rosebush before Georgie’s arrival but he assured her that it had not caused him too many problems. He didn’t show her the blood streaming down the back of his leg, or his eye that was hanging on his cheek.
They talked a bit of bridge, ran a few people down and then Georgie completed his work and took his dogs by surprise by arriving home early.
Here comes the longest ‘Ronnie’ story of the entire script. It’s now or never, if he really wants to side-track again.
He does, apparently.
The following information is very incidental and is only just worth a mention. These are personal details but if they are to be included in the script, they could not be written anywhere else.
Much of Georgie’s activity causes constant chafing, downstairs. He walks a lot, he’s continually up and down ladders and he relaxes by traipsing round the golf course or by playing tennis. These movements of his involve a great deal of walking, even running at times. There are occasions when he needs to attend to his chafing and to do so he uses one of three creams. They are all prescribed for him by his health professional (‘GP’).
The first is just a white cream, to be rubbed in, on the areas surrounding the chafing. This may feasibly be between the buttocks, the breasts (which fortunately is not a problem for Georgie) or maybe under the arms. Usually these areas become red, itchy and painful and are generally caused by friction, through constant rubbing.
The second is for fungal infection rather than just chafing. You don’t even need to be active to need treatment for it. Maybe cleaning windows in all climates, wearing shoes well past their used-by dates and working in socks that have become damp have all attributed to Georgie suffering from athlete’s foot or in his case, feet. This is also a white cream and is administered to the affected areas, generally between the toes of each foot but sometimes also on the soles of his feet.
The third cream is transparent, you don’t need much on your finger per application and it should be carefully applied to the affected area, twice a day to help relieve the symptoms, over the period of a couple of days but you must not push your finger in too far.
Remember that we have just made reference to Farmer and Mrs Giles.
(That may be a bit subtle for some of you readers.)
It gets rather more personal.
Despite having his normal routine, before he sets off for work in the mornings there are times when Georgie may have left home without having a dump first.
Perhaps he had to leave home earlier than usual for an extra big day? He may have unwisely pressed the snooze button once too often, before getting out of bed, and was consequently a bit short of time on that particular day.
Either reason will have increased the likelihood that Georgie may be taken unawares, or caught short, later on in the day.
If he has work in town, no worries!
There are public conveniences at several locations around town and George knows them all. It’s easy for him to slope away mid-job (what’s funny?) to do his business. Two or three of these very modern conveniences will even allow him to listen to music, whilst engaged.
'What the world needs now is love, sweet love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of’, etc.
‘Don’t look so sad. I know it’s over.'
' Lay your head upon my pillow’
'I wonder who’s keeping me waiting’, etc.
They’ll be compiling a TTTT soon. (Top-ten toilet tunes.)
Not only do you have a melody for your entertainment, and to help you to relax, but you only need to wash your hands and the toilet flushes automatically. If you are in a rush, don’t worry. As you leave the premises, the flush will operate automatically, as the door opens.
On entry to these premises a pre-recorded, usually American voice, will tell you to lock the door and that you have ten minutes to perform, after which it will unlock itself. That’s OK, so long as you have faith that it will work and that you don’t have an upset stomach that may require you to be in there for any longer.
I compare the experience with being alone in a lift. Nobody wants to spend all day in such a confined space but both locations offer a welcome, short period of time for privacy and meditation. But, if there is a mechanical fault in either, you might suddenly realise that you do suffer from claustrophobia, after all. In both these cubicles there are buttons. In a lift, you press the one that indicates the floor at which you would like to exit, or you may open and close the door, if stationary.
In a modern toilet, you may hopefully be able to open, close, lock or unlock the door. But, in there, however many buttons you choose to press you will remain on one level. There is another button that unreels two squares of tissue at your convenience, for your convenience, should you need to use them for any reason.
If you happen to have taken a baby in there with you, you may change its nappy on a foldaway tray. Georgie has never needed to use this facility but it’s nice for him to know it’s in there. He does have grandchildren but they live on the other side of the world, so he seldom takes them to work with him. You don’t actually need to press anything to obtain liquid soap, to run water or to dry your hands. There are even diagrams, to show you how to wash your hands, in case you should be remiss enough to have forgotten that skill.
Just look out when it does flush. It’s not unlike the small cubicle on an aeroplane, although there’s a bit more room in there and the loo is more likely to overflow than to suck you out into space.
"Why the inclusion of this very base topic? Of what interest is it really to the readers? Where is Ronnie heading with this subject matter?”
The author is merely trying to detail all conceivable scenarios. He is a great believer in things happening for good reason. He is just pursuing his current thought processes.
You have the author’s permission to skip straight to the next chapter, if you so wish.
But for those of you who may enjoy lavatorial humour, read on, by all means.
“OK, Ron. Carry on. Only those who really want to know are still reading this piece.”
Not all George’s childhood memories are pleasant ones.
As a kid, living in Maidstone, Kent, Georgie had a paper-round. He was obliged to get up at the crack of dawn and then to cycle to the far end of Old Tovil Road, to Wells’ newsagents. He would routinely put his papers in order and would dutifully proceed to distribute them around the neighbourhood. The entire round may only have taken him three-quarters-of-an-hour to complete, if all went according to plan. Every now and again though, at some stage during his labour he would be caught short. Even during that brief period of time the need would inconveniently arise for him to have to respond to the call of nature. When this happened, which was probably at least twice in seven mornings, he had four options.
1. He could speed up and hope to finish his deliveries, then cycle home as fast as his legs could pump the pedals.
2. He could ask one of his customers if he would mind him using his loo.
3. He could have shat himself on the spot,
or
4. He could have jumped onto his bike, sprinted to the public loo in South Park and then have returned, in restored comfort, to either Park Way or Loose Road to finish his job (the paper-round).
You will be at ease, as was the author, to know that he never had to use the third option, but it was frequently touch and go!
A more recent close call may be worthy of a mention and it sort of fits in here. When he turned up at one venue for work he knew it would not be long before he’d need to visit the loo, to perform a number two.
“This should have been a poem.”
On this occasion, he was not particularly phased about needing to use the toilet because he was a regular visitor to this very spacious house and to the extremely privately located latrine, at the far end of the building, situated off the laundry. He had timed his run to perfection, so that his sphincter muscles were relaxing as he finished cleaning the aforementioned toilet window. He then just had to enter the building, through the laundry door and all would be hunky-dory.
But, as he rounded the doorframe and went to push open the adjacent lavatory door, he read the hand-written sign hanging on it.
‘OUT OF ORDER! DO NOT USE!’
“Sh*t!” was certainly the operative word.
Georgie tightened not only the muscles surrounding his anus but every other muscle in his very uncomfortable body. He knew there was another lavatory, halfway down the lengthy passage (no pun intended) but he did not imagine that it was within reach before the inevitable happened. He could not have run there. He could not have walked there, at speed. It was a series of very controlled body movements that got him there, which would have been hilarious to witness and even funnier to watch on video, with slow motion repeats. Thisjourney, of less than fifteen metres, must have taken two or three minutes to accomplish and had it been twenty metres the story would undoubtedly have had a very different ending, at George’s expense.
Why on Earth has the author allowed Ronnie to divulge these extremely private, intimate few moments of Georgie’s life?
The answer to that is simple. This is an honest account of an experience that each and every one of you will have undergone, at some point during your life. You will all be able to empathise with George, looking at these potentially embarrassing occasions.
This is a selfless admission by him to help lighten your day.
It’s funny (strange) how funny (comical) other people’s misfortunes can be!
"Now, back to where you were, Ron, if you haven’t forgotten where that was.”
Sometimes, during the numerous years of running his business, Georgie has found it necessary to pop into town, at short notice. After forty-odd years he has not yet found a cure for this weakness of his, first self-diagnosed, as a paper boy. On his return from town he would not need to lie to his customer about his temporary absence but would casually evade the precise issue, if asked.
“Yes, Bamber, I had made a pretty early start but I had a bit of business to do in town, so needed to slip away for a few minutes.”
Even Ronnie is almost too embarrassed to divulge the next pieces of information but he thinks his readers should know.
Only twice (not bad, all things considered) has Georgie been unable to conveniently reach a loo in time. Never, since being a ‘WC’) has he had to endure the ultimate shame of crapping his pants.
He is certain that any evidence, in the unlikely event that it had ever been found, would not have been traceable to him and he is absolutely certain that his actions would hardly be worthy of subsequent investigation, or that he had broken any civil laws.
On the first occasion, Georgie had left home for work quite early. He knew that his first window clean of the day was at a site that provided adequate provision for him to use a loo, in absolute privacy, if that was later going to be the order of the day. Therefore, at such an early hour he had no need to go through the strained motions at home before setting off for work at this property. The owners always went into town early to prepare the day’s work, at their respective businesses. Usually, any specific instructions for Georgie were made clear to him just before Mr. Flusher left home. This did not apply today, or very often at all, because Georgie knew the job inside out and it was merely a case of routinely carrying out the task in hand. Besides, today he was only doing the outsides, as the house cleaner had offered to do the inside ones just the week before it had been booked in by Millie.
“Good on ‘er”, was Georgie’s reaction at the time. He had always considered this one to be a big enough task, without having to do inside and out, at each visit.
So, at about midway through the cleaning of these windows Georgie felt the urge coming on, when he may need to restore himself to his previous, personal comfort i.e. he wanted a crap.
It was only then he remembered that access to the inside of the building was not being granted to him that day.“Was the sleep-out unlocked?” he asked himself.
“No!” was the silent reply. as he wiggled the door handle, to no avail.“Is there an outside loo?”
“No!” he heard again.
“Or is there one off the porch?”
“No!” George knew those answers before he asked the questions, rhetorically. This was getting very serious.
“How far from the nearest public loo was he?”
“Too far.”
This large residence was at least ten minutes from any other sign of civilisation at all, which actually turned out to be a blessing. It allowed Georgie, as a last resort, to revert back to his days of being a boy scout.
That is to say, he was nearly always prepared. In the event that he was not, for any unforeseen reason, he was always able to improvise. He’d carry out an emergency contingency plan, at short notice. He had no other choice, at this point in time. He turned the clock back to his primitive, camping days. Just he and Mother Nature were present.
He was desperate and had used up all other options.
Behind a shed, surrounded by overgrowth, he squatted and did his business and covered it with leaves, like a wild animal. It was good that the Flushers had big dogs. Inevitably, the canines would have been blamed for leaving deposits, all around the manor. Hopefully therefore, Georgie’s would not be identifiable, if ever found.
On the other occasion, somehow also worthy of mention, the same helpless feeling became evident to him but much later in his schedule. It was during Georgie’s last task of that particular day. He had taken on a bit of work in the big smoke (this was years ago) and the house in question was unoccupied at the time. Unfortunately for George, it was not unlocked as well.
He became desperate with very little prior warning. He had no other choice but to squat, almost immediately, in the front garden of this town house. He would never have made it so far as the rear garden, which was actually more open to Jo anyway. There was consolation for Georgie in that the frontage of this property was well fenced and a large tree was situated between the house and the road itself. He had sensibly elected to position himself behind a tree, rather than in the middle of the open lawn.
Further consolation was that the new owners had not arrived home ten minutes before they actually did, eight minutes later.
Can you imagine it?
“Hi there! I could have sworn I heard a dog whimpering in there. I was just going to call Animal Rescue.”
“One of my rags blew over in this direction somewhere. You wouldn’t have believed the gust of wind! I think it might have been a twister. Did you see it?”
“I was just looking for golf balls in this bit of rough ground, under this tree.”
So, twice in sixteen years isn’t bad, eh?
There are two occasions, when vulnerability is total. One is when lying supine on the dentist’s chair, mouth wide open, staring at the ceiling.
The other is mid-poo.
“Thank you very much, Ronnie! Are you sure you’ve finished, for the time being?”
Not quite, Georgie, although I'm stealing a joke from years ago. If you've heard it yourself, move on! 😎
Between cleans, mid-afternoon on a scorching February day, George fancied an impromptu treat. He just happened to see an ice-cream vendor in a pull-off, at the side of the road. I would normally have called it a lay-by but to Kiwis that expression does not have the same meaning as to we Brits. Here, in New Zealand I think it means paying for something by instalments, while the shop in question takes care of the item, until the sum total is reached. Now, Georgie and Mrs Thornby had been playing tennis for three hours on the previous Sunday afternoon. Their opponents had been considerably younger than they were and the outcome was defeat for the Thornbys. This had not come in three straight sets and they had put up a meaningful fight. They realised the foolishness of their ways during the whole of the following week.
As many of you will know, at fifty-odd the body does not do quite what it was able to do thirty years ago. To say the least, there certainly appeared to be a different reaction from the joints and muscle groups that were directly involved in this marathon match.
In other words, Georgie was as rigid as a corpse and walking like an aged gentleman, as he approached the ice-cream vendor.
“I’d love one of those cornets, with a stick of chocolate in it, please.”
“Do you mean a ninety-nine?”
“Yes please. That’s the one.”
“Crushed nuts?” asked the vendor.
Scroll down.
“No, replied Georgie. “I’ve got blisters on my feet and I’m a bit stiff.” 😀
CHAPTER THIRTY
Making Friends, or Not.
Meeting many strangers is par for Georgie’s course
A customer, his wife, their neighbours, or a horse
To create a good impression, which he always tries to do
That works with nearly everyone but not with one or two
You go, Ron!
Georgie sometimes has company while at work, often of the four-legged variety. Dogs and cats are frequently pleased to see him, or so he likes to believe. At one of his regular two-monthly cleans the owners have no pets but George knows that within two or three minutes of his arrival an aged, overweight Golden Labrador will appear from next door. He’ll always bring a small gift with him. This may be a stick, a ball or even an old bone, recently retrieved from a secret hiding place. Yesterday, it was a twig.
Their conversations have their limitations but there is definitely a mutual empathy, or understanding between them.
“Hi, Mate! I thought you must be due soon. Long time, no see!”
“What have you brought me, Big Boy?”
“Here’s a twig, Georgie. I was going to bring you the whole tree but its roots were too deep. I’d have needed a front end loader to shift it.”
“I can’t talk for long, Goldie, so why don’t you sit on the decking at the back and wait for me to get round to you. Then we’ll have a chat. You should be able to find a warm spot. It’s fairly sunny again this morning.”
Off he’d go.
For ages Georgie presumed that this fine-looking animal (emphasis on animal) belonged to his customers but this wasn’t so.
In their words:
“He’s his own man. He belongs to the couple next door but they are never in. He’s loyal to anybody who is prepared to give him two minutes of his day. He’s a big lump. He spends more time here than at home. You’ve probably noticed that he seldom comes round empty handed. He’ll always have an offering, which is a token of his affection. If you throw his ball or a stick for him to fetch, he’ll give the impression that he doesn’t want to play, but in due course he’ll bring it back to you and will expect you to oblige by chucking it again. It is a game of fetch but played at his speed rather than yours … 'Delayed fetch' ...”
Ron: -
At one farmhouse, on the main road out of town, a black Lab shows up but seldom when Georgie first gets there. He lets Georgie start working then waits for him to go to the van for his first caffeine fix. He has the body of a Lab, the eyes of a Spaniel and the memory of an elephant. Georgie once flicked a piece of crust from the van window, vaguely in his direction and that was all it took. He may only see him four-monthly but he’s there every time, at Georgie’s first smoko of the day.
“Those crackers were pretty tasty last time, Georgie. Mind you, I’ll eat anything you throw at me and you know that I’ll sit here as long as it takes.”
Cats are not so amicable, in his experience. Their natures are totally different, one from another. Every so often George will meet a friendly little cat, which does show a genuine interest in what he’s doing and appears to relish having some humane company. On the other hand, it’s only very occasionally that he’ll come across a dog that is not chummy.
OK. Cats are nosey and most are curious about what Georgie is up to. They’ll follow his ragging motions from the opposite side of the glass but within thirty seconds they’ll have given up and b*ggered off, to catch mice. So many cats are far too wary. Scaredy cats, we used to call them.
“Hello Pu...”, but before he’s finished saying ‘Puss’ they’ll be gone, like a flash of lightning.
No fun.
Don’t get me wrong. A friendly cat is often a very friendly cat. You can’t beat a feline with a bit of personality. The trouble is that nine out of ten don’t even give Georgie the time of day. They’re a bit like people, who have nothing of real importance to do but never have any spare time either. Georgie always has to fit into their busy schedules whereas genuinely busy people, or dogs, are always prepared to re-arrange their programmes to suit Georgie. It was suggested to Thornby once that if he wants a favour done, and done well, he should ask the busiest person he knows and not the one with most time on his hands. He now believes that, too.
Dogs have only bitten Georgie twice. One was a German Shepherd, Fritz and the other a Jack Russell, JR.
The snooty and very short, lady owner of this property was going out. She was also very shortly going to become a one-off customer. She was toffee-nosed, a rarity Georgie had found, since being in New Zealand. She had a double-barrelled surname but Georgie can’t remember either barrell. I’ll have to make one up.
“Do you mind dogs?”
"No problem, Mrs Harrington-Smythe. I have an understanding with canines. If they don’t bite me then I don’t bite them.”
Georgie didn’t know what was coming.
“What’s his name, Madam?”
For some reason Georgie felt this to be a rare occasion when Christian names should be left out.
"She’s called Alice. Leave your invoice when you’ve finished, in an envelope, in the mailbox.”
Then off she went.
Georgie did not feel relaxed. Neither did he have any envelopes with him. His usual tactic was to leave behind an invoice, on completion of a job, with a brief note of gratitude, with a four-line semi-humorous piece of poetry. Mrs H-S was not a usual customer, so she would be receiving an envelope by mail, in due course, certainly without a poem 😒 . It would be worth the cost of the stamp, not to be friendly.
“She started it!”
Firstly, it was very seldom that customers would totally ignore his attempts to be friendly. A polite chuckle usually does the trick. That had upset him straight away. Secondly, he did not relish being spoken to like he was a piece of poo, by an even bigger piece of poo. That offended him, too. Thirdly, Mrs Snot had quibbled at his price for the job, despite him thinking he was being a bit generous. He was wishing he’d doubled it and that she’d sent him packing. He wasn’t being judgemental but having observed the size of the Harrington-Smythe residence and her Mercedes in the garage, he took umbrage at her reaction to the modest fee he had quoted. Fourthly, there were some very-tricky-to-get-to windows that would require him to use his stretchy-pole, which he didn’t like doing very much on account of his own safety and not doing the job properly. Fifthly, it was because Alice thought Georgie was wielding a weapon, when he later came back from his van with his pole, that she bit his arm and drew blood.
e instantly renamed Alice: 'Malice'.
Reluctantly, Georgie still did a good job for Mrs Snot and she duly made her one-and-only-ever payment, following a telephone call reminder from Millie, two months later.
How wealthy people get rich!
Georgie still has a nasty taste in his mouth. Hang on a minute! I’m just going to get a mint to suck.
Malice had bitten Georgie but nevertheless, he still liked her more than he did her owner.
The other occasion was more Georgie’s fault than that of the dog. For once, he had gone to work in a bit of a mood and JR must have sensed it. I think he too had jumped out from the wrong side of his kennel that morning. Whatever his name was, Georgie re-named this ankle-biter, Nipper. He was yappy but was a real character, who had never before done Georgie any harm. They actually knew each other quite well through frequent, previous visits.
This little terrier had taken root, in front of a low window.
Georgie knew that before either of them had grown much older he was going to have to ask Nipper to vacate his bit of space, to allow im to wash the window that he was innocently obstructing. It was as if Nipper knew the situation and just ahead of Georgie making his request he took a small piece out of his ankle. It was short and not so sweet but it soon became a small item of almost-forgotten history. There had been no real damage done and Georgie still likes dogs, even Nipper, who is after all, very charismatic.
There is one particular house, where animals outnumber humans considerably. Despite that, on his visits Georgie invariably spots at least one latest addition to the animal side of the family.
At his most recent appointment there, which was earlier this month, a big hybrid lolloped up to Georgie. He presumed it was the same mongrel that had always been resident there. However, ten seconds later there were two of them present, so one of them was undoubtedly a new recruit. Then another arrived. They all had one thing in common. They were as docile as dogs could ever be and Georgie felt in no way threatened by their presence. Then a little dog arrived, and then another followed by another. Not to mention one cat, two cats and a third.
The clean took George approximately three hours to accomplish. The only other time he was reminded of their presence was as he did his inventory, just before he left the premises. Laid back does not even begin to describe these animal mates of his. They checked Georgie in and checked him back out.
That was it.
"See you next time.”
Georgie cleans at several horse studs in the area, of which there are many. At one of these, whilst on the subject of dogs, it was suggested that if Nero was in bed not to bother doing the windows in his room. He was actually 'on' bed but we won’t split hairs, so the windows were left well alone. Nero was a Great Dane.
I can’t think of too many other great Danes (or Norwegians, Fins or Swedes).Well, Mr.Lego would be an exception, I suppose? Perhaps King Canute in his day and one or two Vikings may have qualified.
That's a bit cheeky, Ron. I'm sure it's a lovely part of the world. You're just jealous because you've never been to Northern European countries, or studied their history. It's just a bit cold up there, I suppose!
"Right Boss! Sorry readers."
His bed was a king size. Despite that, he lay prone with one paw hanging over the right side and another almost on the floor, hanging over the left. He opened one eye to look at Georgie but fortunately did not make the effort to stand up.
“Good boy, Nero. I’d stroke you but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Next time, maybe?”
At one property Georgie does, which I have mentioned already in a different context, the owners have an aviary. This aviary, like the house itself, is Large (capital ‘L’). What amuses Georgie is the reception he always gets from the residents within.
Now, these birds are a bit special. Georgie is no ornithologist but he is able to recognise both the squawk and the colourful appearance of a parrot. At least, its close family members, such as its cuzzy, the Cockatoo. Multiply that single squawk by twenty or thirty then imagine that you are right out in the countryside, with few neighbours, no traffic noise and very few other noises at all, with Georgie having muted his van engine.
Now listen to the reception committee, which is a sound for sore ears
Put it this way. In town there would be many complaints from neighbours but so far out in the country it is not just acceptable, but is a pleasure to behold, which Georgie does, three-monthly.
I have only presumed they are household pets. Regardless, if they were ever to escape they would be sorely missed, if only by Thornby.
Imagine how often the windows would need cleaning if they were allowed out for a daily flight!
Not surprisingly, living and working in New Zealand, sometimes Georgie attracts an audience of sheep. They are too thick to be interested in what Georgie is actually doing but still wander over to the fence to see him. Once a big ewe has made her move, the remainder will follow her, as they do. They’ll Baaaa a few Baaaas, to acknowledge Georgie’s presence but their span of concentration is less than the troublemakers of ‘4C’ at school, so they soon get bored and move away to pastures greener.
On the other hand, cows do actually show a little bit of interest in Georgie and seem pleased to have his company for a while. As a mob, they meander over to where the action is taking place, adjacent to their paddock. Their Moooos mean a great deal more than the sheep Baaaas ever do.
At least, Georgie likes to think they are trying to chat.
“Moooooooo! It’s not a bad day for doing your job, Mate? Moooooooo!”
“Nor for eating grass, eh Daisy?”
“We’re yearlings. We’re all good mates and it’s lovely to have had some good rain, at last. We’ve had to eat silage for two or three weeks but we’re back on the Real McCoy now. Decent grass. Mooooooo!”
“Sh*t, you’re doing a bloody good job, Georgie. Moooooooo! What do you put in your water?” There always seems to be one of the herd that does most of the talking. She seems to be a ringleader and acts as a spokescow for the rest of them. With cattle, they hang around until Georgie moves away and not vice versa.
Horses tend to be a bit up themselves, like some of their owners. Members of this four-legged variety may glance over but they seldom come for a chat. They have better things to do, like grazing or scratching each other’s backs. Thankfully, they leave Georgie to get on with his work, undisturbed.
“Don’t you ever sleep, Ronnie?”
Dealing with different people, from a large variety of backgrounds is something Georgie has always done: -.
As a teacher, his charges all had at least two things in common, but not necessarily much else.
(i) They had attended the same school, during the same era as each other.
(ii) Georgie had been one of their teachers.
As a prison officer, his charges all had at least three things in common, but not necessarily much else.
(i) They had broken the law of the land.
(ii) They had been caught, and to court.
(iii) Georgie had been one of their screws.
Since being a ‘WC’ Georgie’s customers have all had at least four things in common, but not necessarily much else.
(i) They had lived in the same vicinity as Georgie and Mildred Thornby.
(ii) They had been prepared to pay a ‘PWC’ to clean their windows.(iii) They had employed Georgie, either through preference or mere lack of choice.
(iv) Georgie had been their ‘WC’ for at least one visit.
(i) He had classes full of students, during the seventies.
(ii) He had landings full of felons, during the eighties.
(iii)He has had a client base, full of window cleaning customers, since the early nineties.
Despite this, he has always dealt with individuals. No two people are identical. Some have similarities, which may be personality traits, physical features or chronological age, but even if they once shared the same egg, they are individuals now and deserve to be treated as such.
This is only an opinion and I don’t want to be too philosophical but how any two people relate to each other largely depends on their chemistry and their history.
Georgie may have a rendezvous with a total stranger. From the instant that person confronts Georgie on his doorstep both parties will form a first impression. Sometimes, this will be favourable and at others far from it. So much happens at that first point of contact, which will ultimately affect the relationship, from then onwards.
It may be eye contact, a decent handshake or a smile. A friendly disposition, a resemblance to somebody else or an immediate clash, or bond.Something Georgie has discovered, during his years of dealings with people is that nearly always a first impression will be mutual. His is usually quite accurate but there are exceptions to the rule. In fact, there is no hard-and-fast rule.
Georgie has always been told not to judge a book by its cover. Also, to take a person as he finds him. That always did confuse him. Which piece of advice should he follow? If a person enjoys the company of another then the chances are that feeling will be mutual.
If somebody feels uneasy with another person, ditto.
Because Georgie is running his business by offering a service to everyone and anyone, within his own manor, he must give each an equal opportunity to use what he has to offer. If Jo chooses not to employ Georgie, so be it. If he does employ him, then he will do his utmost to be efficient in dealings with him. He will try hard to establish a good, on-going working relationship with Jo. His aim will be to guarantee that both he and his customer will be happy with whatever future arrangements they make between them. Both parties need to benefit from the relationship.
If a person is rude to Georgie he will not immediately walk away. If that same person unjustly continues to be rude then he will question that person’s reasoning. Then, if there is no improvement in negotiations, or in their initial relationship, Georgie will be on his way, making his point but not a scene. Where a likely confrontation may be about to occur Georgie will hopefully anticipate it, with time to spare. He will subsequently strengthen his stance by being over-polite and helpful. This method has always served him well, when dealing with awkward customers. To get over-excited and to do or say something rash, or out of character, may well make matters worse. That attitude may speed up a potential conflict. At times, he may not actually verbalise what immediately springs to mind. This would certainly apply, when he knows his comments would rattle someone else’s cage.
One thing Georgie did learn as a young teacher, which became reinforced when he became a slightly older member of the Justice Department, was that the best weapon he had to use was his mouth. Talk first and try to say the right things at the appropriate times. It may mean telling an occasional white lie to achieve the desired outcome. If so, that’s what he needs to do, if only to use delaying tactics. He will be able to justify his half-truth later.
“Go on then, Ron.”
“Here is another analogy.”
Vigorously shake a bottle of fizzy drink. When you break the seal and slowly unscrew its top, you will hear a quiet fizzing and a few bubbles will rise through the liquid. If you then tighten the lid you will dissolve them and all will be relatively still again. That is to say that an awkward situation will have been nipped in the bud.
If instead you decide to keep turning the top in the same direction, those bubbles will continue to become agitated and will speed up their ascent. They may even appear to become a bit angry. Tighten the top again to diffuse the situation. This time, you have succeeded again but it took a bit longer.
Whatever you do, don’t allow the top of the bottle to come off quickly because the bubbles, without question, will become over-excited and an explosive situation will occur.
Make your movements slowly, to calm them down. Even if you take a couple of minutes before removing the top completely there is unlikely to be the same volume of explosion, if any at all.
Consider the worst possible scenario, which is to shake the bottle harder and for longer and immediately fully unscrew the lid.
If your wish is to promote an uncontrollable situation, say all the wrong things, become aggressive and induce a scrap.
Something Georgie has certainly learned since being in business is the fallacy that the customer is always right. He knows that the customer is sometimes wrong, without a trace of doubt.
However, even when that is the case, it sometimes works for Thornby to allow the customer to believe he is right, rather than to promote an argument by disagreeing with him, straightaway.
Georgie’s approach often works for the best and has been proven time and time again. For a start, he’ll get away much quicker and he and his client will be able to get on with their own, individual lives, sooner rather than later. This may sound soft to you but to Georgie it is being tactful, or diplomatic. A Geordie, from the north-east of England, would say he is being canny.
If there is any question about who may, or may not be right, give the customer the benefit of the doubt.
Here is a prime example: -
“You said you were coming to do my windows on 16th, which is tomorrow.”
This guy sounded very moody and his wife, Sue was next to him and looked as though she’d been crying. The 16th is a Saturday and George is obliged to be on the golf course on Saturdays. He would not have booked in this customer on 16th even if it meant losing money, a customer or both. He has his priorities.
Therefore, George was in no doubt that Friday 15th was the agreed date for his visit and here he was, on Friday 15th, reporting for duty.
“Is it still OK if I do them today, Tom, even if I come back a bit later on, if it’s not convenient to do them immediately?”
After a lengthy pause:..........“I suppose it wouldn’t make much difference. Yes, go ahead anyway. In fact, we have visitors coming tonight for a barbecue and a few drinks, so it’ll be good to impress them, with nice shiny windows.”
At that point Georgie distinctly remembered the conversation they’d had, when he’d booked in the work. It was because Tom and Sue were having visitors on Friday 15th that they had mutually agreed on that date.
“It’s my age, Tom. I’m always making silly mistakes. Sorry, I must have had my wires crossed when I said I was coming on the 16th.”
“I know Georgie. I often do the same.”
Georgie had guessed that already!
Anyway, Tom and S. Orrow (‘groan’) cheered up a bit, as did Georgie.
Would there really have been any point in arguing the toss, over a stupid date?
The phone's ringing, George. Shall I answer it?
"Don't think so. Ron! We don't need to know the answer."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Window Cleaning Technique … Afternoon Tea
Some panes are seemingly out of reach, too high for Georgie to clean
Whilst others look accessible but up there he’s not so keen
He’s never afraid to change his mind, if at first he may have been wrong
He may be like a chimpanzee but he’s certainly not King Kong
I feel I ought to broach the subject of dealing with awkwardly located panes of glass, which are not typical of mainstream windows. To attempt to clean some of these may be optional, due to the degree of difficulty that they present to Georgie.
When I discussed quoting for a new job I suggested that panes of glass appearing to be unreachable should be pointed out to a potential customer, as not being included in the price.
When actually carrying out that job a week or two later, at a closer look Georgie may realise that these windows are quite accessible, after all. Perhaps he would need to improvise a little, which he hadn’t worked out at the time of quoting but there are Brownie points here, waiting to be claimed and not too difficult to achieve.
I’d like to give two opposing examples here.
The first is where Georgie cleans the windows, twice each year at a big church in town. There is a very high, stained glass window, which is much closer to heaven than where Georgie parks his van. When he first quoted for this big job he had not even considered reaching such a dizzy height, so he pointed out to Father Maguire that he would not include that particular window in his price. But, several visits and two different Fathers later, Georgie looked up and noticed how ugly this window looked, now covered in cobwebs and holy bird sh*t.
Thinking outside the square he wondered why on Earth (or not, as the case may be) he hadn’t cleaned it in the past. With a little more thought, he realised that it did not really present an unsurmountable problem, providing it wasn’t a wet day, when the roof tiles would become slippery and dangerous. So, up went the extension ladder and so did Georgie, onto a ledge wide enough for him to still feel pretty safe and comfortable. Over went his leg and in a jiffy he was on the roof but at the bottom of a ridge, from whence he’d be able to climb up and attend to this window. He had presumed he’d need his extension pole but when he got up there that wasn’t the case. Although short, he was obviously much taller than he’d believed himself to be, from ground level.
No more cobwebs or spiders worthy of mention have been seen up there since that very day.
This tickled Georgie last week.
Before stepping into the vestibule of the church building he observed a bold sign of caution, which had recently been painted on the ground, just in front of the doorstep. It certainly had not been there at any of his previous visits because it was so blatant he could not have missed it! The words of warning had obviously been painted to alert patrons of the two-inch rise between the concrete on one side and the Welcome doormat, on the other. Maybe one of the congregation had tripped up on his way in last Sunday? Or, perhaps one of ‘OSH’s personnel had become a recent new member of the congregation and had whispered some quiet words of advice to his Father, after a recent sermon about obeying rules? Just inside and also very blatant there was a life-size model of Jesus, arm raised and beckoning. The words on the ground read MIND YOUR STEP!
In other words, ‘If you enter this establishment, be on your best behaviour.’
Some people think churchgoers have no sense of humour!
Just across the road from this church, is a house on three levels, the design and architecture of which carried out some years ago by its current owner and resident. Georgie presumes that he, Christopher, is now a retired draughtsman. It is obvious to Georgie, without having to presume anything else, that this gentleman’s wife, Jenny, is a very talented and practising artist. For her, all the practice is obviously paying off because her work is excellent. Anyway, this very tall house has a triangular window, which is the highest that Georgie has ever cleaned. Unlike the round church window he initially included this one in his quote. It had not looked too high to reach at the time. It could feasibly be accessed, at the very top of his extension ladder and at the full extent of his stretchy pole. Due to the high risk factor and the shaky leg syndrome, Georgie has since excluded the cleaning of this window. His customers, the Wrens, don’t blame him one iota. Last time George did this house he was the focus of not just one spy but, simultaneously, two or three others as well. Below him, and a considerable distance away, was a council worker whose paid employment was to mow the grass verge. Silence reigned, as the engine of 007’s ride-on mower cut out. As a consequence, Georgie glanced down. Protruding from behind a tree was the bonnet of this machine. Sitting on the saddle was James Bond. He was looking up at Georgie, neck stretched to its limit in order for him to see almost vertically upwards. He had not apparently stalled his engine to have a refreshment break. He had done so to learn something about the game of window cleaning from the very game ‘WC’, operating across the road, up on the distant roof. This was no time for Georgie to perform, or to show off. It was merely a good opportunity for him to work in earnest to accomplish the task in hand. James was on his case. He knew Georgie was up there but he did not know that Georgie knew he knew he was up there. The eerie thing about the situation was that from another direction a neighbour was standing in one of his flowerbeds, arms crossed, garden hoe redundant for the time being, also observing Georgie, as he clambered from one roof ledge to the next. This may not even have been included, as part of the script, had it just been the two of them. But, as Georgie glanced across towards the supermarket entrance in the distance, he saw two middle-aged women looking up at him. It was almost enough to make him nervous.
Why was he being staked out?
He was aware that these people had him within their range of sight but he had an eerie feeling that they also had him in their sights. Were there rifles hidden behind their backs? Was it a squad of armed killers? Georgie felt uneasy but postponed his next coffee break for a few minutes, in the hope of finding out where this was heading.
The eventual outcome was a complete fizzer. During the next fifteen minutes, as Georgie carried on working up there, the man in next door’s garden picked up his hoe and carried on scratching at the Earth’s surface, the two women disappeared into the veggie department and the mower man’s engine fired up again. Jim had presumably remembered that he was running behind time and had two more lawns to mow before lunchtime.
At that point, guessing he was no longer a target, Georgie dismounted and decided to take his break.
Maybe the four observers had managed to learn a thing or two about the cleaning of high windows?
Maybe they had been concerned for Georgie’s welfare up there?
Maybe they’d wanted some excitement or X-rated video footage. If that was the case, Georgie had not obliged by falling off the roof to his death.
The point here: long-winded though it’s been, is that one window; considered to be impossible to reach at first glance may actually be accessible, when looked at from another vantagepoint, or vice versa.
In the name of safety, Georgie is fully at liberty to change his mind.
Thornby is a Libran.
Being easy-going, sociable, diplomatic and charming are not the only traits of his astrological peer group. He is also changeable.
The truth is that Georgie used to be indecisive but now he can’t make up his mind.
More than once, in the course of duty, Georgie has needed to lie supine on the muddy surface of this planet. He has proceeded to shuffle along like an inverted, overgrown slug, just to get to a window that would have been far beyond the customers’ expectations.
Much as he does not enjoy doing half a job, sometimes he has not known when to stop trying to please his customers. In his next life, he intends to return as an eight-foot tall contortionist, with square fingertips. Maybe he’ll have a third arm, at the end of which will be an adjustable squeegee.
Either that, or a cat burglar!
Anniversaries come and go, with increasing acceleration
Time just flies and as time goes by, we improve our education
There are things we did, in days gone by, not really knowing why
But they seem to mean a great deal more when we stare up at the sky
This very short chapter merely relates to observations Georgie has made in recent years. It seems to cross his mind more frequently, as he grows older, how his past affects his future.
Skip this chapter if you couldn’t care less about Georgie’s past. If you’re not forty yet, then I doubt if you will understand what he’s rambling on about anyway. This deeper analysis can’t really be done meaningfully, without first clocking up considerable mileage in life. Some things that Georgie has experienced in the past seem to be increasingly more relevant, as he ages. He attributes these to fate. He sometimes feels that his freedom of choice is very restricted, or at times non-existent.
Some aspects of his previous experiences (call it knowledge) has been latent all this time.
He may even be just a victim of circumstance Much of what he does, if not everything he does, makes him feel like he’s someone’s puppet. His decisions are not really what they seem. It is somebody else’s plot and he is just playing his part, in the scheme of things.
It’s not quite déjà vu but it’s as though Georgie’s life had been mapped out, well in advance of him actually living it. Move on to the next chapter, if this is making you feel nervous, or that he’s going to talk religion.
The author is finding it very difficult to think of precise examples of what Georgie is trying to say but hopefully you may be on the same wavelength and already know where he’s coming from.
From time to time, he has considered to himself,
“Why did I ever stay on at school, to study French and Art, in depth, as ‘A’-level subjects?”
The truth at the time, was that he needed to be chronologically two years older than he was, to go to teacher training college. That was a prerequisite for him to be able to teach Sport, but not French or Art.
He also wanted to play representative soccer for another couple of years, as a big fish in a small pond. Also, he wanted the responsibility and the glory that went with being captain of the 1st X1 at school.
To do any of these things he needed to have more academic reasons to further his education. He had already achieved a basic, academic requirement to be accepted at training college but he wasn’t considered to be sufficiently mature, yet.
He would probably have actually benefited more by leaving school after his fifth form studies and gaining a little more general experience out in the Big, Wide, World.
He could have found himself some employment and possibly built up his own funds in the process. As a result, he may not have had to scrounge off his parents, any longer than he had already. He was extremely fortunate to have had parents, who were willing and able to support him, during his additional years of further education. In hindsight, he wished he had shown them some appreciation for that benefit, which he took for granted.
He was at that age when he thought money grew on trees, although he was constantly reminded that it didn’t He’s never previously really had practical uses for either French or Art.
Admittedly, he has always enjoyed drawing little cartoons but he honestly does not believe that he ever required an ‘A’-level for that, as he would have doodled in his spare time, anyway.
He also had a soft spot for a Mademoiselle from Marseilles, when in his teens, but that relationship had fizzled out by the time he’d left school and moved on to college. Besides, she was top of her class and able to speak very fluent English, so had they pursued their relationship they would have coped quite well, without Georgie needing to speak a word of French.
As a teacher, he was occasionally required to stand in for absent staff members, during scheduled non-teaching periods, which he could never take for granted.
It’s all coming back to him now. (Good title for a song, one day?)
If an absent colleague happened to teach Art or French, then he was able to put to good use a small amount of his acquired knowledge in those subjects, just occasionally. To do that, he did not really need to have certificates that said he could do screen-printing or that he knew that Rembrandt was a 17th century Dutch painter. Nor that he could sketch still life drawings in chalk and charcoal, or another to say that he was able to pick out and translate the odd word from a French conversation.
He is now beginning to see greater relevance. Mrs Thornby and Georgie now have a son-in-law, a French man. Their little granddaughter, Mirabelle and her younger brother, Luca are probably going to be bi-lingual. Georgie now has the benefit of being able to delve into the archives of his small brain and have simple chats with them in either language … if only before they reach school age!
One of his customers said to him once,
“That’s not a job you do, George, is it? It’s a Work of Art’.”
He felt chuffed, as he was entitled to, but since then he has thought more deeply about her flattery.
She was absolutely right, because he really does try to achieve the kind of results that he used to in his Art lessons, thirty-odd years ago. He used to detest not working up to his potential and he still does. This may sound very poetic but now he sees each filthy window as a canvas. He looks forward to achieving the desired, shimmering result, after each couple of minutes of his artistry.
Not quite Claude Monet, or 19th Century Impressionism but job satisfaction for the ‘WC’, here in the 21st Century.
“Add to those few words, Ron.”
(Many people never have to stand up in front of an audience, throughout their entire lives. They miss out.)
For Georgie to have been given that opportunity was a privilege. He has since appreciated having had it, too. Subsequently, while carrying out his job description as a teacher, he became practised in verbalising in front of groups. He later put those same skills to good use, once he went off at a tangent, into Her Majesty’s big houses for felons. Some of the experiences he had endured, whilst at school, were priceless when he went to prison.
Since then, he has been called upon, sometimes at very short notice, to say a few words in front of varying numbers and different groups of people. He has not always achieved excellence on those occasions but he has usually got by, without making too much of an imbecile of himself.
During his daily routine as a ‘WC’ George is often called upon to make decisions, to organise, to continually meet and liaise with new people. At times, even to entertain. He usually manages to do these things without too much embarrassment, largely down to past experiences. He also has the distinct, added advantage of having Mrs Thornby behind most of his moves.
(That will certainly be worth a sack full of points, at home.)
With a litte more thought he could elaborate about how his past life constantly benefits his current one.
He wants now to get back to the specific subject of this book, so if you want more about the author, then you must read the sequel.
"Yeah! Right!"
Hopefully, by now you will have the gist of what he’s been trying to say, during this chapter.
If the editor has not deleted it, then I hope this assumption will eventually come true.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Communication Breakdown
Sometimes a booking is duly made
that should suit both Georgie and Jo
But now and again there’s a technical hitch
that may lead to a tale of woe
That seldom happens to Thornby
but there’s no guarantee that it won’t
Most arrangements work out quite well
but there may be a few that don’t.
This next little story is another of sheer embarrassment for Georgie. He was at his first call of the day, which was down a right-of-way (Kiwi for driveway) in town. When this arrangement had originally been made, over the phone, it was clear that the couple would be away in Aussie on that particular day, but they didn’t want to postpone their regular window clean.
“Carry on as normal, Georgie. Nobody will be there but the key will be in the usual place and just leave your invoice on the kitchen bench. It will be lovely to come home from our holiday to nice, shiny windows.”
“Enjoy your break, Mrs Inger. I’ll make sure the house is secure when I’ve finished, as I always do.”
“Thanks, Georgie. I think the weather will be fine for us over there.”
The climate is inevitably very important to Kiwis. I suppose it’s because they are outdoor people and as such have always had to endure whatever God has thrown at them from above. Regardless of the length, or topic of a conversation in New Zealand, part of it is almost certainly going to relate to the current atmospheric conditions. I suppose it’s the same wherever one lives, as the weather is the most obvious common denominator we all have to share.
Georgie is a man of moods. This morning he was in a particularly good one and he was lapping up every second of being alive. He was at one with the world and with all its mates. The sky was blue but he certainly wasn’t. He liked this particular job because the glass glistened more than most, which always made him feel good, without him having to try too hard. He relished being alone and being trusted by his clients. Not only that, but it was quite a good earner, not that money is the be all and end all but to have some is arguably better than being broke. The remainder of the day was looking bright too. Another couple of easy houses to follow this one, then home early to watch the F.A.Cup Final between Cardiff and his father’s old team, Pompey. On his return home, Mrs T would still be at the hairdresser’s and she had reassured Georgie that the soccer tape would be wound back, ready for him to watch. He was not going to listen to any sports results during the day, so he wouldn’t know the final score, or watch the trophy presentation before the match.
“Shut up, Ronnie. Save it until later!”
Later in the day, an evening session of bridge was scheduled, which Georgie always anticipated with much excitement.
Between the soccer game and the end of Neighbours Millie will have cooked meat and two veggies for tea and all would still be hunky-dory. He must remember to say how nice her hair looked when she came in, whether or not he thought so.
Just as Georgie was thinking that life could get no better than this, to add to his euphoria the ‘DJ’ played Bohemian Rhapsody. This was one of Georgie’s favourite golden oldies. He’d seen Freddie Mercury, live at Cheltenham, in the early seventies, before his band became really famous. It deserved to be heard, so he turned the volume to its maximum, even though the van shook a bit. After all, it was only Georgie and his cup of coffee out there, with no fear of reprisal or repercussions from outsiders.
‘Galileo Figaro-Magnifico.
I’m just a poor boy and nobody loves me.
Mama mia, Mama mia, Mama mia – LET ME GO! Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, FOR ME!
As the crescendo reached its peak, and Georgie was yelling at the top of his voice, one of the curtains moved to one side and a fist nearly smashed the pane of glass.
“B*gg*r me!” thought Georgie. “It’s eleven o’bl**dy clock. Who the ph*k’s in there?”
He turned the volume down to nothing. How was he going to get out of this one? He was supposed to be on his Jack Jones.
“Perhaps they’ve not gone away after all?”
It crossed his mind to drive off and never again make further contact with these people but he lives in a small town. Georgie spends several days a month cleaning windows in the main street. He’d be spotted and questions would later be asked. He had that feeling of hoping that this wasn’t really happening to him. He swigged his last drop of coffee, replenished his supply of rags, under his belt, and grabbed his indoor steps. He went round to the back door. Taking a deep breath, then counting to ten, he slowly pushed it open and began a clockwise circuit of the interior windows. He met a youngish girl in the kitchen.
“Hi, there! I’m Georgie, the window man.”
She turned and politely offered her hand for a gentle shake.
“I’m Mel.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“My fiancé ’s parents said you were coming sometime to do the windows, but I’d forgotten it was today. It makes no difference, so just carry on. There’s just one thing. My fiancé is Mal and he’s in bed.
Georgie had guessed that already, having studied French at school.
“Malc’s been very unwell for a couple of days. He’s never actually been this ill before. The doctor said that on no account must he be disturbed. He’s in the second bedroom down the hallway. Some tradesmen sometimes park their vans just outside his window.”
Georgie knew that already. He was one of those and now he felt worse than ever.
“I’m afraid it’s too late, Mel. I wish you’d let me know earlier. Mal’s mother had inferred that nobody was going to be here this morning. Consequently, I’d arrived early and I’m sure I will already have woken Mal with my loud music. I do apologise.”
“Don’t worry, Georgie. It would take more than a radio to wake him up, the way he feels at the moment.”
“Sh** ‘appens, eh?”
Another morning, Georgie heard what sounded like thunder, but the sky was blue, again. The pavement started to crack, a vibration became apparent and the building that he was working on moved an inch or so down the street.
“What the ph*k’s that?” he thought to himself.
Then, all was revealed. It wasn’t the earthquake he was anticipating. A car, with its windows and roof wide open, slotted into a nearby parking space. The engine stalled, the heavy base instantly cut out and all was quiet and still again. The driver nonchalantly shut his door and a bright light flashed, as a loud beep resounded when he pointed his gadget at the vehicle. He put his keys in his pocket and was totally oblivious, as the entire town reverted to normality. He made a beeline for the ‘CD’ shop to purchase more loud rap (crap) for his collection.
"There’s not much point, Ronnie. Go on then, but don’t be long.”
Five minutes later Georgie heard a loud skid. Another car, with a manufactured hole in its exhaust, negotiated the roundabout at the bottom of the street. Totally anonymous, because his vehicle had tinted windows, the driver entered a vacant parking spot at about 50 kilometres per hour. He somehow skidded to a halt, avoiding hitting the kerb and somersaulting into the shop window in front of him. He would not have looked out of place in Sicily.
“He may have been driving a mean machine but he was a coward.”
He was a nobody, so far as Georgie was concerned. He was insecure. He would not have had a handshake, to speak of. He would not have known anything about making eye contact. At best, he will have had a very weak personality. He was a minnow, or a sprat. That was only a first impression, and Georgie knows he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but he just can’t help himself sometimes. Should he have taken this person, as he had found him? Yes, and he had. He hadn’t liked the driver of this car before he’d even met him, which he never did anyway.
“OK, Ron. Thanks for that!”
Georgie can understand why office workers may similarly gain an inaccurate first impression of their ‘WC’, as he cleans their tinted windows. If a person were to appear within six inches of Thornby’s own window, as he sits here, in his office, he’d not be able to ignore him. He would somehow acknowledge that the person was there. He’d raise his right hand, which would be the one not on the shift button, at the time. He’d lift his head and smile at him. If the window were open he’d utter a “Hi there!” or an “It’s good to see you. You’re doing a good job out there.”
You would be amazed at the number of people, in the same situation, just pretend that Georgie doesn’t exist. This attributes to his grumpiness and is partly the reason why he is rapidly losing his faith in human nature.
“There is definitely a point to this waffle.”
Many office windows have either tinted glass, or a tinted film stuck to the glass, as had the Godfather’s stretch limo. Now, the boot is on the other foot. The lawyer’s secretary, on the other side of the glass, has already made three mistakes on her computer because she’s been waving at Georgie and he has totally blanked her on each occasion. For the last three or four minutes she has been thinking,
“Why does the boss employ this ignoramus to clean our windows?”
Georgie, meanwhile, has been thinking, “I don’t like these windows ‘cos I can’t see inside. There may well be somebody smiling at me and he’ll think I’m being rude, by not smiling back at him.”
If George is to clean the insides of the glass later, he’ll make a general apology to everybody, as he enters each office.
“Good morning. Sorry if I’ve blanked you so far today but I can only see my own reflection from outside. Scary, eh?”
Once or twice Georgie has been able to see inside and he has known full well that the geek within has been aware of his presence. When this character has deliberately avoided eye contact, several times, he has made a point of tapping hard on the glass and yelling,
“Good morning! You look pretty busy.”
At that point, all the office workers in the building would have simultaneously looked up, or out of their own windows. In chorus, there’d be a “Hi, there! How are you?” as if they really cared.
A smile or a raised digit costs nothing.
Right Times: Wrong Places
Only twice in sixteen years has Georgie performed his duties at the wrong premises. These responses, by the following two customers, show clearly how people react differently to similar situations.
Georgie and Millie have diaries to refer to, so don’t think he’s just making up these stories.
On Monday, November 3rd, 1997 Georgie had organised to do a job in Hillcrest, at number 10, Right Street, or so it said in his diary. He was fully aware that this gent, Ron, was going to be at work. Georgie was only cleaning the outside windows for him. He hadn’t been asked to quote an exact price for the work ahead. A friend of Mr Place had recommended the Thornby service to him. This mutual acquaintance was already a customer of the Thornbys and Georgie had guessed that Ron’s house would have a similar number of windows, so he would already have some idea of what the cost was going to be. He trusted the people who had made the recommendation, so payment of his bill would not be a worry.
Georgie arrived, during the morning of Monday, 3rd November, so he had the right day and date and the correct month and was there at Right Street, at the time he’d planned to be. He did the job, made sure he was aware of no obvious smears or streaks when he left and went on to his next house. He was as happy as Larry, whoever he happens to be.
… that apparently the origin of this expression will have come from down under. It may refer to a 19th century boxer, Larry Foley, who was never beaten in his day and received $1000 for his last fight. He will have been extremely happy with his lot, in those days.
If not this fellow, then it will have been a general reference to a larrikin, or hooligan, who will have had little regard for the consequences of his actions.
“Thanks for doing that research, Ron."
Another happy customer, or so thought Georgie, conceitedly, at the time. That evening, Ron Place phoned and enquired as to why his windows were still dirty.
How embarrassing!
“I spotted that they hadn’t been done, Georgie, because the upstairs kitchen window still had bird muck and spiders’ webs all over it.”
Georgie knew something was drastically wrong because the house that he had done in Right Street didn’t have an upstairs.
“Did you say number ‘8’ Right Street, Ron?”
“That’s the one” he replied.
The penny had dropped! Right Place; ‘ron’ house!
Mr Place accepted the forthcoming apology and fully understood what had happened. He did not sound too concerned and Georgie re-scheduled his job for later in the week, on Friday 7th. … or was it Wednesday 5th?
Georgie found out the name of Ron’s next door neighbour. He would telephone her immediately to see how happy she was to have come home to clean windows. At least, so that he could make his apology for doing them, without her request or knowledge.
She wasn’t at all happy and was loath to accept an apology.
At 8.30a.m. the following day, having done his first job elsewhere, Georgie then made contact with his following customer to explain that he would be a bit late. He was miles away and his plan for the day had not really included another trip to Hillcrest. He tapped on Mrs Lisa’s door, at number 10.
“Good morning, Mona.”
I think, in truth, he politely said Mrs Lisa, or at worst called her by her actual Christian name, not her alias. That is purely for effect.
“I’m George and I am here to apologise to you in person for cleaning your windows yesterday. I should have been next door at Mr. Place’s so I have had to make an apology to him as well. Fortunately, he understood the situation and has forgiven me. Now, I’ll be doing his windows later this week. We stupidly had the wrong number in our work diary!”
“I didn’t want my windows cleaned!” she bellowed
Just by the way, they had been really filthy before he’d done them, so this wasn’t quite the response Georgie was expecting. Maybe, when she realised there would be no charge she’d offer him a cup of tea.
“I am so sorry but at least you’ve had a free window clean from my mistake.”
I think Georgie may have smiled politely, which was a mistake.
“You people make me sick.”
George was alone on her doorstep. He was somewhat confused.
“Is this a regular occurrence?” he wondered.
“Why did she infer that I am one of many?” he continued wondering.
The questions posed by his frown were answered.
She went on to say, “I’ve only just had my spiders done.”
By that comment Georgie understood where she was coming from. In New Zealand, as summer approaches, it is customary for residents to treat the eaves and frames with a poison, which works against spiders and flies. In the coming months the temperatures would become more muggy and would increase the potential for spiders to spin webs to catch the rising population of meaty insects. She was therefore understandably concerned that Georgie may have washed off the spider treatment.
“I humbly apologise (again) and I shall be pleased to pay for you to have the treatment repeated, Mona. I understand, though, that the spider man does not actually treat the glass itself. Regardless, I’ll give you our card and shall expect a bill from Spiderman, in due course.”
The Thornbys never did hear any more from Mona Lisa. Georgie still suspects that she believed he did what he did deliberately, for extra practice, but mainly to upset her.
The second occasion happened ten years later, almost precisely, and I hadn’t realised that until I did my homework just now. It was Monday, 1st November 2007, at 7.30a.m. that Georgie turned up for another new job, at number 17 Good Street, in town. The owner of this house showed somewhat more understanding than his customer had a decade ago. On this occasion, Georgie had only been employed to clean the windows at the rear of the house in Good Street. It was only the week before that he’d given Shirley the quote for her window clean. He quietly began work, at the back of the house, attending to the lounge windows. Several negative thoughts went through his mind. He began to feel that something wasn’t quite right.
“I don’t remember there being a pool in the back yard, when I came to give the quote last week.”
Then, five minutes or so later,
“Sh*t. I’ve not charged enough for this amount of work. I should have paid a bit more attention, when I looked round the house last week. I must have been dreaming.”
He still felt as though something was up.
Nobody was out of bed yet but Georgie was sure that Millie had said Shirley was an early bird and that she didn’t mind him starting, as soon as the sun had risen.
The penny still hadn’t fallen yet and he’d been there forty minutes, so far.
Then, it all began to make sense. As he stood on his steps at the end of the lounge the lady of the house came through a door and looked towards Georgie. It still didn’t hit him straight away, as he raised an arm in acknowledgement that she was up and about.
Thank goodness she was dressed!
Unlike Jo presumes, it is not always easy for him to see indoors from outside, which is a blessing at times.
As a consequence, he had not immediately recognised that this lady was not Shirley. The look of shock and horror on her face more or less confirmed that he was at the wrong house. She came out onto the decking and they exchanged, “Good mornings”.
“Hi. I’m Georgie but you’re not Shirley, are you?” he stated, in the form of a question.
“I’m Shirley not at the wrong house, am I?”
Please say something, Georgie was praying.
An embarrassing silence commenced, following his feeble attempt to minimise the problem by laughing it off.
“I’m Carline. Shirley lives next door, at number 15, but have you got one of your cards?”
Georgie told her he’d go and find one after he’d finished the pane he was wiping.
“I don’t want to leave smears on the glass by leaving it wet, Carline. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”
“It’s one of those things. There’s no damage done. Don’t worry, Georgie.”
“I do apologise. I feel so stupid. I didn’t think I’d seen a pool when I did Shirley’s quote last week but the penny hadn’t completely dropped until I saw the surprised look on your face.”
“What’s your big secret? What do you use in your water? The windows look lovely. Don’t apologise. I shouldn’t have got up so soon, should I?”
Georgie moved next door and apologised again, this time for his tardiness. His real customer accepted his explanation.
“I thought it was unlike you not to show up when you said you would, Georgie. You were so punctual on returning my call and when you came to give me your quote. It was a bit of a mystery. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time next door. Maybe you’ll get another house to do now?”
Marks out of ten: -
Carline (2007) 11
Mona (1997) -1
It takes all sorts, doesn’t it?
I reckon these ladies’ parents used the same Registrar. He was the one that always left a vowel out from the first name on the birth certificate. An o in the middle of Carline and the first a in Mona.
Georgie will be extremely careful, when the first week of November arrives, in 2017.
Here is a story worthy of a spot in this chapter. The communication breakdown was entirely to do with price. This morning, Mr Murray crossed the road from his place of work to enquire about Georgie’s professional services. At the time, Georgie was working hard, at the top of his stepladder. He was busy with squeegee in one hand and rag in the other. He was half-an-hour into his second job of the day, the first being the adjacent shop, which was also within easy viewing from the Indian restaurant opposite.
Taj’s workplace was also his own business, where Georgie had worked for the previous owner, Ghandi.
“Are you cleaning the windows?”
Use an Indian accent for authenticity.
Now, Georgie may not be the best judge of character but he must come close. He was able to suss immediately that this person was pretty astute. Mind you, two minutes earlier a three-year-old had also pointed out to her Mum that there was a man cleaning the windows. She must have been very bright for her age, as well.
“You’d like a price for your restaurant windows?” presumed Georgie, who was also on the ball.
“Perhaps you could come and see me tomorrow?” responded Taj.
“I’ll pop across this morning, if you like. I’ll only be another twenty minutes finishing off here. I’ll tap on your door then, if that’s OK with you.
I’m George, by the way. It’s nice to meet you. You must be the new owner?”
There are no flies on Georgie.
“How are you doing? My name is Taj. My wife Ruby and I shall be waiting for you.”
Despite being offered some, Georgie was never introduced to Ruby Murray, at any stage.
In anticipation of being offered the job, to save doubling back he had carried his bucket and steps across the road, as there was not a vacant parking space over there.
“I want you to give me a really good deal. If the price is right then I shall be wanting you to clean my windows regularly but you will be having to be giving me a really good deal first.”
Georgie explained that he currently cleaned a large number of windows for businesses in the locality and that his charge would have to be consistent with all the others. Taj would be given a fair price but it would not be at a special rate. Georgie didn’t do mates’ rates and Taj would not have qualified for them if he did. Also, he was inundated with work and therefore did not need to offer discount prices, to achieve more than he could manage, already. He also explained that since the start of the year, for the above reasons, he had only been quoting for exterior windows. If Taj wanted somebody to clean both sides of his glass then he would need to look elsewhere, for another cleaner. Perhaps one with spare time on his hands?
“Outsides only, will be fine, Georgie. How much?”
Georgie had previously stopped doing these windows because his predecessor had kept quibbling about money and seemed unable to tell the time, as he never arrived for scheduled rendezvous, to pay Georgie.
So, without having to walk round the premises, Georgie said,
“My minimum charge is $30. I’ll clean all the outside windows for that price but I shall require you to pay me on the day I do them.”
Georgie knew that he should treat everyone on his own merits but he’d been bitten before and he was being twice shy.
“I can arrange to give you some food in payment for your services.”
Georgie had done a little bartering in the past with customers, but only when it had suited all those concerned.
Ronnie!”
Georgie used to have his hair cut, what little there was of it, by a young lady in the big smoke. He usually had regular customers at monthly, three-monthly, six-monthly, or whatever-they-wanted intervals but with Mrs Sharp it was haircutly. That is to say, whenever his hair was longer on the back of his neck than on the top of his head he was ready for a trim. At that point, Verity, although she preferred to be called Veri, would be due for a shine-up of her front window at the salon. Ten minutes to clean her window, ten minutes to cut his hair. That suited all concerned (Veri Sharp and Georgie). They bartered, on a regular basis, for years.
The Thornbys had a bit of a problem with their pump at home and the pump man couldn’t fix it, after several visits. Another client of theirs, a plumber, suggested a solution and fixed it by trial and error. In other words, he came up once and tried. Whilst he was there he spotted an error and fixed it.
“How much do I owe you, Walter?”
“I should think, with my travelling, a window clean should see you right, Georgie.”
“Thanks Mr. Tapp. Done!”
But neither party had been!
Next door to the Thornbys lives an electrician, Will Power.
I’ll be curt again. The Thornbys had a switch problem. It cost Georgie a window clean. Done deal!
This particular, three-monthly customer, is one of Thornby’s longest standing. This lovely couple and their beautiful daughter, Lucky Lucy, became one of Georgie’s exceptions to the rule, when he ceased cleaning windows for most other people in the Hamilton area.
Lucy celebrated her tenth birthday yesterday, as Thornby paid them another visit. How tempus fugits!
Terry Vee was the victim of a nasty accident, years ago, and has battled ever since to prove the medics wrong. The prognoses he was given, at the age of nineteen, now seem as though they were meant for someone less determined than this particular casualty and his wife.
“Know anyone who needs a 29” TV with all its bells and whistles still operating, Georgie?
“That one in the corner?” Georgie observed and pointed.
“Yes. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s only two years old but we won one in a competition and don’t need that one now.”
“How many window cleans would it cost me, Terry?”
“Are you serious, Georgie?”
“I’ve never told a joke in my life, T.”
“Four?”
“Put it there!”
“That’s Mrs Thornby’s Christmas present sorted out. Nice one! Thanks, Terry.”
He put his hand on Mr. Vee’s and the telly was installed that Christmas and paid for within the next twelve months.
A painting adorns the Thornby’s lounge wall. It’s the outcome of another barter deal. Millie had not been dropped any hints about what her husband would like for Christmas and time was running out. He saved her some brain-scratching time and bought it himself, for two window cleans, at another of their larger work venues.
There have been a few other barter deals but these examples should give you some idea.
"Isn’t that a tax dodge?"
“I don’t know.
There were very few Brownie points to be gained by Georgie, should he have taken home a red-hot vindaloo from the Indian restaurant. Mildred burns the roof of her mouth by sucking on a Polo mint. She detests spicy food, in any shape or form.
“I’ll only barter, by giving you a little of my time and my acquired skill, for a little of your money. $30, to be precise.”
“$25.”
“$30. I must get on I’m afraid. I have work to do.”
“OK. $30.”
Georgie did the clean and Taj had written out the cheque but had it tightly clutched in his mit. Thornby asked him how frequently he would like them done in future.
“There are still dirty marks on the glass. They do not look clean.”
“The outside windows are spotless, Taj. Any smears you can see are on the insides.”
“But how can I get them off?”
“By cleaning them.”
“Do you know of anybody who can clean the insides for me?”
“No, Taj. I don’t often need to employ a window cleaner. You may be able to find a commercial cleaner in the phone book but he will probably charge you $30, or more, to shake hands with you, before he gives a quote. Don’t expect it to be free of smears either, when he’s finished.”
Georgie is not the hard businessman he thinks himself to be. He is compassionate and very sympathetic. You will probably think he’s just pathetic.
“I’ll do them for you once, Taj. So long as you understand that subsequently it will be outsides only.
If I have time I’ll be back this afternoon. If not, I’ll make time for you tomorrow.”
“How much?” came the inevitable question.
“They are much dirtier and will take me far longer than the outsides did, Taj, but as it’s a one-off, I’ll do them for the same price, $30. I can’t be fairer than that.”
“$25.”
Georgie left a cloud of dust behind him and believes his existing business arrangement with his second employer at the Indian restaurant is now in jeopardy.
“What a shame! How will the Thornbys manage from now on?”
News update! Georgie did not hear from Taj again.
His actual surname was Mahal but Murray was his alias.
The Ageing Process
Frustration and intolerance could make us turn to drink
Like a car that’s old and rusty our bodies keep taking knocks
The Thornbys are fast becoming a couple of ageing crocks
Age is something that happens.
You can’t stop it, nor can Georgie, Mildred, or anybody else. The clock has only ever moved in one direction. Before digital watches were invented, that was clockwise. Now, it’s just forwards and it remains continuous. Time doesn’t take smokos, break for meals or go to sleep. Even when Thornby’s own watch stops, time doesn’t.
Big Ben keeps chiming in London and it still gets dark in the UK, as the Aussies and Kiwis are getting out of bed in the mornings.”
“What’s he getting at?” I hear you pondering.
I’m getting at this: -.
Georgie and Mildred, although staying active and mentally feeling as young as ever, are in truth past midday in their lives.
Recently, Georgie had to take time out from window cleaning.
To coincide with his work commitments Millie had recently and conveniently arranged this busy morning schedule for him: -
9.00 a.m. The optometrist, to have his eyes tested, and they failed abismally. He now wears glasses for driving and others for reading. The progressive pair that he experimented with, for just a few days, did not suit him at all. He felt like a nodding dog, sitting on the rear windowsill of a car, never quite managing to find the exact head position for best viewing.
9.45 a.m. The ‘GP’, to renew an ongoing prescription, as there was no imminent sign of 'dispensing' with it. (No pun, or fun.)
10.45 a.m. The physio, to massage his shoulder, after having surgery on his rotator cuff.
11.45 a.m. The dentist, to investigate recent toothache, which led to one filling and the loss of two wisdom teeth. Also, to a greater loss of nearly six hundred dollars.
Apart from this day of tripping to and from his specialists Georgie has also recently needed surgery for other mal-functioning joints, mostly due to injuries work-related.
Despite that, in June 2005, Mildred set off back to Blighty, unaccompanied by Georgie on this visit. He had taken a day off to run her to Auckland airport and had waved his hanky in her direction, as she’d slid behind the escalator, towards her departure gate.
Three days later, while trying to negotiate the best way to reach a kitchen skylight, Georgie felt his knee lock up. As Murphy would have it, he was up on a roof at the time. Nobody was in the house below. So, alone he agonised for ten or fifteen minutes. For once, he could have done with having his mobile phone handy. Fortunately, the knee joint chose to free itself, to allow him sufficient time to dismount, postpone the remainder of his day’s work and make an appointment to see the doctor. Doc would have preferred to make his diagnosis while the symptoms were still present. By the time he’d arrived though, as Sod would have it, all appeared to be normal.
“It’s done it several times, Doc. I can usually feel it come right within minutes. My worry is when the time comes that it won’t.”
Having returned home by lunchtime, complete with anti-inflammatories and painkillers, Georgie obeyed instructions and elevated his knee for the remainder of the day.
Having finally locked the last nut and swung the gate, the medial meniscus locked up, too. This time it inflicted excrutiating pain. Twenty minutes later, having literally crawled across the paddock, dragging the offending limb behind him, Georgie reached the phone and dialled 999. That didn’t work, so he tried 111.
That worked. (Remember, he was in New Zealand now. He didn't!)
Two hours later and full of drugs, he was received at the big house for the poorly. He was rushed into the emergency department, having made friends with the obliging medical team, the duty St. John’s Ambulance crew. The morphine had had plenty to do with that new but temporary frienship! This next part of the story did not amuse Georgie in the slightest but others have found it comical since.
Three days later, hobbling outside on his crutches, to check on the dogs’ respective runs, he observed a portion of doggy doings at the entrance to Romeo’s kennel. To remove the deposit would entail somebody crawling into the run to scoop it out. Georgie glanced from left to right, in front and behind him but again he was the only likely volunteer.
In he went, scoop, leg brace and all. The entrance to the kennel was two metres away from the run gate and by the time the latter had shut on him the dog sh*t was well and truly on the scoop. That ceased to be his biggest problem. Now, he had bigger fish to fry because he was imprisoned in Romy’s cell, with two cubic metres of space in which to manoeuvre, stiff leg and all.
Georgie had some inside knowledge. This run was extremely secure, as he was well aware.
When it was manufactured, he was under specific instructions to ensure that there was no way out, once the dogs were enclosed by the gate, which was now firmly shut and latched.
The dogs were now outside the run, looking in. Georgie was inside the run, looking out.
He really was in the doghouse this time.
He’d been trained to think things through in emergency situations. This is how his thinking went, on this occasion.
“Millie is away for another five weeks. If I don’t get out by then I shall not only have missed my next appointment to see the ‘GP’ but the dogs will be hungry and she’ll come home to a skeleton in Romeo’s box.”
That was pretty negative!
He did so, but to no avail. The music was blaring away on one side. On the other, the garden was full of kids, screaming at the middle girl’s sixth birthday party.
“Jimmy! Rhonda! Dennis! Julie!
JIM!
HELP, HELP ME, RHONDA!
JU!
JESSIE! ANYBODY!
HELP! I’M STUCK IN THE DOG BOX!”
Georgie was convinced that Sally and Romeo were both laughing their heads off and were enjoying every second of proceedings. They obviously did not realise the significance of the problem.
If their Dad wasn’t out by six o’clock they would be wondering why their dinner bowls were still empty.
A brainwave!
“The kennel is a separate box. It sits on the lip of the run.”
Forty-five minutes had elapsed and Georgie himself was getting peckish.
“It weighs a bl**dy ton and two of us had enough trouble joining the halves together. How am I going to shift it by myself, with a gammy leg?”
This question was silent and totally wasted on him.
Had there been someone there to answer it, he wouldn’t have needed to ask.
I’ll cut the story short.
(Too late!)
Plan B went into operation and after much puffing and blowing and the passing of another thirty minutes, Georgie had freed himself by squeezing out through the gap, eventually made between the run and the box.
The dogs wolfed their dinners down wondering why Dad had been mucking about in Romy’s run for so long.
They were sent to bed early that night, even though it wasn’t really their fault.
Mildred has not been without the occasional ache or pain either.
Even yesterday, as I type, the two of them were sitting together in the Doc’s waiting room. They both had appointments to review their respective symptoms.
Another Thornby double act not totally unrelated to the ageing process!
Window Cleaning Technique … A Beer and a Smoke
But Thornby and the pros will say,"You’re talking out your arse.”
To do the job the proper way and to leave a happy Jo
Read the next few lines and then you’ll be in the know
Runs
When Georgie has to clean small panes of glass, which includes lookalike small panes, he uses the rag method but he makes sure that his first rag is not too wet. The object here is to clean the glass, without leaving too much moisture behind the dividing frames. If too wet, the water may run down the inferior pane later, even after he’s gone home. That will leave runs down the small panes, making him look incompetent. A damp cloth with some elbow grease is all it takes, followed by a series of rags gradually getting drier, as you ought to know by now. He has to finish with a bone-dry rag, pushing it into the right-angled corners of each pane.
Flies tend to find the warmest locations to do their toileting, so he has to be sure to remove all the little dots of excrement, from the top corners especially.
The result of this method, if used correctly, means no runs!
“For a number of reasons the relative humidity of the internal air can be high. This may be due to existing temperatures within, compared to without. Also, it will be affected by the activities of the occupants inside such as cooking, drying clothes or just breathing. When this air comes into contact with a cold surface, such as a window, it can condense, causing wetness. That is to say the air changes from a gas into a liquid. Condensation occurs when water vapour turns into liquid.
Rather than need three times as long, and five times as many rags, at his first house of the day, it has sometimes been worth the extra travelling cost for Georgie to postpone the continuation of a job. He has sensibly moved on, to carry out other work, where condensation has not been an issue. On his return later to the first house, when its glass has had time to dry, the problem of excessive moisture will no longer exist.
Reference to one of Georgie’s most recent jobs may be useful here, to provide an excellent illustration of the above example.
He was actually caught out at both ends of the day.
I’ll hand you over to Corbett. Ready Ronnie?
On the day in question Doc Finlay had just returned from the UK. His wife was going to the airport, in the early hours of the morning, to pick him up.
Georgie had seized the opportunity to make an early start himself, at their place, but Mrs F had forgotten to leave her key out for him. This was forgivable, as she’d set off at 4.30a.m. She was probably sleep walking at that time of day!
Georgie was not bothered in the slightest. He had all the exterior windows to contend with and if they had not returned by the time he’d finished them he would simply complete the remainder of his day’s work and return later, to do the interior glass at Doc’s during the afternoon. After all, he had to drive past their place on his way home.
It was bl**dy freezing and Jack Frost was as white as he gets. The exterior glass was OK to clean under those circumstances, so Georgie was making steady progress. He heard the crunch of wheels, coming up the long driveway to the house.
“That’s good,” he thought. “I’ll get them all finished by lunchtime and press on as planned.”
They greeted each other with “Good mornings” and exchanged pleasantries.
“How was your run to the airport?”
“Pretty good thanks, Georgie, but I’m sorry that I forgot to leave you the key.”
Georgie suggested that perhaps they’d like him to start on the inside windows of the master bedroom in order for Doc to catch up on his sleep. He will have had little during the previous twenty-four hours, apart from catnapping on the plane.
They agreed it was a good plan but when Georgie made a start he soon realised that the condensation was so bad in their chamber that he would take until lunchtime to do that room alone.
“Plan B, Mrs Doc. I’ll slip into town now and do the rest of my work. I’ll be back to finish the insides this afternoon, by which time the condensation won’t be a problem.”
“No worries, Georgie. See you later. Don’t worry about the big bedroom if Doc’s in there asleep when you get back.”
The best laid plans of mice and men went awry, again!
When Georgie eventually returned later, so had similar temperatures and problems.
As a result, he had to re-visit later in the week, to finish off.
“OK, Ronnie. Extremely interesting!
Now, tell the readers a couple of jokes.”
Georgie went to the doctor.
“How can I help you, Mr Thornby?”
“I’m not sure, Doc. I’m confused and it’s causing me headaches. One day I think I’m a teepee and the next a wigwam. What can I do?”
“Take these pills three times a day, Georgie.
You’re two tents.”
Why do sailors not take Aspirins, whilst at sea?”
“Pirates eat 'em all.”
You may need to read that faster and with a Cornish accent.
“Thanks, Blackie, on the local radio station.”
Groovy problems
Most residential buildings in New Zealand are single-storied and have ranch-slider or French patio doors. These usually contain large panes of glass and they either slide open or have conventional doors, operating on hinges. There are grooves, or channels, often filled with debris. The patio door variety has shallow steps that are often grubby, depending largely on the state of the shoes or the paws that have trodden on them since the ‘WC’ was last there.
Georgie sees it as being part of his job description to wipe these. If he were the paying customer he would expect that of his window cleaner.
He finds that the best way to remove the grime and miscellaneous particles in the grooves is to use a damp rag. He inserts one corner of the rag at one end of each groove and wipes along it. Before reaching the far end of the same channel he inserts another corner of the cloth into it and strategically brings the two together. The contents of the rag may be considerable in some cases. He proceeds to press the two corners together and he lifts the debris out. His next move is to shake the rag outside, away from the doors. He is sensible enough to stand far enough away from the entrance not to contaminate the exterior sides of the glass that he’d washed earlier.
The evidence he’ll leave outside will be minimal.
The outcome will not only be shimmering glass but also free-sliding doors to boot.
Well, two sliding doors, anyway!
Georgie can almost guarantee that his customer will thank him for going the extra mile. It is extremely unlikely that Georgie will be censured for flicking the dead flies, wasps, cockroaches, dust and other miscellaneous crap into the outside world.
The odour that frequently emits from these grooves is unpleasant, even sickly. It is hard to describe the stench but shut your eyes and imagine a solution of Rotorua mud pools, mildew, cheesy feet and stagnant water. It is a smell that housewives, window cleaners and general house cleaners will know, but few other people on the planet. To avoid spewing up he tries not to clean these grooves just before or after a feed.
In the case of a filthy doorstep, he wipes it with a damp cloth. Any of the aforementioned rubbish, which has accumulated on the cloth, is discarded as above. He makes sure he re-wipes the step with another damp cloth and forces any remaining debris into the right angle at one end, where the perpendicular frame meets the step. He may find heavy duty stains, such as scuffmarks from dirty shoes. They may have disappeared after his first wipe. If not, then he might need to use more than just gentle persuasion. He’ll give each another firm rub and / or even a few scrubs with his little brush. If the stain remains, so be it. He won’t waste more time in search of a merit badge. He will have already been credited with one or two Brownie points, merely for making the effort in the first place.
He’ll shut the doors and move on.
Different Seals (i.e. not marine animals)
Putty
Years ago, when the glazier installed an old-fashioned, wooden-framed window, he will have used putty to secure the glass and seal any gaps. He would not have spared a thought as to what sort of state they would be in, fifty-odd years later.
Many of the originals have been replaced but some still exist, in various states of repair. The putty could be old and decrepit and may be past the point of ever being made to look clean. It may even be non-existent in some places. By Georgie trying to go the extra mile the brittle morsels that remain will probably fall out too.
Newly applied putty remains soft, for a reasonable length of time. If a broken pane has recently been replaced it will be obvious. It will stick out, like the proverbial dog’s b*llocks. The putty around the other three panes will look totally discoloured and scruffier than ever. Georgie will take extra care not to add to the numerous finger marks and indentations that the glazier will probably have already made in the new seal. He is not jesting but speaks from experience.
As he cleans the fresh pane of glass he’ll make every effort not to touch the putty. There may already be residue from it on the glass. This will need removing but there is a knack to doing it properly. Again, the finger-tip-in-the-rag is the way to go here.
Rubber compound
Aluminium-framed windows and other more commonly-used materials today will probably have rubber seals around the panes of glass. They may be a further nuisance for George, when they keep falling out from between the glass and the framework. It does not present a big problem for him but it does waste a bit of his time, as he will make an effort to replace them, as he goes. The rubber seals need a good rub with a damp cloth every now and again. They sometimes cling on to mildew, or vice versa, and will become grubby in the course of time. Bathrooms, toilets and kitchen windows are most likely to require a good wipe on every visit.
This is largely due to the damper atmosphere in these rooms.
Don’t forget that Thornby used to teach science as well!
Damaged windows.
Some panes of glass have had the same crack in them since Georgie started working for his customer. Others may have arrived since his previous visit. If so, he mentions these to Jo at his first opportunity, mainly to absolve himself from any blame at a later stage.
How he broaches the subject with each individual customer depends entirely on the rapport he has with him.
“I noticed a slight crack in one of these pains, Ralph.”
Or,
“Did one of your boys throw a stone through this pane, Sid?”
Or,
“Who smashed this ph**kin’ window, Tom?”
Inside Frames
To explain what I mean by inside, in this context, I refer to what is seen of the frame, when the sash window is wide open. Georgie is not being paid to redecorate the property. He is merely a tradesman, in the form of a ‘WC’, doing a proper job.
So, if there are cobwebs, likely to detract from the overall appearance of the clean window then he’ll rub off the easy-to-reach ones and give those further away a good flick with one of his rags.
As he pushes open an aluminium sash window a skinny sill will appear. Rather than hold a debate as to whether or not he is expected to clean it, he’ll give it a wipe anyway. It may contain more of those lousy grooves and Georgie does not need to feel obliged to leave these spotless. The damp-corner-of-the-rag trick takes little time to perform, so he’ll slide his digit along each channel in turn. This may not please the residents, cockroaches in particular, but tough cookie!
As often as not the metal sill will be grooveless. A flat surface is much easier to deal with and a cursory wipe is all that is needed.
Usually, a wipe around the remainder of the frame is all it takes. If, however, he happens to be the first person to have opened this window for thirty-five years then it will probably require a bit more than a token wipe. He’ll need to use another wet rag but he’ll do the e before the glass. If he doesn’t, he may need to clean the pane twice.
He’s not just (even) a pretty face!
Occasionally, circumstances may compel him to clean the high ones later.
This is only common sense but he won’t drip or splash from above windows that he’s already cleaned.
Autumn
Only a Muppet would do that. 😂
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Nearly all of Georgie’s work these days
is for people he knows well
He’s become part of their lives now,
so doesn’t need to ring the bell
They trust him and have faith in him
and that always works both ways
have gone their separate ways
I mean no disrespect to anyone, should this sound like a bit of you.
Georgie meets an increasing number of ‘CG’s.
Not infrequently, despite thinking he’s alone in a residential property, Georgie is surprised when he comes across a motionless person in the office. Her index finger may actually be moving but he won’t see that from behind her.
You know where I mean. The office is the small bedroom that is used for everything but sleeping in. It’s for emailing and word processing, as well as being the library, which contains the archives, where records and other bygone documents are kept.
s well as being the office, it is also the odds-and-sods room.
Mum is the only person who knows what’s in there and how to go abut finding it.
Where’s my Birth Certificate, Mum? I wa'nt to apply for a passport for my ‘O.E.’?”'
I’ll look in the office, when I get time.”
“Where’s my old driving licence, Love?”
“I’ll find it in the office, when I get time.”
“Where’s that letter from the council, about rubbish collections?”
“... the office, when I get time.”
We can’t be in the red, again! Where did you put that last bank statement, Honey?”
“... the office, Lovey
“The computer’s run out of paper, Mum. Have we got any more?”
“ ... in the office, I'll hve a look later”
“Where’s that old photo of me and Jane, Mum. Remember, when we went to the zoo and that chimp was laughing at us?”
“ ... might be in the office, Tarzan.”
You all know the room I mean!
More often than not this person is female and she has probably reached retirement age. There may be a short film on the computer screen. The star of the movie is likely to be a toddler, from the other side of the globe. There may even be a hi-tech photo album on the box, with a cast of many infants. These angels are younger members of the family.
These albums do not usually only have pictures of the next generation, or the one after that. More likely, they will be a combo of both. That is to say, the ‘CG’s own children and far more importantly, the grandchildren.
Georgie has affectionately named this customer the Computer Granny.
In recent years Mrs Thornby has herself become one of this elitist group. Initially, she will have required a considerable amount of input from her own children, and from her younger friends, in order to set up the computer and to tell her how it all works.
Only a relatively short time ago, the briefing will have been about sending and receiving emails on the new ‘MB’ (the Magic Box), which was far beyond the comprehension of both Georgie and Mildred. Neither of them was brought up button pushing, so just using a keyboard was almost a new experience for them.
In the past, they may have operated manual typewriters at home and played flipper machines at the end of long piers, jutting out from Britain’s south coast.
As for computers, they have evolved since those bygone days.
During what would have been a smoko, Georgie has even had a ‘CG’ introduce him to ‘GE’ (Google Earth). He was encouraged to take time out from cleaning windows, to show her where he was born. Believe it or not, within seconds, on the screen was a picture of his old back yard in Deal, in the UK, on the other side of the globe. He could even see one of his old punctured leather footballs, obscured somewhat in the long grass of the back garden, which hadn’t been mown since.
A few times he has sat next to a ‘CG’ and has looked at the family album. Once, he recalls watching a two-and-a-half minute film of two kids, skinny-dipping in a Sydney paddling pool. That was responsible for him being two-and-a-half minutes late for the next lady, who was in turn two-and-a-half minutes late for her lift and consequently missed her hospital appointment.
He has never since been late for Mabel, who prefers to be Maby. Georgie even offered to pay for her taxi fare but received an apology instead. The truth was that Mrs Fibbin was actually only two-and-a-half minutes late for her appointment and the specialist had kept her waiting for a further twenty-five minutes. When Maby explained, it was a bit like receiving a confession from the poor old lady, who had never told a lie in her life, and wasn’t going to start now, in her eighties.
Georgie was absolved of any blame and has continued to shine her windows ever since.
Some of these older customers presume Georgie is a geek because he is a few years younger than they are. In reality, Georgie is only just coming to terms himself with the magic box.
“I think I must have a virus, Georgie.”
“Why don’t you take a couple of pills and have a lay down, Doris? You’ll feel much better for it, I’m sure.”
“No, Georgie! I mean my computer’s gone blank.”
“This email won’t go, Georgie. Do you know anything about computers?”
“Just a little, Mavis.”
"Ronnie!"“My sister promised she’d ring me this morning.”
“She’s probably seething that your line is always busy, Lizzie.”
“I was just going to send my son an email for his birthday and it seems to have disappeared. Can you help me, Georgie?”
“Georgie. Have you got a couple of minutes to spare? I think I must have pushed the wrong button.”
Now, Georgie certainly knows how she feels!
It’s good that the older generation is attempting to get to grips with modern technology. Mind you, in general we’re only talking about those in their late fifties and their sixties. Very few, older than that want to know about computers and I can’t say I blame them.
The more senior brigade, almost past their used-by-dates, do not want to give their personal details to anybody. Why should they? They’ve managed quite well all their lives without booting up and logging on.
(To them, that means going tramping or re-fuelling the fire.
Why should they need to start now?)
Georgie can understand where they are coming from and he tends to sympathise with them.
In unison, they plead,
“Leave well alone, for Goodness sake! We like things the way they’ve always been.”
“What’s up, Ronnie?”
“Your phone’s ringing, Georgie.”
“I’m very sorry, Madam. You say you’re ninety-one and still in your prime. You live on the Internet. You do your banking on-line. You buy and sell stuff on Trade Me and you have your own Website, as well as twenty-seven great-grandchildren, who are in constant touch with you by email and texting. Thanks for ringing me on your purple mobile phone and letting me know. Now you can get back to watching The Bucket List (again) on your laptop. I’m very sorry you were offended, Madam.
Kia Ora! Have a good day.”
I make reference here to all other ‘Cyber Dinosaurs’.
“Go for it, Ronnie!”
This subject takes Georgie back forty years, again, to the days when he was studying for his ‘O’-level English Literature examination. I make reference here to another famous George.
Thornby has never been an avid reader. But in those days he did have one or two course books that were compulsory reading. He also had far too many calories that needed burning up, to be sitting, studying books.
As well, he had shoes to be worn out, by kicking stones and tramping in puddles. He couldn’t achieve that sitting in an armchair, absorbing literary masterpieces.
However, as part of his 1966 schoolwork he was compelled to read George Orwell.
Everyone knows that was the year when Sir Alf Ramsay’s England beat West Germany, 4-2, in the soccer world cup final at Wembley. Gordon Banks made the reflex save of the century and Geoff Hurst scored a hat trick.
Yet another George (Cohen) played as England’s number two in that match, which was right back in those days. Here’s a quote about this George from another, even-more-famous Georgie.
“He was the best right back I ever had the privilege of playing against.”
Much credit, coming from Mr Best!
Animal Farm was one of Orwell’s texts but the other, which I refer to here, is 1984.
If you haven’t heard of it before, that is a book title, as well as another bygone date. When Georgie’s ‘O’-level class was reading it, it was still eighteen years away!
This unfortunate author had his book published in June of 1949 but sadly was in his grave by the end of January 1950. As a result, he did not live long enough to reap the benefits of how successful his publication was to become. Fortunately though, he will have realised that it was an immediate hit from the day it was released, which would have been some consolation for him, albeit not much.
You may never have had the privilege to read 1984. Briefly, it was a forecast, as though someone today was to write a book predicting what may be happening in the 2040s.
Orwell was certainly ahead of his time but it’s his big brother who worries the ‘CD’s, not George himself.
Whatever happened to one’s security, to an Englishman’s home being his castle, to private bank accounts, private phone calls and general respect for another individual’s privacy?
“Who knows? That’s progress for you!”
Nor does Georgie like it, one little bit.
1950s/60s: - The transistor radio.
1990s/2000s: - The webcam.
2030s/2040s: - He dreads to think what may have evolved by then! He’ll be well past his own used-by-date and he won’t want to know!
Nothing stays the same forever. Businesses change hands over periods of time. Sometimes, in the space of three or four years, a shop or a garage may have been owned or managed by an equivalent number of people. Georgie generally keeps his job of maintaining clean windows, regardless of the current governors of the premises.
On seeing another new face at the helm, it may just be a “Hi!” from Georgie.
“You must be the new owner. I’m Georgie. Would you like me to continue with your window cleaning, as I’ve done for ten years previously?”
“Probably, Georgie. How often do you do them and how much do you charge?”
“Once a month, Boss. $90 for each visit.”
“Sounds good to me. You keep your job, until further notice.”
Despite rapid staff turnover, one constant usually remains. Georgie!
At many of his town cleans he is by far the longest-standing employee, by years in some cases. He has regularly survived three or four owners, two or three managers and countless casual staff. He has observed the behaviour of so many wage earners, at so many different establishments, that he would be qualified to apply for any vacant manager’s post and would fill the position adequately.
But he prefers the flexibility of running his own show rather than someone else’s.
There is one particular service in town, where service no longer exists. Thornby has often thought to himself,
“I’d love to be in charge of this place for just one week. I could double the profits just by showing inexperienced staff a few ‘PR’ skills and reminding them of their job descriptions.”
In truth, nobody will ever find out, because that won’t happen.
owever, if Georgie were a grass (or a dobber, in Kiwi jargon) he’d love to have been a fly on the wall for a few consecutive days, rather than just the quiet, unassuming ‘WC’, once a month.
Many of the ever-changing staff at this particular venue have been so busy skiving that they haven’t even noticed him noticing them!
Years ago, when this business opened at its current site, Georgie was employed to clean the windows by the new manager, who happened to be a brother of an existing customer.
The forecourt staff was then comprised of probably six or eight shift workers, each part of a roster, in order that there were always four on duty at any one time, except during the graveyard shift. The team had been trained properly to serve the customers, as they pulled in to refuel. One lad in particular, maybe in his early twenties, springs immediately to Georgie’s mind. He always worked at full speed and as efficiently as any forecourt attendant ever could. We’ll call him Billy Whizz.
Billy was always ready, pump in hand, as each motorist manoeuvred his vehicle into position. As the nozzle of the pump was on automatic, filling the tank with gusto, with even more gusto Billy would have been cleaning the front and rear windscreens, checking the oil and chatting cheerfully with each of his very satisfied customers, in turn.
Nine-and-a-half years on and those days are long gone. Staff presence on the forecourt, if at all these days, is there largely to make sure they record the number plates of any cars driving off in a hurry.
Georgie now does the same job, at the same garage, fortnightly. The manager of the day, Phil Fewell, must have decided that the profits from the recent massive price increases now warranted doubly-dazzly glass.
So, he now does them fortnightly.
Georgie was actually cleaning these windows, yesterday.
During the time he was there, which perhaps was about the length of a soccer game, three different customers asked if he would serve them with petrol.
“I work for the owners of the garage, cleaning the windows. Sorry, I can’t help you but there is an attendant inside. I presume that he should be serving you. That’s him, over there, looking at the centre-fold of a glossy magazine.”
The other employee was behind the counter, at the till, so was confined to barracks.
On Georgie’s mid morning arrival the girl on the till had been the only employee on site. The magazine reader had only just arrived to begin his shift.
When Georgie produced his invoice there was nobody present with sufficient authority, or knowledge, to pay him. This had been an on-going arrangement for as long as he had been working there. That is to say, the two fledglings on duty did not know how to pay Georgie and nobody was even in the office at the back of the premises, to assist them.
Goodness knows what would have happened in the event of an emergency situation.
Never mind, Georgie will call in for his wages later in the week, when someone with a little more accountablity may be present.
Having stuck with window cleaning, in the same locality for as long as he has, Georgie has become very familiar with individuals and with groups of people. At some jobs he is almost made to feel like an adopted member of the family, or as one of the staff team, where he operates.
I won’t mention too many examples of these but you may rest assured that there have been lots of growing families over the years, who seem to have accepted Georgie as being part of their furniture. It’s almost as if they would actually miss "Love, honour and obey."him, if he were not to show up at the scheduled time.
“Hang on a minute, please. I’m becoming rather emotional. OK. I’ve grabbed a handkerchief from my bedside drawer and I’ll try hard not to st-st-stutter too much.”Daddy?"
Three lady customers come to mind at this point.
T-t-t-two were heavily pregnant, as Georgie carried out their first window clean. The other had just given b-b-b-irth to twins, when she began to use the Thornby’s service.
Ronnie!
“I might add that Georgie had not met any of these three ladies previously. In his defence, I feel you ought to know that, as window cleaners unfortunately and undeservingly do have a bad reputation for playing away from home and for cutting other peoples’ grass.”
Sixteen years on, the first boy, Adam, is now a sixth former. Fortunately, he looks nothing like his ‘WC’. He has a kid sister, now fifteen.
Eve is thinking about leaving school soon to find work.
Georgie has casually observed these two youngsters second thoughts growing up, as time has flown by at a rate of knots.
From a distance, he has probably been able to observe some of their ever-changing features more distinctly than have their own parents. By seeing them just twice a year, Georgie has noticed subtle differences in both their physical and personality development.
Adam has always had a keen interest in football, to the point of becoming rather channel-visioned. Having said that, so too have many others, who have ultimately achieved success at the top echelon of any sport.
This lad has every chance of doing just that in the future.
I may be wrong but Adam may not have achieved his maximum potential in other areas at school, as a direct consequence of his dedication and enthusiasm for his primary interest. However, his sporting prowess has given him considerable confidence in his own abilities and he seems to be developing exceptional strength of character, as he gets older. This is probably largely attributable to the respect that he must have gained from his peers, by having his specific talents. He remains modest, which is a very creditable feature of his personality.
His sister, Eve is as interested in the sport as is Adam.
Again, enthusiastic parental guidance has been a noticeable and influential feature of this household.
During the time that I’ve been working on this script this young man has crossed the planet to pursue a career in soccer, at the highest level. He currently represents West Bromwich Albion, as a staff member, playing in England’s Premier League. On a graph, his progress has been almost vertical.
Another son and daughter duo, offspring of other Thornby customers are just as likely to reach a similar level, in cricket. Both brother and sister are already making in-roads by playing representative games at the highest level.
Yet another long-standing customer of Georgie’s has two youngsters, Jack and Jill, each apparently enjoying school and both doing very well.
Only seeing them twice a year, the small changes in the kids are amazing. Without preaching, or giving biology lessons I am sure we are all aware that an adolescent has a growth spurt, most commonly during his high school years.
"Georgie is still awaiting his!"
This customer was having the house decorated, at the time Millie rang them, to book in their six-monthly visit. As a consequence, the window clean was left for a full year between Thornby’s visits. This absence of his coincided with Jack’s voice breaking, his balls dropping and a significant accumulation of fluff growing on his top lip. As well as his natural, biological development during those twelve months he had also grown and dyed his hair, pierced his lug and applied a small stud to it. Also, he was obviously now a trendsetter, with regards to his stylish clothing.
Georgie arrived, as Dad was backing out from the garage, presumably on his way to work. Mum was busy at the kitchen sink, Jill was eating her breakfast in front of the TV and this long-haired, studded, giant of a man, in a voice deeper than the Pacific Ocean said,
“G’day, Georgie. How are you?”
Georgie knew this guy had to be the young master of the house but he couldn’t believe it. He now had to duck down, not to bump his head on the doorframes, as he entered each room.
In a squeaky voice, Georgie replied pathetically,
“Hi, Mate. Where’s your little brother?”
“I’VE ONLY GOT A SISTER, GEORGIE.”
The house shook.
“I know. I was only joking, Jack. You must be sixth form by now, eh?”
“FIFTH, Georgie.”
Theirs is a lovely family and both kids are likeable and obviously respectful towards adults, as Georgie was taught to be when he was their age.
That seems like a long time ago.
The twin boys, Elton and Ringo are sixth formers too. They have always been encouraged by their parents to pursue their interests in music and they excel in that field. They have been set moral guidelines and very high standards of behaviour. They are bright, well mannered and very mature. Elton has been playing violin at the highest level, in national youth orchestras. In recent years, they have both been very successful at regional and national representative music competitions.
Like their parents, the twins are academically very bright and I am sure will be spoilt for choice with regard to choosing their respective career paths. It will be interesting to see which avenues they go down.
In Georgie’s experience, he has observed that twins generally share similar interests but one of them will edge ahead for a while, then in turn the other catches up and overtakes. Ringo may shine on drums, or keyboards, Elton as a singer, or on violin, piano, or cello. Elton may be picked to represent the school at this, Ringo at that, but often they will play together, in the same band.
One thing has been certain over the years. These two boys have had a similar share of recognition for their respective achievements and I have little doubt that they will continue to have, as they become young adults. Their successful progress, so far, can be attributed to a number of different factors. These include the twins’ natural ability, together with genuine devotion to their causes. These qualities have resulted in hours of practice being carried out, before and after other school commitments. Also, their own focus, determination and endeavour have been very telling attributes.
The support and parental encouragement they have received has been considerable and on going.
Georgie is convinced that their ultimate success will be inevitable, due to the solid platform they now have and on which they will continue to build.
He has more than once been on the receiving end of renditions at breakfast time, which has been a privilege for him to witness over the years.
From Georgie’s perspective, he has enjoyed working at the family homes of these and many other children and he will continue to take a keen interest in the progress of them all.
At no time has he ever felt contempt, by becoming familiar with any of them.
Re-reading, I have surprisingly only made reference to the good ones.
Let me assure you that Georgie has seen families at war, too. He has witnessed kids really going off the rails and he has sympathised on numerous occasions with parents who have lost control of their own flesh and blood. Some of these parents have apparently been doing their utmost to be reasonable in their dealings with their children, but still the youngsters have strayed and lost the plot.
On the other hand, sometimes Georgie has had cause to cringe. For instance, when a parent has repeatedly given in to a kid’s selfish, unreasonable demands, in order to take the easy way out.
(“You’re making a rod for your own back there, Mister, or Missus.”)
No, it’s not been Georgie’s business to say that but it will have gone through his mind at times.
I won’t elaborate. Georgie knows that it is not an enviable task, especially in this day and age, to be responsible for guiding and chanelling today’s youngsters into adulthood.
He attempted to do his bit years ago and would not relish doing the same now, with society as it has become in recent years.
“They do say that 'familiarity breeds contempt'.”
The author has never fully understood that phrase. The theory, apparently, is that as one person gets to know another they will both find faults. As a result, any mutual respect between them will diminish.
“Hogwash! Sorry, I don’t believe that!”
Possibly, where discipline and authority are concerned, a distance between ranks may be desirable, in order to maintain governance and power. That makes a bit of sense to Georgie but that’s all.
Many of Thornby’s customers have become personal friends. He knows his employers, their children, their dogs, the cats, the rabbits and the budgies.
He also knows every small chip on every pane of glass and has discovered, by trial and error, the easiest and safest ways to reach nearly every awkward window he has ever come across.
Georgie has worked at several different places in town, far longer than have some, if not all, full-time staff members.
OK! Bear with me!
The author keeps repeating himself, largely because of his age. Just accept that!
Your time will come, if it hasn’t already!
He’s seen them come and he’s watched them go. It has often reached the stage whereby staff look up from the till and don’t even realise Georgie is there. His squeegee is a bit like the ones that wipe a car’s windscreen. The driver ceases to notice the constant swiping of the blades after a while. It’s only when they start whining that he turns them off.
That does sound familiar!
Many times has Georgie joined a work force for smoko, as though he’s part if the permanent team. First name terms are important in building relationships. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the boss of the outfit, his lackey, his farm dog or his pet goat. It’s handy to remember names, as he does for most staff members. Some have badges, so that makes things simple. It makes Georgie grin when the girl behind the counter looks totally bemused when he says,
“Have you been busy, ‘Bee’trice?”
“How does he know my name?” she wonders.
The name-badge on her chest is often a bit of a give-away.
The personal touch plays a large part in making his work enjoyable. He has always liked to be part of a team. Whether he actually makes a difference or not, it’s always good for him to feel as though he does. Morale has a lot to be said for it. This helps to keep Georgie sane and to get him through each day.
When George first began working in strangers’ houses he was quite surprised to find so many radios and televisions, broadcasting to an otherwise empty household. The little box on the kitchen bench would often be tuned in to talkback radio, with endless whinging callers. Many would be regulars, on first name terms with all the hosts. They were certainly not all Poms, as Kiwis would like to think.
The callers would run down whichever political party happened to be in power. If not, they’d be trying to do the All Black Coach’s job on the Monday morning following a big loss to the Aussies at the weekend.
Since living here Georgie has noticed that the privileged few, with high profile jobs in New Zealand, are on a hiding to nothing. Jo Public does not have much tolerance for ‘NZ’ representatives, who don’t come up with the goods.
In truth, he has no tolerance, whatsoever.
Occasionally, a music station will be playing continuous blasts from the past, which would allow Georgie to recall songs that he hadn’t heard for thirty years or so.
He’d be whistling away to one of the melodies and suddenly he’d think,
“I remember that one: 'Winchester Cathedral', or 'Mouldy Old Dough'.”
The power of retention of Georgie’s brain never ceases to amaze some people! It’s just a crying pity that the same organ remembers very little of any real importance.
He could recite the number plates of his first few cars. Going back further, he could list, in chronological order, the names of his first few girlfriends. He could give you their vital statistics. These maidens will have ranged between the ages of six and twelve. They didn’t actually have any vital statistics, to speak of, then.
“What’s that, Ronnie?”
That reminds me of a joke, Georgie.
This thirteen-year-old boy was holding hands with his twelve-year-old girl friend. He put his arm around her and tried to touch her with the other, where he’d seen in his older brother’s naughty magazines. He told her,
“I get what I want, when I want it.”
She replied,
“You can have what I’ve got, when I’ve got it!”
“Thank you very much for that, Ron.”
The TVs would either be showing American cartoons, or commercials.
Sit-up or ab. machines, being ridden by big-jawed men, would probably be on air. If not giving you the opportunity to flatten your six-packs it may well be mutton, dressed as lamb, advertising make-up or sharp knives.
It would not be unusual for Georgie to find three radios on in a house, two tellies, two bedroom lights, as well as the kitchen and the hall lights. Also, computers may be humming away in various rooms around the property.
Early on in his ‘WC’ing, Georgie would have instinctively flicked off the light switches, as he left each room, until he realised that this was normal in ‘NZ’.
Maybe this was to deter intruders. Perhaps a gullible burglar would think
“Ah! Someone must be in here. The radio’s on. I’ll do next door instead.”
From past experience, Georgie can assure his readers that few burglars would be put off quite so easily. That includes many that ended up in one of the big houses, where he worked.
Quite rightly, Georgie soon adopted a leave-as-you-find motto, rather than let his customers think he’d been interfering, or intruding.
After all, he wasn’t paying their electricity (power) bills and he’d never really been an ardent Greenie, on a mission to save the planet.
Not to risk being accused of interference was the way to go. This was endorsed when he answered a phone once, as it had been ringing continuously for fifteen minutes. The voice at the other end asked to speak to the owner of the house, who was at work.
Georgie had politely answered the call, in a chirpy, pleased-to-be-of-service, cheery sort of voice.
“Good morning. How can I help you?”
“Who are you?” snapped the person at the other end
“Is Selly there?”
“I’m Georgie. I am Sally’s window cleaner.”
“Why have you answered Selly’s phone?”
“I’d picked up the phone because it had been ringing incessantly and it was driving me in sane. I thought it might have been Sally, with a message for me, or even my own wife trying to get hold of me. Would you like to leave a message for Sally? I understand that she’ll be home for lunch. I could ask her to ring you back then, if you’d like me to.”
“No! That won’t be necessary. I want to speak to Selly but not her window cleaner.”
It had obviously gone unnoticed but that had been the motive in Georgie’s suggestion.
“Goodbye, then.”
Too late! She’d already gone.
When the owner came home ten minutes later Georgie mentioned that somebody had rung earlier but that she hadn’t told him her name, or left a message.
“She’ll probably call you again if it’s important, Sally.”
“I’d rather you didn’t answer my phone when I’m not here, Georgie.”
(“B*gger me! I don’t believe it! It’s not as if it was your cell phone, Lady! I didn’t take it from your handbag!” Georgie quietly thought to himself.)
Two or three days later another customer came running in from her garden to answer her phone, which had been ringing in the kitchen for a few seconds. Georgie was whistling away in the second bedroom, focussed entirely on the job in hand, hardly noticing that the phone had been ringing. He was working diligently, three rooms away.
The phone had apparently rung off and Mrs Thorn had missed the call. It cut off, just as she’d lifted the handpiece.
“I wish you’d picked the phone up Georgie, as I was outside.”
“Sorry, Rose.”
You can please some of the people, some of the time, but you’ll never please all the people, all of the time.
“B*llocks!” Georgie retaliated, inwardly.
“You just can’t win!” he quietly mused.
Georgie had taped the Chelsea versus Man Utd. FA Cup Final. It was back in 2007. He’d left home that morning, without the van radio on. The last thing he wanted to hear throughout the day was the result of the match, ahead of watching it before his tea. He was only working at Mrs Thorn’s house that day and he’d guessed that if the ‘TV’ were on at all, then it would be tuned into a programme to do with gardening, not soccer.
He took all his breaks in silence, in his van. He had muted a ‘TV’ that had been left on and he had all but finished the job. He was very much looking forward to the game. His excitement had been building up during the day. He had a real appetite for the big match. It went through his mind that he would actually be sitting down, watching it within the next hour or so and was really pleased that he’d had the self-discipline to avoid hearing any reports about the game.
“I’ve just about got time to go the extra mile and do the old garden shed window. That’ll be worth a Brownie point and it might even make up for not answering the phone earlier,” he thought, sarcastically, to himself.
Garden shed windows are not really an essential part of the job but they don’t take long to do.
Georgie stepped over the mower, burst through some cobwebs and accessed the inside of the one-and-only pane in there.
From a small transistor radio on the workbench, he heard,
“… the Chelsea striker, Didier Drogba’s winning goal, in extra time.”
It had been one of those days!
Georgie was absolutely gutted and returned home, tail between his legs.
Whilst I’m on the subject of telephones ringing, Georgie has learned much about how a bored housewife kills time.
“Don’t get too excited!”
Surface area of glass cleaned: 100acres (just over 40 hectares.)
Cleaning juice used: Capacity of 1 beer barrel (36 gallons.)
Number of individual squeezes of cleaning juice into bucket: 15,000.
Time spent filling bucket with water: 7 working days.
Again, without a word of a lie, Georgie was at a farmhouse one morning. He’d just finished the outside windows. As he entered the premises to do the insides, the phone was ringing. He had made an early start, as he always did at this farm. On his arrival the farmer was out in the shed milking the cows and his wife had probably been helping him, or seeing to the calves, or whatever else farmers’ wives do first thing in the mornings. They crossed paths and made brief eye contact, as Mrs C picked up the receiver from its socket on the kitchen bench.
“Hello, love. … Yes, I’ve got a few minutes.”
“Did she?” …
“Did she?” …
“Oh, good.” …
“Oh, good.” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“Yes” …
“Yes” …
“No” …
“Yes” …
“No” …
“No, not yet” …
“Yes” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“Sh*t” …
“Sh*t” …
“Sh*t” …
“B*gger” …
“Bummer” …
“Sh*t” …
“B*gger” …
At this point Georgie fancied a coffee and went out to his van.
He returned, fifteen minutes later. He was now further down the hallway but still couldn’t help hearing the ongoing phone conversation, which so far had lasted at least half an hour and was pretty one-sided.
“Yes” …
“No” …
“Yes” …
“I know” …
“I know” …
“I know” …
“Yes” …
“Tell me” …
“She didn’t?” …
“No?” …
“B*gger” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“Yes” …
“Bummer” …
“Did she?” …
“So would I” …
“OK” …
“Right then” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“B*gger ” …
“Yes” …
“Right then” …
“OK” …
“I’ll let you know” …
“OK” …
“Right then …
“Cheerio then” …
“Yes” …
“OK” …
“Right then” …
“OK” …
“Cheerie” …
“OK” …
“No?” …
“Right then” …
“Hooray” …
“Yes, I’ll let you know” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“Cheerie” …
“I’ll let you know” …
“Yes” …
“Thanks for ringing, love” …
“OK” …
“OK” …
“I’ll phone you back” …
“OK” …
“Thanks for ringing” …
“Look forward to it” …
“Cheerie then” …
“OK” …
“And you” …
“I’ll let you know” …
“Bye love” …
“Boy, can she talk, Georgie!”
Georgie wasn’t there but he did hear the comment, from a distance. He had only caught a bit of the conversation. Whilst she’d been on the phone, he’d finished the windows, been to his van for a break, he’d rung up Millie from the van to ask her about the price of one of today’s later jobs and he’d written the bill out for Mrs Chatabox.
Farmer Chatabox had also been in for his smoko and had gone back out to do some fencing. He hadn’t said a word. He probably had forgotten how to speak.
Maybe I did hear him say, “Mum”.
Yes, that was the word he used.
“I must say you’re a very good listener,” responded Georgie, not really knowing quite what to say to Ariel.
He thought that was a very original Christian name. She was Ariel Chatabox.
“She used to be a neighbour and she rings at least twice a week. She doesn’t like it in town. Mind you, we always tried to avoid each other like the plague, when she lived over there.”
She gesticulated toward the far paddock.
“How much do I owe you, Georgie? Same as usual?”
“Yes, please, Mrs C. Thanks again. You’ll be due again just before Christmas. I’ll give you a ring, as always, to let you know when I’m coming. If the line’s engaged (busy) when we ring up (which would almost be a certainty) I’ll just turn up, as usual.”
“Thanks, Georgie. The place is always open. Someone will be here. We won’t be far away.”
As Georgie turned to head for his van he heard the phone ring again.
He bumped his way down the track to the main road, spilling his freshly poured coffee, all over his invoice book.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
But, from time to time things happen, if only now and again
If the Thornbys go to Blighty for a trip that's been arranged
There is a building next door, which has already become a Post Office, a Stationer and a Bookshop, in succession. More recently, it has become a store selling a variety of fabrics. It had stood vacant for at least the previous two months.
As he was working, Anne, who owns the antique shop, greeted him as she arrived to open up for business.
“Have you seen they’re in next door, George?”
“I thought I saw a sign of life when I first arrived. It’s not another café opening up, is it?”
“No. Fabrics.”
“She’ll be out here in a minute asking for a quote for her windows. Where can I hide?” he asked.
But before Anne could lock Georgie in the boot of her car, the door had opened.
“Would you have time to clean our windows, too? We’re due to open next week. Perhaps you could give us a quotation, when you’ve finished here?”
Within minutes Georgie had entered her shop and introduced himself, handing the new owner one of his business cards. The price was agreed upon and this was to become yet another monthly shop job, to be carried out in conjunction with his visits next door. This was a very convenient arrangement for everyone concerned.
“I’ll be able to start your cleans as from my next visit to see Anne, your neighbour. Now, just for our records, what is the name of your shop?”
This lady was clearly of American dissent and had a strong, southern accent.
“Beautique Fabrics,” was how Georgie heard it.
“Is that spelt as in beau for beautiful?”
“No, Georgie. BOUtique,” pronounced BOW, far more clearly this time, as in Robin Hood’s weapon.
Georgie quivered, as a funny thought occurred to him.
“These two adjacent shops could have been siblings, or husband and wife, Anne and Bo Tique.”
“He’s lost the plot,” or
“When is the man in a white coat coming to take him away?”
In hindsight, Georgie now understands the wavelength he was on.
Double meanings of words often amuse Georgie, as they obviously did his French teacher, all those years ago. Misspellings or pronunciations creating puns make him chuckle, particularly if they have a lewd interpretation.
Healthy mind / healthy body.
Dirty mind / dirty body.
Monsieur Bonhomie had been enjoying himself at the expense of his students. Occasionally, he would have quoted from one of the assignments and we’d look around the class to see who was blushing most.
“Hi there!” Georgie whispered, so as not to wake the guests.
“I don’t usually see anybody else at this time of day. Did you forget to put your clocks back at the weekend? By the way, I’m Georgie, the window man.”
He mentioned that to prevent any misunderstandings, just in case she hadn’t noticed the rags around his middle, his squeegee, his ladder or his bucket of frothy water. She may not have seen him rubbing hard on the glass with a cloth.
“No! We did, we did, we did,” she replied in triplicate.
“You must be the new cleaner,” Georgie observed, as she was wielding a large broom and was wearing a full-length apron.”
“I am. I am. I am.”
She was beginning to remind Georgie of somebody, but he couldn’t quite put a name to the face.
“You’re doing a good job, Georgie. You’re doing a good job. You are doing a good job.”
“Thanks,” said Georgie. “All compliments are very gratefully received, especially in triplicate, particularly at this time on a Monday morning. Do you clean full time, as I do.”
“Yes. I do. I do. I do.”
“Got it! Anni-Frid – Frida – from Abba,” Georgie thought to himself.
He always liked to solve his own puzzles.
“Do you and Millie eat pumpkins, Georgie?”
“Would you like some tangelos to take home, Georgie?”
“Murray has left a couple of nice big cabbages by your front wheel, Georgie.”
“Would you like some feijoas, Georgie?”
“We’ve got trees full of feijoas, Georgie. Do you eat them?”
“Please take one of the bags from the laundry, Georgie.”
He thinks to himself,
“Sounds good. Maybe a couple of flannelette sheets or some old rags. My customers are very thoughtful.”
But no! It’s another flaming bag of feijoas.
Much tastier.
Named after Joao da Silva Feijoa, a Brazilian botanist, this species has become a popular fruit tree, in New Zealand.
Thanks, Ron.
(He likes using the magic box.)
As winter approaches, after a hot and dry period, Georgie’s lunch bag is packed with these green, elliptical, unique-tasting delights. Millie puts in a plastic spoon with a serrated edge. Georgie bisects each sample in turn and scoops out the contents of the two halves. Gone in seconds, and again, and again. Apples, grapes, pears, lemons. The list is endless.
“I’ve put some walnuts in your van, Georgie, with your cheque.”
“I hope you like green beans, Georgie. I’ve just filled a wheelbarrow with one or two (tons of) and left it by your driver’s door. Bring the barrow back when you come next time. Next year I’ll fill up a skip for you.”
(You're telling lies now, George and getting a bit carried away!)
“Some of the eggs I’ve given you will have double yolks, George. We’ve never had such a clutch of fertile chooks.”
“Would you and Millie like half a beast, Georgie?”
“No thanks, Wilda. We’ve no room in the freezer. It’s full of green beans and feijoas.”
Georgie receives many gratuities, as perks. Many of his customers can’t thank him enough for his efforts, which adds considerably to his job satisfaction
Just before Christmas it gets really silly. Quite often Georgie receives bottles of wine, boxes of chocolates and even wrapped presents, to put under his tree.
Just before Christmas one year, a regular and long-standing customer wrote out Georgie’s cheque for sixty-five bucks. It was only when Millie went to bank it that she noticed a one, in front of the six. When a call was made that evening to Jenny Russ, to point out the over-payment, she would not hear of it.
“You do such a good job looking after my windows during the year Georgie that you deserve a decent Christmas bonus.”
When this became an annual occurrence he guessed it wasn’t a mistake on Jenny’s part
Georgie is just trying to think of an occasion, during his teaching career, when a parent gave him 100 big ones for doing a good job on his child.
.
.
.
No, he can’t.
‘Georgie has done very well this year but he should not rest on his laurels.’
This poignant comment was a lesson the young Thornby needed to learn. Just as a sportsman is only as good as his last performance, so too is a ‘WC’.
Belatedly, Georgie would like to thank his ex-teacher Basher Baughan for making that very meaningful observation of him, all those years ago.
There have been many times during his life that he has re-considered its significance, which has helped him enormously.
Much as Georgie knows that he does not do a perfect job for his customers, it is a privilege that some of them never seem to notice the inevitable smears that he leaves behind.
Maybe they’re just kind enough not to mention them?
Thank goodness some of them do, though. He needs constantly reminding that he is human. Much as the truth hurts he does not wish to be led into a false sense of security. He still wants to guard against 'resting on his laurels'.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Window Cleaning Technique … Evening Meal
There’ll be times, when just to reach some glass, will mean standing on a roof
That will mean taking extra care where Georgie puts his hoof
There may be windows up there that the sun shines on all day
Then expect to use a bit of guile to ensure the flecks don’t stay
Studying roofs.
Georgie comes across many different types of roof. He knows that tiles may be missing, cracked, split, dented and invariably very lethal when slippery. Quite often in Georgie’s experience, particularly at a first visit to a property he will climb up to roof level and report back to his employer before continuing with the task ahead.
“You’ve got a number of damaged tiles up there, Gov. I thought I’d mention it before I started on the roof, just to absolve myself of any blame that perhaps another tradesman worked hard to earn. I wouldn’t like to take credit that somebody else deserves.”
“No worries, Georgie. That was the dodgy painter we had last summer. We never did pay him.”
That sounded like good reason to keep this customer happy.
I’ve included this aspect of the work as part of technique, because there is certainly a knack required in order to get to some windows, without damaging roof surfaces.
Tiles come in all sorts of shapes, sizes and materials but to avoid denting, cracking or splitting them Georgie is always very careful where and how he treads, whilst up there.
At a new house, with high windows, he takes time out to study the tile or the sheeting. He experiments a little before he starts work. This he does in order not to cause any damage to any of the roofing materials.
Initially, he carefully applies downward pressure with his foot. With a great deal of finesse, even cat-like, he first gently spreads the weight of his size eight over a small, selected area of a tiled roof.
Where he finds roofing sheets he stands on the roof nails that attach the steel to the lengths of timber underneath. These nails are in straight rows as they penetrate the studs, noggins or rafters of the framework. He gradually mastered the art. He was soon able to recognise the type of roof, at each new job, as he arrived on site to give his quote.
"Ronnie!"
Georgie has always found it hard to believe the careless attitude of so-called professionals, working in New Zealand. Some of them seem to have no consideration for anyone else’s property.
“Who cares if I leave a few dents or crack a few slates? Nobody’s ever going to find out that I was responsible. Even if they do, I’ll be long gone, so it isn’t going to be my problem. With any luck the window cleaner will get the blame.”{Which did happen on one memorable occasion for Georgie, when he was sacked by one of his humourless customers. Through the feedback network it came as no shock when Georgie learned that Slack’s company was no longer thriving.}
It’s already tough, trying to make a bob or two, but being snidy towards fellow professionals is certainly not conducive to longevity in business!
Laziness upsets Georgie, too.
Most tradespeople out there are pretty competent but sometimes Georgie meets an exception to this rule.
There’s the builder, who doesn’t fit a frame squarely, so the window won’t shut properly ... the carpenter, who leaves nail-heads sticking out all around the frames … the carpet layer, who leaves his off-cuts all over the place … the plumber, who fits a new toilet in a posh bathroom but the lid won’t stay up whilst he’s having a pee … the electrician, who leaves cables protruding from ugly holes in the walls, after he’s supposed to have finished the job … the decorator, who leaves more paint on the glass than on the frames … and there’s the owner of the house, who is presumably footing all the bills, who lets these tradesmen get away with their shoddy workmanship.
“Stop whining, Ronnie!”
Let me finish, Georgie.
When quoting for work Georgie takes a good look for paint on the glass. A few spots or the occasional run are easily removed and will probably be worth credit to him. Also, next time he visits they won’t be there, so the job will take less time to accomplish, which means more profit in the long run.
On the other hand, if the windows were not masked adequately and paint has been sprayed, all over the glass, then Georgie will need to mention that foreseeable problem to his potential employer. The initial price for the work involved, at his first visit, would need to be taken into account. In some cases that might be a considerable amount of extra time required for paint removal.
Diplomacy may be needed here because it may have been a ‘DIY’ project.
He’ll choose his words carefully.
Rather than saying, “Who the ph*k did this painting?” it may be advisable for him to tread carefully at that stage of negotiations.
“Would you like me to quote separately for paint removal?”
The owner of the property will realise Georgie’s inference, that it is not really his responsibility to take excessive amounts of paint off the glass. He’ll know that Georgie is the ‘WC’ and not the decorator.
So, it’ll either be,
“Certainly, Georgie. I wouldn’t expect you to do it for nothing.”
or
“Just give me a price for washing the glass, Georgie. Leave the paint on. I’ll scrape it off sometime later.”
In other words, it would probably still be there next time as well!
At least the customer has not been made to confess that he was the culprit.
Hot Days.
Failure to produce a streakfree, smearfree, fleckfree pane of glass will almost certainly be the result of not carrying out the drying process quickly enough. If Georgie lets the elements do the work that his rags should be doing, he’d best be on his guard! He’ll get away with it sometimes, under cloud cover and with some high panes, but not often. It’s not worth him taking that risk.
When conditions are right he may sometimes take on six large panes at once i.e. he’ll wash them all, squeegee them all and rag them all, saving time by not having to swap over from washer to squeegee to rag, repeatedly. But under adverse conditions, that won’t work. He’ll need to do those six panes differently, using a more appropriate method. Then, he’ll need to take on smaller surface areas at a time.
Once or twice the glass, especially up on a roof, has been so hot that the instant he has removed the washer from the glass it’s been dry. In those cases, he’ll bypass the offending windows, or skylights, and return to them after he’s finished the rest of the house. By then, hopefully the sun will be behind a cloud. It may have moved round a little to the west or will have gone for forty winks. The worst case scenario would be for him to have no choice but to return to finish the job, later in the week. For other reasons, he knows he’d have to do that, say, if a slippery roof was his problem. If needs must, then that would be his only option.
There has been the odd time when it’s been hopeless! Despite his best efforts George has found it impossible not to leave flecks on the glass he’s been cleaning. On these occasions, regardless of the rag’s composition, little clusters of dust particles (dandruff lookalikes) will stick to the glass.
Especially on a busy day, Georgie doesn’t need that sort of hassle.
He’ll leave the b*gger and come back to it later rather than let it get to him. He’ll think of it as being just a bit of a nuisance, rather than a big deal. Even if he feels like putting one end of his squeegee through it, he’ll just treat it with the contempt it deserves. Rather than count to ten or take a deep breath, he’ll talk to it, if necessary.
“OK, Pa(i)ne. I’ll go and do your mates first. I’ll return, to see you again later, and if things haven’t improved by then you can stay dirty. If you co-operate, fair enough, you’ll sparkle like the rest of them by the time I go home.”
Rest assured, that pane will want to be clean and shiny by the time Georgie leaves and its attitude will be vastly different when he goes back to it. It will realise that he means business and it will conform. Just like a naughty second former, trying the patience of a student teacher, it will have tried him out but realised that he’s having none of its insolence. It will be saving its surplus energy for the next new face to appear with a bucket of water and some steps.
Dealt with like a professional, Georgie!
It never crossed his mind at first, to apply to join a club
He didn’t know there was one, as he made bubbles in his tub
There are very few ‘WC’s out there, charging people for their labour
Fewer still, I reckon, who would clean glass as a favour
Georgie has heard of Master Electricians, Master Plumbers, Master this, Master that but wondered if ‘WC’s have a similar association, to promote the services they offer.
Having done a bit of research, he has been able to find one such organisation, on the Internet. It is named the ‘FWC’ (Foundation of Window Cleaners). It appears to cater for the ‘UK’ and Europe, where ‘WC’s are in greater demand and certainly in much greater supply. It has been in existence there since 1947.
There is an American Master Window Cleaners Association, with international membership. New Zealand has two members. The first is a guy from Auckland and the other from Wellington.
Georgie reckons there must be a lot of dirty windows in ‘NZ’, or that a large majority of home and business owners must do their own, or not.
Closer to home, there is an Australian Federation of Window Cleaners, based in Perth.
He was a bit confused because he read about an offer they had for potential customers.
It read, ‘Choose two of the following three.’
It also stated that you can’t get them all.
i) Quality
ii) Reliability
iii) Low Price
Georgie is not a current member of any window cleaning organisation, so presumably he is permitted to offer all three of the above, and so he does.
It wasn’t long ago, when the Thornbys needed some assistance, to do with a kitchen appliance. Three outfits in town were prepared to investigate the problem but a callout charge applied to each, of between $50 and $60. Subsequently, should they be able to come up with a solution then an hourly rate would kick in. There would then be an additional charge to cover government tax payments, another inflated charge for any new parts that might be necessary and a service fee on top.
The firm that was employed by the Thornbys coincided its visit with two other clients living nearby, at a cost of between $50 and $60 each.
Millie spoke to one of them two or three days later and that person knew that another friend of hers had used the same firm, on the same day, as well.
Georgie travels the same distance to and from town and often splits a mileage charge between customers living adjacent to each other. His rate is currently a token $10, which will be split two ways for close neighbours, as his travelling distance is the same. He would not have the audacity to charge more.
Before his telephone line chokes with calls, since making this statement the author has revised his charges for time and costs of travelling to work.
He has made a slight increase to cover his own expenses but still does not have sufficient neck to jump on the bandwagon and fleece customers by using rising petrol prices as his excuse to extort money from them.
Inflation will rise fast enough, without Georgie needing to cheat on his customers.
Although he does not price his jobs according to an hourly rate, on his return home he may occasionally consider his worth, per hour. He remains happy with what he earns and is able to sleep well, every night. In comparison with certain rip-off merchants in the district he would be able to double his prices, according to hourly rate.
There is a programme on ‘NZ TV’, which candidly films tradespeople, working in private houses.
Boy, does that reveal some con men!
Georgie would be proud to be filmed whilst at work, as he operates in precisely the same way, with or without an audience. I suppose he is blowing his own trumpet a bit but it’s how he was brought up, as a youngster.
Thornby hears what other companies are saying.
…you didn’t have a lengthy training course to pay for.”
…you don’t have much outlay on new equipment.”
…you only have to account for your own time.”
…your wife does all your bookkeeping.”
…anyone can clean windows.”
…you don’t have the responsibility that we have.”
…you should charge more for travelling. You must be stupid not to.”
He is not just guessing but hears these and other similar comments being made about his situation.
Georgie does not feel he has to justify his methods, or to reason why, but he wants to respond, if only to the few above comments.
“Ron!”
Stress is a big topic, which Georgie briefly tried to research. On finding one or two lengthy terms, to complicate his understanding of such a small word, he gave up.
Suffice it to say that stress is a known and proven source of many psychological, physiological, neurochemicalogical and psychoneuroimmuniological problems.
Quote: Anonymous (Some clever Dick, somewhere.)
Taking on too much responsibility at work may cause any number of these symptoms, and others!
“They only pay wages to Mr and Mrs Thornby. They considered this to be optional but decided against
Trying to build an empire but to establish a small and easy-to-manage operation, to suit themselves.”
Georgie and Mildred made the choice to stay small and not to employ staff. "This was not being negative but was for their own sanity and general health and well-being.”
Experience counts for a lot when it comes to serving the general public.
Georgie’s training course, to help him deal with Jo and his mates, is on-going and began when he first started talking, at two-and-a-half.”
His mother always told him he was lazy, as he always let his older brother do most of his talking for him, as a toddler.
“They did have to make a substantial, initial outlay. However, they also fully understood that ongoing costs would not be considerable, compared to those incurred by some trades. This was also from choice and is how they like it, or maybe they would be doing something else by now?
Certainly, they run a business that is hands on and labour-intensive. Without splitting hairs, there are other outgoings, too. Not least, their travelling time and costs. But, over the years they have done their utmost to minimise these, by attempting to localise areas of their work. "That didn’t happen entirely by accident.”
“Millie does a great deal of preparation for her meetings with the accountant. The Thornbys consider that to be a major part of her job description, as she does represent half their entire staff level.
“Georgie does not entirely agree that anyone can clean windows. Some people, for a variety of unfortunate reasons are physically unable to clean windows. Others, who may be fit enough to do so seem to be less than useless at it. Many admit to this and accept that it has never been their forte. Some, in this category, choose to employ Georgie to do it for them.
It also appears that the definition of a clean window is a big variable in itself.
Thornby would find it hard to believe that anybody, he included, can clean windows to a high standard, every time. ”
“Georgie does have some responsibilities.
He must do a good job for his customer.
He is to be trusted, when left to his own devices in another person’s house or office.
He has to earn a living for himself and his wife.
He must be careful not to cause damage to anyone else’s property.
He is responsible for securing a property on completion of his work.
He must not drop things on Jo, step back onto Jo or upset Jo in any way.
He has a duty to be a cheerful member of the community that he represents.
He is responsible for his own and for others’ safety.
He must respect other peoples’ privacy and property.
He must remember to contact each customer, when he is expected to do so.”
I’m going to stop there. The list seems endless.
OK. Georgie does not do brain surgery. He is not a dentist. He does not sentence criminals to terms of imprisonment. He does not fix brakes on cars. He does not re-wire buildings and he does not do numerous other things that may more directly affect another person’s health or well being.
Contrary to popular opinion though, he does have to accept some responsibility for what he does, as he goes about earning his living.
He knows his limitations and is well aware that he is just another cog in life’s proverbial wheel but he has his place in society and a job to do and he takes a pride in both.
To end this passage, Mr and Mrs Thornby appreciate that they have had an element of good fortune, since they made their joint decision to emigrate and to start afresh, outside the United Kingdom.
Georgie trusts that you are not one of those people who thrive on envy and attribute anyone else’s success or failure to good or bad luck. Sometimes, it takes initiative and guts for those people to try something different.
OK, running the ‘WC’ business has gone well, so far, but the Thornbys have tried other things in the past that have gone belly up. They’ve had to cut their losses and move on to try something else.
I am of Del Boy’s considered opinion that,
“He who dares wins, Rodney!”
Georgie, as you well know by now, happens to be in the throws of writing and hopefully publishing a book. It may become a successful venture but it may be a total flop. There is no way of him knowing the outcome until he has given it his best shot.
It is a project that he was more than happy to undertake, at the current stage of his life, much as he realises there is an enormous element of risk involved.
Re-wind a little and you’ll remember how much Georgie detests adverse criticism.
He has occasionally dispensed various amounts of this, to worthy causes in the past. But that was before he planned to give those same individuals the perfect opportunity to repay him in kind, by writing a book himself.
He reckons he is now beyond the point of no return, so he’ll just have to grow an even thicker layer of skin during the next few weeks and months.
He enjoys the hours he spends sitting at his computer. He finds them a release from his everyday activities, which include window cleaning, woodworking, rounds of golf, times spent socialising with Millie, bridge evenings, entertaining visitors from overseas, letter-writing and his occasional watching of television.
Once this mission has been accomplished he will no doubt start another project, regardless of the outcome of this one.
He has a number of ideas that are currently on the back burner, largely because of this one.
What amazes him is that he looks forward to taking time out to sit in his office but he really has little idea of which keys he’ll be pressing until he takes up his possie, in front of his magic box.
Almost immediately, when he does so, his tiny brain engages and the tips of his digits begin to tap away, unlocking another few thoughts each time they do.
‘er indoors says,
“When are you likely to finish your book, Georgie?”
He doesn’t know.
“I don’t really know, Millie. I suppose, when something or somebody tells me to start winding down. I’m just the messenger."
(The scribe is an unknown source but I have great faith in Him, or it.)
"Sometime soon, I should think, but I still have a few notes to look at.”
Small Units
There are big houses, small houses, farms, garages and shops
Offices and libraries: Thornby never stops
Small units for young'uns, small units for the old
Small units that heat up easily, when the weather’s getting cold
One of the six-monthly cleans is for a lovely, cheerful lady living in a small unit, situated opposite the Catholic Church in town. She loves doing crossword puzzles and is invariably sat in her conservatory, pen in hand, when Georgie turns up to clean her windows.
Either that, or she’ll be found just inside the sliding door into the lounge, watching Days of our Lives with the volume on full blast.
Without being rude, she is quite elderly, having a young son of 76.
She is soon to become a centenarian herself and she told Georgie recently that she was the youngest of the eight children in her family. Her last remaining sibling, a sister, died recently at the age of 109.
This lady taught Georgie a new word during one of his visits, which made him chuckle for several days
The word was futt but he wasn’t able to find it in his dictionary. He couldn’t remember the exact context of the word at the time but it was made with reference to something that had broken down. The term was gone futt.
I think she’d said,
“I wasn’t able to use my washing machine yesterday because it had gone futt!”
“Ronnie has just googled on the magic box and the expression gone phut was originally used during the First World War, if something or somebody had died, or failed or had gone into decline.”
Georgie recently loaned Mrs Phut a book to read, which was written by a young octogenarian, Betty, who is another of the Thornby’s regular clients. She had documented a history of the area, where Mrs Phut’s family had farmed, many years ago. Her husband had ploughed the same land as Betty’s now did.
Another customer of the Thornbys is another couple, in premises a short walk from town and Georgie often sees Mr. Zedd taking a stroll to the shops, as he’s buffing shop windows.
Mr and Mrs Zedd also live in a small unit, but opposite the Anglican Church.
They have also done considerable mileage during their lives. They became customers of the Thornbys well after Mrs Phut but Georgie visits their unit every six weeks. Before many more years have passed Georgie will have been there on just as many occasions as he will have to see Mrs Phut.
I have good reason why the Zedds deserve a mention here.
They typify the customers on the Thornby books, who never forget when Georgie is coming. They show enormous appreciation for the service they receive. Theirs is a generation that would have it no other way than to pay bills on cue, as soon as a job is done.
Just prior to Georgie’s six-weekly visit a phone call is made. Whether Mrs Thornby rings the Zedds or the other way round, the arrangement is confirmed just prior to the scheduled date, in order that appropriate payment may be left in the mailbox on the due date. Nine times out of ten she will be at home anyway to pay Georgie his wages, in person.
This type of arrangement is perfect for all concerned. It’s what I made reference to earlier, as a win / win situation.
The Zedds stay happy because they know Georgie won’t forget to be at their unit, whenever Millie tells Mrs. Z he’ll be there.
The Thornbys are equally happy, because they know their customers are content with the service they give and that they won’t go broke as a result of bad payment from this lovely couple.
It's not much of an alias but Georgie has said nothing derogatory about either of these two very nice people, so I’m sure they won’t mind being recognised, as having contributed to this script.
If they do, there will be very little chance of putting things right for them because the book will hopefully be in circulation before they are made aware of it.
There aren’t many 'zeds' in the local telephone directory. Certainly, there are very few who live next to the big, white church.
There are many other, elderly couples or singles, living in units somewhere handy to the main street in town.
There are those who ask for quotes but don’t want to afford the luxury of employing a ‘WC’. They do not allow themselves to pay for a service when they feel they should still be doing the job themselves, rather than withdraw from their descendants’ funds. This seems to be a mindset that old people don’t even try to shake off.
Georgie has to cater for these people and he is aware that there are some parasites taking advantage of this small element in our society.
He enjoys taking a bit of time out with the elderly and is very concerned that he should charge them very little for his services.
One such example comes to mind.
Georgie cleans windows at a two-storied place just out of town. Part of this task means that he spends a few minutes during each visit up on the gentleman’s roof. From there he is in view of all the neighbouring community. He observed a neighbour watching him from across the road. As he dismounted, a voice from behind him asked if he would be able to give a quote for the outside windows of her unit, when he’d finished the job he was doing.
“I just saw you, so I thought I’d come over and ask.”
“Certainly. I’ll pop across in about half an hour. I’m Georgie, by the way.”
“I’m Jess.”
The quote was given. It wasn’t a big property and his minimum charge of $30 would be appropriate.
“Thank you. I’ll be in touch,” said Jess.
She didn’t get in touch but that was no big deal. Remember that Georgie works on percentages. He doesn’t expect to get new work from every quote he gives.
After about a year the same scenario occurred.
“I just saw you and wondered if you could give me a quote for my windows.”
Georgie went through the same motions and he suggested to Jess that she contacted Mrs Thornby to book in the work sometime. The same, minimum charge still stood.
The house opposite her unit was a three-monthly commitment for Georgie, so Jess just saw him, pretty regularly.
“How much would you charge me to clean the outside windows of my unit?” came the familiar question, after about another four or five visits to her neighbour across the road.
“I’m afraid my minimum charge has increased since I first gave you a quote, Jess. My charge would be $40 now, I’m afraid. I’ll do them tomorrow, at about ten o’clock. I’ll tap on your door when I’ve finished.”
Georgie thought he’d call her bluff.
“$40 is a bit more than I really want to pay, Georgie.”
“As I’m feeling benevolent, Jess, I’ll only charge you last year’s price, of $30.”
“Thanks very much. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
That evening, Jess phoned up to cancel the arrangement!
Millie rubbed out her name from the diary.
He guessed that Mrs Sawyer didn’t have many people to chat with and she probably didn’t go out much either. To cross the road was probably a big outing for her and a change of scenery.
If Georgie sees her next time he may even do a better deal for her. But, he knows he mustn’t set a precedent that may lead to future embarrassment for anyone.
Georgie went to give another quote one morning. The place was smaller still and had very few windows. The dear little old lady owner of the tiny, one-bedroom unit was really cheery. Georgie’s lap of the outside of her manor must have taken all of thirty seconds. As he rounded the last corner, returning to her front door, he gave the lady a price. This was again his minimum charge.
“If you are happy with my price I could actually whip round your flat this morning, Wendy.”
“That’s good service and I’ve got some ladies coming for lunch today. That would be perfect. Is that all you charge, Georgie? It doesn’t sound like enough. Are you sure? That won’t pay for your petrol. I’ve just boiled the jug. Would you like a cup of coffee and a biscuit, before you start?”
“I don’t usually stop but I’d love one, please.”
Running his own little business means he has the freedom of choice, so he can make exceptions to rules, especially unwritten ones.
This would be ten minutes well spent, as the two of them would be able to have a pleasant, informal introduction. Remember what Georgie said about first impressions?
“What? You’ve forgotten already? Go back and read that chapter again!”
Georgie liked Wendy. As I’ve said already in the book, that feeling is often mutual.
Sometimes, a couple of minutes chatting over a cuppa with a person living alone can make both parties very happy. Georgie felt this was likely to be one of those occasions. After all, time was not an issue, as the coffee was probably going to take longer to drink than the window clean would take to accomplish afterwards.
“Tea or coffee, Georgie?”
“A cup of coffee would be nice, please, Wendy.”
“Sugar and milk?”
“Black with one lump, please.”
With that she took off towards the kitchen, making a small trump, as she did so. Georgie thought the worst but ignored it.
“I’ve got some cookies in the oven. It’s a new recipe my daughter gave me. I hope you don’t mind being a guinea-pig.”
“Porky’s my middle name, Love.”
She chuckled and guffed again. Georgie gave her the benefit of the doubt, preferring to think it was the kitchen door hinge creaking, as she pushed it open.
Georgie told her it was the best cookie he’d ever tasted. (He always knew what to say to his old ladies.)
Now, this true story is to illustrate an unfortunate problem that some old people have.
As Wendy asked Georgie which part of England he was from she made another noise. Loud would be an understatement. There was little doubt this time that Wendy was a bit windy.
“I can tell you’re from up north somewhere, Wendy. I have a sister-in-law and she comes from Yorkshire.”
“Tom and I came to New Zealand fifty-eight years ago. We lived in Leeds in Yorkshire as kids but were lucky enough to come here soon after the war. Tom was in the post office.”
Georgie thought she was going to tell him he’d just popped out to get some stamps, but that was apparently where he used to work.
“Joan’s in Bradford,” Georgie continued.
“My sister and her husband moved to Bradford in 1952.”
She farted again but carried on talking, seemingly unaware that she was chatting away from both ends.
“That was a good year. That’s when I was hatched,” Georgie said instinctively.
She did it again.
“My son, Maxwell, was born in 1948. He was only eighteen months old when we came here. After leaving school at the Mount he ended up doing an ‘O.E.’ with a girl from school and they went back to England and got married there. They have lived in London ever since. They came to Tom’s funeral but it’s the only time they have ever been back to New Zealand and I don’t really know why he bothered.”
“I presume you keep in touch?”
“I do, but he doesn’t.”
At this point, Wendy began to show some real feeling.
“He’s a bl**dy waste of space. I don’t know what Tom and I did to deserve him. I’ve got two grandchildren over there but have never seen them. I get a Christmas card but she writes it. He remembered my birthday once, back in 1982, when I was sixty. I reckon Tom must have reminded him at the time but he never admitted to it. I usually phone Max to have a chat on my birthday but I don’t know why I make the effort. He just tells me he can’t afford to come home to see me but I know he earns a lot of money. He never spends any. He never did as a youngster. Tight as a mouse’s chuff. ”
Georgie could understand her grievance and he was probably playing the role of the estranged son.
She changed the subject with another big fart.
Georgie didn’t respond with one of his own. He could tell she was getting a bit wound up, so he swigged his last drop of coffee and got into gear.
“I won’t get your windows done sitting here, Wendy? Thanks for the coffee and thank your daughter on my behalf for giving you her cookie recipe.”
“It’s a pleasure Georgie. I’ve only got cash, I’m afraid. Will that be OK?”
“I suppose that’ll be alright,” Georgie thought to himself.
“Whatever suits you, Wendy. It’s all money, isn’t it?”
Within half an hour he was at the garage opposite. He was trying (trying being the operative word) to clean the electronic sliding doors. Field Days’ traffic filled the forecourt and the drivers were in and out non-stop.
Georgie gave up and promised to clean them twice on his next visit, in lieu. They weren’t noticeably dirty anyway.
He reluctantly tossed and turned all night, concerned that the new manager may have noticed his apparent negligence. It was four in the morning. Mr Crusty may even have stayed up to watch the ‘CCTV’ footage, to check him out, as Georgie was fidgeting in bed.
Perhaps he’d give the manager a call in the morning to apologise for his omission and offer to knock fifty cents off his bill at the end of the month.
“Isn’t it strange, Ronnie, how small things can be magnified in the early hours of the morning?”
Unfortunately, just a few weeks ago Wendy received a mention from her daughter in the obituaries of the local paper. Apparently, her son didn’t miss her enough to write an obituary himself.
“Very sad!”
She was a lovely lady. May she rest in peace.
Little spots of fly dirt are as small as you can get
But I haven’t looked in detail at coping with them yet
I now devote a chapter to this problem Thornby finds
When summer’s nearly over, on the glass and on the blinds
Georgie always tries to remember that when he thinks he’s finished a pane of glass, he has another wipe to do, with yet another clean, dry rag. Later on, he also has his lap of honour to carry out before he sets off to his next appointment.
Primarily, during this final circumnavigation of the premises, he will be looking for smears and blemishes that he may have left on the glass. These might include tadpoles or 'sevens'. Some of the sevens may be ‘L’s, if they’re upside down.
“What?” you cry outloud.
“We haven’t got a clue what you’re on about, Georgie!”
“Ronnie! Explain to our readers.”
You’ll need to try thinking outside the square here.
These are Georgie’s references to stubborn fly spots.
If he is cleaning just one surface of the glass and he sees a tadpole on the other side, he has no cause to worry because that is not his responsibility. However, if he knows that the house cleaner is good and that she normally does a thorough job on the insides, usually the day before he arrives, then he double-checks the location of the aforementioned, elongated dot.
“What the bl**dy *ell’s a tadpole?”
I’m just coming to that.
Think of a dot. Now think of a mark that has been deposited, as a fly’s recent excretion. They look much the same on a pane of glass, don’t they?
Now, imagine that Georgie has dragged a cloth over one of these but he hasn’t applied sufficient downward pressure to get rid of it. He will then have a tadpole. If it is on his side of the glass then that will be his doing and it is also his responsibility to remove it.
Flies do not excrete tadpoles but dots, which in turn stick to the glass and to the frames. It’s the person cleaning the windows who creates tadpoles. At times he may even find a whole column of them. Several dots in succession may sometimes be found on the glass.
Georgie has never really bothered to find out whether several flies have left one dot each behind, from each behind, or that one fly has made a solo machine-gun attack on the window. It may even be the result of a single fly, with tummy ache, working his way slowly down the pane of glass. Georgie suspects the middle option but is highly unlikely to carry out this research before the book goes to print.
That doesn’t really matter but getting rid of the evidence does. Depending largely on how recently the deposits were made it may simply be a case of applying a slightly harder rub with the washer, through the line of dots. On the other hand, Georgie may need to use a fingernail, the steelo or even his scraper.
If he should find a seven, or an ‘L’, the chances are that he will not only have smudged the little piece of sh*t horizontally but also vertically.
I don’t need to draw it for you, surely? Use your imagination, if you haven’t already 'got' what I’m 'getting' at.
The good news is that many house cleaners are likely to make Georgie look good.
Soon after he has driven away, his employer may be upset, when he finds lots of marks, still on the glass. At first he is sure to blame Georgie but he will soon realise that they are all on the inside and he’ll recall that Georgie only did the outsides, this time.
“Result!”
In the eyes of his customer, Thornby will go back to the top of his class.
Prior to fly season, there is often a debate about which tradesman should be employed first. Does the ‘WC’ need to come and clean the glass before the fly man applies his repellent, or vice versa?
Georgie’s preference is that the ‘WC’ goes first. However, from a more professional viewpoint it depends on how careful, or slack, is the ‘FM’.
Does he leave residue in the form of ugly runs down the windows at the end of his job, or not?
This may well determine who should go first. If that is the case then for best results Georgie should follow him. If so, then he needs to be made aware that the ‘FM’ has already been. Given this information, Georgie will not wipe the frames. The repellent will need to do its job over the next few days.
It would be silly for the ‘WC’ to remove the treatment before it has had its desired effect.
You will probably remember the incident when Georgie wrongly cleaned Mona’s house, in Right Street, in the early days.
Technique-wise, he now focuses on the glass only and removes the ‘FM’s residue, without cancelling out the good he will hope to have done on the frames and the eaves above them.
In these instances Georgie’s rag needs to be damp but not dripping wet. The corners and edges of each window in turn should be attended to with extra care, so as not to make heavy contact with each frame.
If the panes are large enough to justify the use of a squeegee, then a rag must be used, to prevent excess moisture from the end of its blade dripping onto, and consequently washing the window frames. If not, then he uses the rag method but he will need to be mega-fussy, or smears will result.
If that should be the case, then the ‘FM’ may as well follow the ‘WC’, so he needs to be thorough.
“Georgie. You didn’t do the frames or sills this time, so is there any discount in the price?”
He’ll start counting to ten. He has to be diplomatic, in response to this question. It would be incredibly easy for him to be rude. He just politely points out that, due to the extra care he’s needed to take, he has actually been on the job at least half an hour longer than he would normally have been. Despite this, he won’t make an additional arge because his customer would find that hard to understand.
Maybe he’ll be given a Brownie point but he won’t worry, if he isn’t.
He’ll just move on, knowing that this only occurs once a year and that he’s a pretty regular client, after all.
Remember that Georgie’s customers are happy customers.
Job Satisfaction, or Not
Most people work for money, to pay their weekly dues
Georgie does exactly that, which isn’t really news
But whilst spending lots of hours, working for a crust
To reap rewards in other ways for Thornby is a must
Something he has noticed in recent years is that he does not seem to feel the cold, as do some of his older customers in particular. I suppose that has to do with him being occupied and constantly on the move. This must help him to produce a steady and strong heartbeat, which increases or at least maintains his regular blood flow. That distributes warmth to his various body parts, including his extremities. His hat helps to contain warmth, so it is quite important that he makes sure he has one or two floating around in the van, to be found on a cold day.
He is far more likely to whistle in tune if he is comfortable.
As I’ve said previously a ‘WC’ is thick-skinned, so that must help too!
People in town, in their winter garments, often look at Georgie’s bare arms and think he’s mad but if he were cold, he would still have his jumper on.
Mind you, there is an expression, “No sense, no feeling!”
He has never used hot water in his bucket. Neither has he worn gloves at work. He’s not a whimp.
“Hot water?”
“Gloves?”
Mind you he has had some practice at becoming a one-handed ‘WC’, which is a feasible option, if there happen to be any one-armers reading this. It may take a bit longer, but there’d be no 'arm in trying.
On these cold starts, one hand may be kept icicle-free, in a pocket of his jeans.
(That may explain why Georgie has recently gone to the top of the ladder at the 'pocket billiards club' in town.)
“Ron!”
When Georgie used to play soccer, in the rain or frost, he didn’t wear gloves but ran faster, in order to keep his blood circulating, to stay warm. Playing midfield was ideal for him, as he was expected to do a fair bit of mileage during a game.
Nowadays, even the millionaire, prima donnas that earn a fortune by playing soccer in Europe wear woolly gloves on a cold day. It makes Georgie cringe to see a vest worn under a football shirt. They probably have hankies in their pockets for when they need to cry, should the opposition score a goal.
Some of the diving forwards these days should perhaps wear wet suits as well?
“What’s happening? Harden up you people, for goodness sake, and stop cheating.”
Those of you older friends, less active than others, by all means wear extra layers of clothing to stay warm. I’m sure you did your share of roughing it, in your younger days. You’ve now earned the luxury of donning thermal underwear, on a chilly morning.
In jest, Georgie has often told people he could clean glass with his eyes shut. There is an element of truth in that statement. Being able to feel the state of the windows is very advantageous.
As the glass dries it becomes increasingly slippery, until Georgie can feel a ‘smoothness’(the best description he can come up with), as his hand caresses each pane in turn.
That is the point he needs to reach, when he knows, for sure, that it won’t come cleaner.
‘Slippery’ and ‘Smooth’. These two words are a bit like ‘Organic’ and ‘Orgasmic’.
There is very little between them apart from the end result.
Sorry, but if you haven’t been there, you won’t fully understand.
“Get out there and try!”
(“He’s trying to blind us with science again!”)
At the bridge club, many of the members dress for Arctic conditions. Georgie takes a jumper with him for the return journey home at 10.30p.m. but he dislikes being hot during play, so generally leaves it in his car, to keep his seat warm. He keeps himself warm by getting hot under his collar, which often happens on about the ninth trick, when he needs to make three of the last four, to save face.
For example, last night he was the declarer and had planned and executed a move that would have guaranteed a top board for him, in no-trumps. It was another case of so far, so good. However, when he was all set to pounce, with the final run-down in hearts, he realised that he’d blocked himself out by playing high from the long suit first. This left the ace in his own hand and he missed out on the last couple of heart rags making tricks, from the table.
If you don’t play bridge, don’t worry because it’s never too late to learn. If you do, then you’ll know the feeling only too well. Don’t tell me you’ve never done the same. I wouldn’t believe you.
Georgie was so hot after making that mistake he took all his clothes off and got thrown out of the club.
(At least he and Millie had an early night).
Biggles lived on Posh Street, just outside the big smoke.
He had been a customer for two or three visits from George. His house was anther mansion and each window had eight or ten small panes. For Georgie to deal with just some of these necessitated a route march, whilst up on his roof. This guy was pretty rich and had stuck his fingers into a few pies since leaving the ‘R.A.F.’ He’d done OK as an airline pilot. He was British, frew and frew, and inevitably had been a highly decorated pilot in WW2, and by the state of him, probably in WW1 as well.
When I said each window had eight panes of glass I was technically incorrect. In truth, each had one big pane of glass, divided into eight or ten by vertical and horizontal strips of aluminium.
Georgie now knows how to clean this type of artificial, colonial-style window. In the early days though he had not sussed out the problems that they incurred, so the results were less than perfect.
Biggles phoned one Friday evening and all guns were blazing.
“You’ve done a Friday afternoon job for me!”
“That’s right. I finished at about 4.30p.m. Is there a problem, Mr Biggles?”
“You obviously wanted to get home early so you rushed my job. That’s what I mean by a Friday afternoon effort.”
“Hang on! I’m not with you, Sir.”
Georgie presumed he’d like that touch, being a man of rank, or a real ‘Ranker’.)
“If I’d rushed your job I would have been done in two hours. I was actually working on your windows between 11.30a.m. and 4.30p.m., although I did have ten minutes for lunch.”
“You did a Friday afternoon job, Son.”
That gives a clue as to how old he must have been!
“I work on Friday afternoons, for sure, but I don’t compromise my work by doing Friday afternoon jobs, by your definition.”
“Then why are there streaks all over the glass on most of the windows?”
Georgie was living much nearer to Hamilton in those days and wanted to witness, first hand what this guy was on about.
“I’ll pop straight back and you can show me what you mean. I’ll be seven or eight minutes. See you soon, Biggles.”
Georgie took all his gear with him in order to make sure that his customer would eventually be happy with the results before the weekend commenced in earnest.
He returned, via another long, flash driveway. Georgie saw Mrs Biggles emptying the wheelbarrow, which contained adolescent plants. She was apparently making an avenue of the drive by installing these small poplars at regular intervals on either side of it, which led ultimately to the excessive front entrance to the house. The statue of Lady Godiva, sitting on her grey mount beneath the marble steps, is surely all I need to mention for you to get the picture.
Everything about the property oozed over-indulgence and avarice. Georgie didn’t know it then but he was going to be relieved that it was the penultimate occasion that he would have to drive the length of that particular front garden.
(Don’t forget, he’d need to get out, to go home again.)
Biggles had treated him like a second or third class citizen from the moment he had agreed to give him a quote for the work, maybe nine months ago.
“You must be Georgie, the window man.”
“Yes, I am. I gather your husband was not happy with my Friday afternoon work on your windows.”
“My husband is never happy with anything unless he’s just won some money. Even then, that rare occurrence would only last ten minutes.”
“Is he in?”
“Yes, he’s expecting you but don’t take any notice of him. He’s a grumpy old fart. There has never been a tradesman working at this house, who hasn’t had to come back to be reprimanded. I think you may have called his bluff this time!”
Georgie found it hard to believe that this was the gentleman’s wife talking. He had guessed already that theirs was probably not a happy marriage. Their relationship was probably more spurious than were the Colonial windows.
“Thanks for the warning but I’m still not quite sure how your husband believes my work is Friday afternoonish.”
“Don’t worry, Georgie. If he gives you the sack today you have already done better than most by cleaning the windows more than once previously. You have exceeded any other tradesman working here, so far. I congratulate you.”
Georgie drove to the entrance and jumped down from his van. He rang the bl**dy great doorbell. By the time Big Ben had finished chiming the man Biggles himself had summoned the strength from somewhere to slowly open the big timber door.
“Riff-raff!”
“I beg your pardon, Sir.”
“You’re no different to all the other lazy workmen in New Zealand.”
“Perhaps you’d like to show me how you reached that conclusion, Sir.”
Georgie followed him into the lounge, making sure he didn’t knock over any of the very expensive-looking ornaments, sitting on the very expensive-looking furniture.
“Look at this streak!” he ordered, as he gesticulated towards one of the small squares.
Without splitting hairs, Georgie observed the result of a droplet of water that had run down the edge of one of the squares. Technically, this was a run rather than a streak, as the latter suggests a thin smear, or line across the glass. A run is the residue left behind when a globule of moisture has oozed out from behind what is usually a cheap piece of joinery. Gravity will then have caused it to travel vertically downwards until it ran out of steam, on the horizontal strip below it.
Georgie did not bother trying to explain that to Biggles. He had sufficient information already to realise that his employer, soon to become recent history, would not have changed his mind, anyway.
“You said I’d left blemishes on 'most' of your windows.”
“Well, there’s another one on the landing window, at the top of the stairs. I don’t expect such shoddy workmanship from anybody, when I’m paying to have a job done properly.”
'The love of money ... ... etc ... ... etc.'
“I apologise profusely but in my defence these runs will probably have occurred after I had earlier left the premises. The only explanation I can give you is that I had inadvertently left some water behind one of the aluminium strips, which had subsequently run down to meet the next one. This may even have happened half an hour or so after I’d finished your windows, as I was at home watching the taped World Cup soccer match, with a brew and a biscuit.”
This served as a reminder to Georgie that he needed to get back posthaste, to watch the remainder f the second half, as it was nearly time for Millie to tune into Neighbours.
“You have pointed out two examples of this flaw in my work. In my own mind, being a slightly above average mental mathematician, that number hardly represents 'most' of your windows. Regardless, you may rest assured that it will not happen again because I no longer wish to clean your windows. Would you like a refund for today’s shoddy performance?”
Georgie may sound very sarcastic, even rude, speaking to a customer in this manner, but sometimes one has to be cruel to be kind.
Georgie did not go back on his word, as he and Biggles never crossed paths again.
He gave his wife a nod as he drove back past her freshly planted trees.
“Nice to have met you both,” Georgie lied, as the electronic gate closed behind him.
Georgie had been reminded of the class system that still exists in Good Old Blighty.
Deep down, by the time he got home again, he still felt that he’d had a pretty satisfying day.
In New Zealand it is far more difficult to pick out millionaires, even though there must be hundreds of them, despite its small population.
Having said that, it’s not so hard to identify some of the British, immigrant ones, who have not yet learned how to stop looking down their noses at the average Joe in the street.
Ronnie would like to continue: -
For some unknown reason, one of Georgie’s more pleasurable memories from his teaching days has just come to mind.
It has been included here because it is a memory far too precious to pass by.
If he does not record it now it may well be lost forever.
As a ‘WC’ Georgie’s job satisfaction is immediate and on going. As a teacher, those moments were somewhat less frequent and for each one there would probably have been an antagonist, which would have cancelled it out.
He had taught briefly in the big smoke, when he first arrived in NZ. He had one particular class of kids, who gave him nothing but aggravation from the moment he introduced himself as their new Phys. Ed. teacher.
Previously, as a much younger man, he had taught kids of the same age, and much older ones, hailing from similar, tough backgrounds. He had since spent years of dealing with hardened criminals. He had locked them up and pacified them, in the heat of many awkward moments of provocation. He had prodded them into performing various onerous duties, while they served their time for Her Majesty. He’d split up fights and banned some of the meanest of them from the gym, for unacceptable behaviour.
But he had never previously been challenged, as these adolescent thirteen-year-olds knew how.
On one very memorable occasion, one of these infantile females even told him to Ph**k off!
I’ll cut to the chase!
It was 3.20 p.m. on a Friday. It was the 10th April 1992. It also just happened to be the last ten minutes of the final P.E. lesson of Georgie’s entire teaching career, which had spanned nearly twenty years. He can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was to be the final P.E. lesson of his life.
From then onwards he only intended to move in one direction.
All in all, quite an emotional few moments for Georgie, at his stage of life (forty, at the time, give or take a few weeks).
In less than two hours from then, at 5 p.m., Georgie and his wife had a meeting scheduled at their home in Matangi, with two guys from Auckland. At this very point in time they would have been travelling south on Highway One.
The Thornbys were about to purchase a business opportunity that would change their lives forever.
A beautiful little Maori girl, with dark brown eyes and a pretty smile, which had not been in evidence much since Georgie had become her P.E. teacher, six months earlier, approached him as he was refereeing a gym lesson.
“Mister. Can I go to the toilet?”
“School ends in ten minutes, Angel. (That was her name but not a character reference.)
“I’m desperate, Mister P.”
Then a second girl arrived. She could easily have been Angel’s sister, but was probably just a cuzzy.
“Can I go with Angel to the toilet please, Mister?”
“Just hang on until half past three, girls. That’s only eight minutes from now.”
In unison,
“Please, Mister P.”
“OK. But you can go one at a time.”
“We want to go together, Mister.”
Hypothetically, Georgie stood back from the scene. He jumped up onto the top wall bar and looked down. He regarded the circumstances from a distance: from outside, looking in.
He spoke quietly to himself.
Then, having reviewed the situation, he climbed back down and relented.
“Go for it, girls.”
Then he unrealistically added,
Both girls had returned within two minutes and Georgie nearly fainted!
Had he at last had an impact on these girls, who had plagued him for half a year?
“Mister P. Please may we say a few words to our class?”
Two minutes left.
“Why not, Ronnie?” Ronnie hadn’t even been invented yet!
The kids sat on the gym floor, in front of Mr. 'P'. The rubber mats had been returned to the gym store and were tidily stacked. These kids were coming right, but had left their dash too late for Georgie to reap the future benefits.
The atmosphere had changed completely. Never mind a pin, you could have heard a feather drop.
This was the same Angel, who only last week had returned from the sin bin, having told Mr. P where to go, in no uncertain terms. She took the floor.
“Mr Pencavel. We have heard that you are leaving our school today, so this is our last lesson with you. We have been told that you are going to work somewhere else. I am speaking for all our class. We want to thank you for being the best Phys. Ed. Teacher we’ve ever had. Sorry we’ve had to give you such a hard time but we think you’re really nice and a really good teacher.”
The other young filly produced a New World carrier bag from behind her back.
She added,
“Our class, ‘3Z’, or whatever, had a collection and we have bought you and your wife some chocolates to eat at Easter.”
The bell went to indicate that Georgie had officially retired from teaching.
“Thanks very much, you ‘orrible lot! Enjoy your Easter break and make sure you behave yourselves.”
“Yeah. Right, Mister!” Translated, meaning, “No chance!”
Fortunately, this act of kindness was not sufficient to persuade Georgie to ask for his job back.
Small World?
We use the same expressions. (Some will never die.)
We pass them down to younger folk. (Maybe that’s the reason why?)
“The weather’s good … or lousy.” or “What a lovely day!"
"We are gathered here together." "Love, honour and obey."
"That's the way to do it!" "Now, that's a 'rule of thumb'."
"You win some: you lose some,"or "Let's all sing the blues."
“Isn’t it a small world? Now, “That’s the one I’ll use."
It never ceases to amaze Georgie how frequently we use the same old adages during conversations. He covers countless topics with Jo but he’d love a tenner for each time he or his customer has said,
“Isn’t it a small world?”
I’ll be honest with you. I had typed twenty similar expressions and was going to cover each one briefly. You’d have chucked the book away, if you hadn’t done so already!
As it is, I’ve selected the one that fits best into this chapter and shall spend some time considering its relevance.
This may take a while, but I am going to thumb my way back through our work diaries and shall give you some examples. I won’t mention names, as people may wish to remain anonymous.
Do bear in mind that I am not referring to old acquaintances from just down the road, or in the next town, province, island or country. The point here is that the Thornbys moved to the other side of the planet.
Despite that, on a daily basis they find familiar territory with people they meet here in New Zealand.
Although the world is frequently deemed to be a small place, you do need to write off two whole days to travel half way round it. Sometimes, you may be cruising for hours at 35,000 feet, at speeds of nearly 600mph.
“Isn’t it a small world?”
Maybe this term means the world seems like a small place!
The Thornbys have been employed by many Brits since being in New Zealand. They have often chewed the fat over common ground.
… for a gentleman who attended Maidstone Grammar School, the same institution where Georgie’s older (and far more academic) brother was educated.
… for a guy who lived and worked at The Swan, a country pub in West Peckham. Any patrons, who sit in its garden, look out onto the village green, where Georgie played cricket for twenty years, between 1967 and 1987.
He and his teammates used to eat and drink in the lounge bar there, after the games. ‘Scampi in the Basket’ was always a favourite but the soup used to run all over the table.
… for a lady, whose own parents lived in the same road as did Georgie’s parents, during their retirement.
… for another lady, who was brought up in the same Cotswold Hills, where Georgie spent three years training to be a teacher, in the early seventies.
… for a gent, who was once a member of the same squash club as was Georgie, at a small village called Rodmersham. This guy will have spent time relaxing after games in the same ambience, with his pewter jug, in front of the same log fire, in the same cosy lounge, as Thornby did in his younger days.
He also lived in Sittingbourne, where Georgie taught P.E. and Science for nine years, at the local high school.
… for a guy who now spends six months each year in NZ, living in the same small town as the Thornbys. He then returns to England to live the other half of the year where Georgie was born and bred. As a kid, on Sunday mornings, Thornby Jnr. used to listen to the Royal Marines’ military band playing at the barracks in Deal, on the site where this customer’s home in Blighty is now situated.
… for another lady, whose father was a ferry pilot, carrying passengers across the English Channel, from Folkestone to Boulogne and from the White Cliffs of Dover to Calais..
Georgie earlier related a scary tale, when his whole life had flashed in front of him. Think back, to when he was sliding down a slate roof on his arris, at 100 m.p.h., towards the guttering below?
This lady was the owner of that property. She’d lived, as a toddler, in Folkestone, about seventeen miles from Georgie’s birthplace.
… for a guy who had attended Temple High School, where Georgie had been offered a teaching post in August, 1974.
… for another chap, who had also been a 'Big house for Felons Officer', in England. He had trained at the same facility, as had Georgie. They had two or three mutual acquaintances, still working or recently retired from the prison service.
… for the electrician next door. He, his wife and one youngster became adjacent neighbours quite recently. They hail from Ware, in Hertfordshire, where Millie was born.
… * for a cockney guy, who had lived during the war years in Lewisham, in south-east London.
* London is a big place and it’s a long way from Leamington, in Cambridge, New Zealand.
‘Carrying out a sustained attack between September 1940 and May 1941 Hitler’s Nazis bombed London. During that time more than 20,000 people there lost their lives. Over a million houses in the city were destroyed.’
This onslaught has been referred to ever since as the Blitz, occuring at the start of World War 2.
During the Blitz, Georgie’s mother was living in an adjacent district of London, just a well-hit four iron from Lewisham. I have no proof but this customer and Georgie’s mother may well have sat next to each other at school, or in the same bunker, during some of the Nazi raids.
Just think, he could have been Georgie’s dad!
… ** for a couple of close friends, who now live three kilometres from Georgie and Millie.
“Go on then, Ron.”
** During 1990, unbeknowingly, both couples were travelling east from Three Ways, at Tennant Creek, south of Darwin, avoiding the same road trains on their travels across the desert country of the Northern Territory and North Queensland, in Australia. They may well have spent the night together in Katherine, Camooweal, Torren’s Creek or Julia Creek, without realising it at the time!
To their knowledge, they first met at a barbecue in the big smoke, hosted by a mutual acqaintance.
Later, as Georgie was cleaning their windows, when both couples had later settled in the same small town of NZ, Kate spread out the map of Australia on her lounge carpet, to compare notes.
They have remained friends and neighbours since and feed each other’s pets, when necessary.
One of Georgie’s Irish customers told him recently that this guy went into a pub in New Zealand, on a Friday night.
He said to the landlord,
“It’s quiet for a Friday night, isn’t it, landlord?”
Nobody else was in the bar.
The landlord replied,
“Yes, but it’s pretty early yet.”
“I’ll have a pint, please, landlord.”
He served the gentleman. Twenty minutes later another fellow came through the door and wandered up to the bar.
“Quiet for a Friday night, Guvnor?”
“True, but it’s pretty early yet.”
“I’ll have a pint, please, landlord.”
He served his second customer of the evening.
He joined the other guy at the far end of the bar.
“Hi! Quiet, isn’t it, for a Friday night. Me name’s Pat.”
“Hi, Pat. Me name’s Mick.”
“Where are you from, Mick?”
“I’m from Ireland, Pat?”
“What a small world! I’m from Ireland too. I’ll buy you a pint to celebrate and I’ll have another, too.”
“Which part of Ireland are you from, Pat?”
“I don’t believe it! What a small world! So am I! I’ll buy you a pint.”
“Which part of Dublin are you from, Mick?”
“I’m from the West Side, Pat.”
“Well, I’ll be b*ggered. So am I, Mick. What a small world, to be sure! I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate that, and I’ll have another, too.”
“How long have you been in this beautiful country?”
“Eleven years, Mick.”
“Unbelievable! So have I! Have a drink on me, and I’ll have one to celebrate that coincidence.”
“Which school did you go to?
“St. Mary’s.”
“What a small world! It must be my round.”
Just then, another gentleman wandered up to the bar and said to the landlord,
“Quiet for a Friday night, Jack? Just two guys in so far.”
“You’re not wrong, Muzz. It’s never been so quiet on a Friday night. I’ll be selling up if this keeps up for much longer. If you hadn’t come in for a pint there would only have been the Maguire twins, having their weekly re-union.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The grass is always greener.
Some people think the world’s not fair. They wonder why they suffer.
While other folk have all the fun, their lives are always tougher
We all are blessed with something, we need to find out what
Then do our best to enjoy our lives with the talents that we’ve got
He’s always liked playing with words and he writes poems for fun, if he sees an opportunity going begging.
He thinks a lot while he’s cleaning. Little four-liners spring to mind and he likes them to be for good reason.
Perhaps he’d say to Mildred,
“I’ve got a thing to do at the golf club. I think I’ll make up a few verses,”
or
“It’s Mum’s 80th soon. I’ll do a bit of a poem for her card. I reckon she’d like that,”
He also reckons it’s handy to have a joke in mind for any occasion, when the spotlight may be pointing at him. If he has time to prepare for a presentation of any description, that’s easy. He’ll try to keep it light and to have a good tale, upstairs. It may be one he heard fifteen years ago but he can shuffle the words a bit so that it relates to the current audience. The same story may be appropriate for any situation. He may be at the golf club, the bridge club or at tennis. It may even suit different customers, who may be chippies, sparkies or football freaks. Maybe an Irish or Aussie audience, so an Aussie joke would be perfect for the Irishman and vice versa.
There’s no law that says he can’t try to make somebody chuckle, so if Georgie sees a chance to do so then he has nothing to lose, other than a bit of face, should the response be minimal.
If that should be the case, it certainly wouldn’t be for the first or last time.
‘Georgie Thornby, pudding and pie
Cleans a window and leaves it dry
He moves his ladder; his bucket too
And cleans the next one, just for you.’
Jo can’t see that he’s having fun
But he’s not fully in the know.
That he can enjoy himself and still earn money
But it’s what he does from day to day
While the sun is shining he’s making hay.
They may not be perfect, without a doubt
Smears and streaks, a blob, a mark
No guarantees when it’s getting dark!
He climbs up high and has no fear
He cleans the glass and wipes the frames
Kids go past and call him names
Let them have their bit of chatter
He’s been around and he knows the score
Cheeky brats he’s seen before.
And you're not quite sure what else to do
Start a business. Give it a go!
Or you might regret what you’ll never know.
Just think!
He and Millie could start a new, reclusive lifestyle.
They’d operate from home. There’d be no essential travelling costs. There’d be no travelling time involved. Georgie wouldn’t need to have a vehicle or to pay for warrants. He’d incur no garage expenses.
He’d have no boss to answer to and few responsibilities to stress over. He could go out to shop, by taxi once a week or he’d send Mrs T out to do it. He wouldn’t need an alarm clock. There’d be no real need for him to get out of bed in the mornings. His working hours would be as flexible as he’d like them to be. He wouldn’t need to mix with other people. He’d need no mates, or to have to buy new clothes.
He’d take his breaks whenever he pleased. He’d watch TV and films all day long. He’d become a bookworm. He’d have the freedom to please himself and wouldn’t even need a phone. There’d be no daily callers asking for his bank account number. He’d have nobody asking him to try the movie channels, free for a month.
He’d have no set meal times. He’d eat when he was hungry and drink when he was thirsty. He’d do both, as much as he liked. He’d go for a walk or a jog, whenever he liked.
He’d have no vehicle, no company, no mates.
His eyes would pack up pretty fast, sat at the magic box. He’d get backache. He’d soon become an alcoholic, a chain smoker and a depressant. He’d put on loads of weight … and he did all the jogging he wanted to do when he was a bit younger and fitter.
George has had second thoughts. He wants a proper job and he'll be an author in his spare time!
Window Cleaning Technique … Nightcap
When Georgie’s down in town, or in the country, working
He knows his wife and secretary, Millie, won’t be shirking
She keeps the records straight and likes everything in order
George knows she’s precious … he can only just afford her!
(Loads of Brownie points!)
Records
Here’s some helpful advice to do with the organisation and paperwork involved in running a business. It is important that the Thornbys don’t get behind with the everyday routine tasks that enable them to stay in control of things and keep the fingers on the pulse.
It’s much easier to keep up than to catch up.
Booking in work
The computer is ideal for keeping records but Georgie and Mildred like to be more hands-on with booking in their work from month to month. If the computer is not switched on when the phone rings then it’s far more efficient for Millie to have the ‘ID’ cards and diaries by the phone. She can either book the jobs in, there and then, or listen to the messages on the answer machine and ring the people back to arrange their next clean, when she gets home. Either way, it’s handy to have the cards by the phone.
Millie is the Organiser (Big ‘O’) although Georgie does most of the personal dealings with the customers.
It’s a case of,
‘Do you want to speak to the man in charge, or to the woman who knows what’s happening?’
The box of customer ID cards has filled up gradually over the years, as new customers have been added to their base. Fortunately, there is now a waiting list, which means there is absolutely no pressure to have to find work.
At the end of each calendar month Millie refers to the wad of cards for the following four weeks and she puts them in order, with regard to localising clients for each day’s work.
e.g. for Monday:
4 Smith Street; 65 Smith Street; 16 Jones Ave; 1 Jones Ave.
for Tuesday: ‘Greasy’s chip shop’; ‘the library’; ‘Fatty’s café’; ‘Read’s book shop’; ‘Fewell’s garage’; ‘Selby’s Real Estate Office’.
These will all be in and around town.
for Wednesday:
Old McDonald’s Farm; Dossdown’s B&B. (Both in the sticks, west of town.)
So, they try to book the work in systematically, to reduce travelling time and costs.
Each individual ‘ID’ card contains the following customer details: -
i Christian names and surname.
ii Address.
iii Telephone number (s).
iv Month due for next visit.
v Specific instructions. e.g. Six-monthly; Inside and Outside; Early start OK.
Two-monthly; Outsides only; No need to call first.
Six-weekly; Book in advance with regular jobs. Key in porch.
Four-monthly; Outsides; No need to ring; Money in envelope, under concrete frog, outside garden shed door.
vi. Price for job. e.g. In and Out $110; Out only $60; Conservatory $20 extra
vii Date of last Price Increase. e.g. September ’07
viii New date arranged for job this month.
Millie will sit down for a while with the new diary to fill in the dates ahead. Each page of the diary represents one working day. The date is clearly written at the top of each.
Before she and Georgie start ringing customers Millie fills in all the regular clients for the coming month. These jobs will not require phone contact in advance.
e.g.
First Monday of the month: -
Early a.m. Library. In and Out Pete Street $75
Not lunchtime Bill’s Café.
Out only Dawn Street $45
Anytime PB garage. In and Out John Street $65
Anytime Smith’s Hardware Store. Norman Street $35
Anytime Real Estate. Insides only Main Street $40
First Tuesday of the month: -
etc.
etc.
etc.
Second Wednesday of each month
Anytime Ann Tiques. Out / Some in 16 Grange Road $50
Anytime Bo Tiques. Just out 14 Grange Road $40
Before individual bookings are made over the phone some full days will be spoken for, others will be empty and others will have gaps to be filled in, between smaller jobs that are already allocated times.
At some stage but not on their own birthdays, wedding anniversaries or bridge evenings, during the first week of the new month the Formbys will sit down together for an hour or so. The diary will be in front of Millie, with the box of cards to her left. Georgie, with phone in hand, will be ringing round to book the work in. Millie passes the cards to Georgie and he does the chat on the phone.
“Hi Chaz. Georgie, your window man. Will next Thursday suit you and Dave for my next visit?”
“Perfect, Georgie. See you then.”
“Rhonda. Hi! It’s Georgie. Can I help, help you within the next week or two?”
(Boring. You’ve done that one already!)
“When are you coming, Georgie?”
“Friday week. The 23rd?”
“Can you make it Monday 26th? My grandkids will put finger marks all over them during that weekend. They’re coming up from Wellington.”
“No worries. In the morning, as usual?”
“That’ll be great Georgie. Look forward to it.”
“Young Sam must be nearing school age by now?”
“Yes, Georgie. He’ll be five in August, so I’ll have to make the most of him next weekend. We ought to get down to visit them more often but Cyril’s always working on Saturday mornings. It’s about time he called it a day. Emma’s beautiful and she calls me Grandma Rhonnie.”
“Gotta dash, Love. Mildred wants to get finished before EastEnders starts. See you on Monday 26th.”
“Bye Georgie. I’ll be in, so I’ll be able to give you a cheque straight away. Same price?”
“Yes. It may be due to go up the following time though. See you Rhonda.”
Millie makes a note of the time for each visit and the customers’ details on the relevant pages of the diary. She adds any comments applicable e.g. Any time. Key under door mat. Cheque on dining table. Use the pool if you want to. There’s a beer in the fridge. Ice creams are in the freezer. Bob Marley CD ready to go. Speakers around the pool turned on ready.
“I’m getting carried way again, Ronnie!”
7.30 start. Big dog (Fido) in kennel by back door. May bark on arrival but he’ll be fine. Leave invoice in mailbox. Will post cheque by end of week.
“I’ve heard that one before, Ron!”
That should be sufficient to fill up the first half of the month, then they’ll do the same after a few days to keep a week or two ahead. Ideally, after going through the second batch of cards for the month there may only be a couple remaining. Millie will contact those customers during the day, if they’ve been hard to contact in the evenings. Some may say,
“No thanks, this time, Georgie. Please ring me again next time they’re due.”
Others may say,
“Can you bring it forward a little please, Georgie? We’ve got a birthday bash coming up.”
It is in both parties’ interests to try to compromise on dates and times. Georgie and Millie always try to stay flexible.
Bookkeeping
This is Millie’s department. She is well organised and methodically documents the figures relating to the Thornby business.
On a monthly basis she updates all income and expenditure. Such as, house expenses, monthly bills, fuel costs, vehicle expenses, business expenses, office equipment, etc. etc. and the final column on the spread sheet is miscellaneous, for bits and pieces that fit in nowhere else.
Receipts for everything are kept for future reference, should they ever be required.
At the end of each tax year a meeting is held with the accountant. He analyses the spreadsheets for the year. They’ve been prepared neatly for him by Mildred. He then does any necessary calculations for tax purposes. He advises Millie of any policy changes tax-related and generally keeps an eye on how the business is going.
They have the insurance of knowing that the legal side of things is in good hands and therefore do not need to worry unnecessarily about the figures involved or that everything is above board.
If, during the year, a government department asks the Thornbys directly for any specific information to do with their finances then they will refer the representative to their accountant. He will explain anything that they may not otherwise fully understand.
At different times of the year, varying amounts of tax payments due are sent from the Thornbys to the ‘IRD’. Bill Numbers, the accountant, informs Mildred, when these are payable and how much they have to send each time. This also applies to ‘ACC’ (Accident Compensation Corporation) and to any other significant dues they may have.
This is not the place to broadcast all the Thornby’s private details but it should give an idea of how their system works, with regard to keeping the books straight.
Bill invoices the Thornbys annually and they willingly pay for his reliable handling of their affairs.
My advice to someone out there, who intends to start in business, is to find a good accountant to oversee the finances.
Georgie and Mildred have a scheme for most things business-related. This includes a procedure for documenting outstanding payments from customers. Also, the receipts from those clients who pay directly into the Thornby’s business account. These need to be checked, so it is vital that bank statements are thoroughly studied, soon after they arrive. Millie is very systematic and does not let a minor problem turn into a major one. She will nip a missing payment in the bud.
Georgie keeps an up-to-date list of customers owing, at the end of each day. As the cheques are received these debtors are deleted, so the list is regularly and appropriately updated.
Other businesses employing Georgie on a regular basis may pay after the 20th of each following month. From time to time a call may be necessary to jog someone’s memory, if there is a late payment.
Because this call will concern money, which can be a very touchy subject, they always double cheque (check) that they have no evidence of receipt, either in the bank account statement or in the account deposit book. They err on the side of caution when making a chase-up call, as there is always the possibility that for some unforeseen reason they could be in the wrong. If payment had been made on the day of the job being carried out, then it will not have been included on the debtors’ list. One exception to this unwritten rule is if Georgie has made a silly mistake, which Millie will have been delighted to point out to him.
He actually did make a mistake once but it must have been a few years ago now, as it is just a very distant memory of his.
Millie still remembers it, though.
In all the years of operating the business there have only been two non-payers and fewer than a dozen customers who have needed seriously chasing up.
On these few occasions, Georgie took both dogs with him, as minders.
Terry McCann always seemed to be unavailable at those times. Arthur Daley no longer had a use for him, as their programme finished at the end of the eighties, but I think Terry was visiting an old mate of his in prison on those nights.
The first, of the two non-payers, Mr Sneak, lived in a rental property. Georgie and Mildred were owed less than fifty bucks for the comparatively small amount of work they had done there. During the day of his leaving, Slimy had organised nearly half the businesses in the city to do work at this house. He had arranged to meet some of them, Georgie included, at the house at 5p.m. to pay for their services but by then he’d done a runner. The rental company involved later told Georgie that he and Mildred had got off pretty lightly compared to many other creditors. Outstanding rent alone from Slimy Sneak, for several months, was never retrieved.
The other debt still outstanding, and unlikely ever to be recovered, is from a house owner, Mr Holliday, who was going across the ditch (the Tasman Sea) for a trip. He had assured Georgie that he would put the cheque in the post on his return. He hasn’t kept his word yet and, so far, he has been untraceable for three-and-a-half years. As a result, Georgie has long since stopped holding his breath, whilst waiting for that to happen.
I hope Ben (on) Holliday can sleep at nights, whether he lives in Melbourne, Perth or Alice Springs now.
Thankfully, $150 in total, unpaid earnings during sixteen years has not put the Thornbys out of business. Their heads are still above water.
It still gives Georgie a nasty taste in his mouth to know that this sort of person exists.
It was not so long ago that he used to lock them up each night.
OK, maybe not these two sad cases but plenty of other crooks, in Blighty.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Nearing the conclusion
I've had the word from up above to finish now, or quicker
It's been a while since I started out but now I'm quite relieved
If nothing else, I've written a book, which is something I've now achieved
I feel as though I need to start winding down soon and should consider giving a little thought towards turning this sipt into a book.
For a while now, memories from my past experiences have been reducing in density and I don’t want to pad the book out … any more … with too many more meaningless stories.
“Thank Goodness for that!”
(“OK! OK! Think it but don’t say it.)”
For anyone out there, who seriously intends to set up a similar venture of his own, I’ve tried to pass on sufficient information for you to at least get started.
Others of you may have picked up just a tip or two, to help you achieve better results on your own windows at home. I hope so, or I may have been wasting your time, as well as my own.
Some Facts and Figures
An idea I had was at some stage to analyse how the Thornbys have spent their time during the years of running their business.
For example,
“How many full days has Georgie spent on his ladder during the last sixteen years?”
or
“How many rags has Millie had to hang out on the washing line during that time?”
If that’s of no interest to you, I don’t care!
(I suggest you shut the book now and go to your local library to find another more interesting read. Before you do, I thank you for getting this far, unless you started reading from the last page backwards.)
“Ronnie’s still keen to do some statistics”.
These may be aired at the end of a Man. Utd. soccer game on TV.
The ‘Ronnie’ starring in these matches is much taller, more skilful with a ball and is far more of a showman than Barker or Corbett ever were!
Some information, given to viewers at the end of a game Georgie does not really need to know. For instance, that one of the minnows received a yellow card for making a sliding tackle from behind on Ronnie or Roonie. Or, that he'd passed the ball successfully eighteen times and was offside twice during the match and he’d only had one shot at goal, although even that sole attempt was not on target.
Georgie thinks those stats are totally meaningless, as you may these, if you’re going to read on.
The following figures have been based on calculations during a typical month of window cleaning, multiplied by the number of months that the business has been operating. As work has been fairly constant during this time the overall totals, although approximate, will give a fairly accurate ballpark figure each time. They are based on five-day working weeks and eight-hour days, with four weeks holiday per year. These considerations have all been variables but the end result does not have to be exact to achieve its purpose.
For example, Georgie knows approximately how many wipes it takes to dry one average-sized pane of glass, following the squeegeeing process. Having counted his wipes on panes at a variety of jobs, on different-sized windows, he has been able to come up with a mean average number required for him to do a good job. He has multiplied that number by the average number of windows in a building. Then again, by the average number of jobs in a day.
“Hey Presto! We have some figures to divulge.”
During the past sixteen years Georgie and Mildred have not just been sitting on their bums.
None of these figures is the result of pure guesswork. Each has been reached by analysis of diaries, together with calculation based on logic.
All the numbers have been rounded up or down to make them nice and tidy.
The totals are more likely to be underestimates than exaggerations.
If you are curious, then be amazed or just smile. If it seems more appropriate, just think to yourself,
“Bl**dy Stupid!” or “Why has he bothered?” as you see fit.
The results of his calculations are not up for discussion, so don’t try to make contact with the author or his publisher.
Whilst compiling these statistics, Georgie has used a calculator. This is as close as he’s come to making a confession. He reckons he could have done the job without, but time was becoming an issue, as he’d like to publish this book before Christmas.
Total number of jobs done: 15,000
Current customers on the Thornby books: 520
Total customers serviced: 850 - 900
Total number of windowpanes washed: 1,150,000
Total number of wipes across the glass. These are ‘there-and-backs’. 9,000,000
(Double that number for single wipes. Then double it again to include ‘ups-and-downs’.)
Time spent up on roofs: 10 - 12 days.
Time spent off the ground i.e. on his steps, up ladders or on roofs: 6 months.
Time spent standing at the top of his extension ladder:
3 days.
Number of used rags put through the washing machine 200,000 Time spent running washing machine: 3 months.
Washing powder used: Combined weight of the AB’s front row.
Distance driven to work and back: Equal to 5 times around the globe.
Petrol money spent getting to and from work: Far too much.
Pairs of work shoes worn out: 80 - 100. (Cheap trainers)
Number of chats in town: 3000 (Not counting quick “G’days”)
Time spent chatting in town: 3 weeks.
Time spent on coffee/tea breaks: 16 months.
Amount of coffee drunk: Capacity of 2 garden swimming pools.
Amount of tea drunk: Capacity of 2 spa pools.
Total amount Georgie has earned: You’d have to ask Bill Numbers, or Millie. Georgie hasn’t got a clue.
He just knows that he did eventually find a way to earn a great deal of job satisfaction.
Time spent on this list of silly figures: 1 day.
"Get a life, Thornby"!
"I've got one thanks, Ronnie!"
No comments:
Post a Comment