Sat 9:30am.Standing outside the railway station in a sleepy Kent village.The sun is shining,the air is filled with annoying birdsong.
I've arranged over the internet to meet someone selling a piece of furniture. After about twenty minutes a shabbily dressed gentleman sidles up behind me and introduces himself 'Good Morning,I'm Tony the others will be here in a minute.' Sure enough , the others arrive.More 4x4s than you can shake a stick at.My 10yr Corsa looking decidedly out of place. A group of twenty or so assembles before the great man himself arrives The local Tory MP. His agent brays out instructions to the assembled re-leafleting etc.
Tony whispers to me that he,Tony, is far more right wing than the others.I nod in agreement.
The MP addresses me 'Thanks for coming to help' Errr..sorry but I'm here to meet Clint McCabe.Right on cue Clint arrives in a bright yellow MG,dressed for a night out with Randolph Scott. 'Saltire ? Saltire ?' That's me I reply,to giggles from the crowd.
'I've got your leather chair in the car ' he announces followed by a potted family history of ranches in Idaho and Arizona.Crowd smirks.
'It's a reproduction Clint'
'Yeah but it looks real'
'No it fucking doesn't Clint'
'It really doesn't' chimes in the agent
'Who asked you Adolph ?'
We agree a price then spend an eternity trying to load it into my Corsa.Clint minces off toward his car, stops for a second looks the MP up and down disapprovingly and he's gone.The crowd parts slowly to allow me to exit.Tony the shabby fascist gives me a smile of sorts.They're not all locked up yet.
p.s. anybody want to buy a 'real' leather armchair ?