Working in banks is not easy.
Endless TV shows such as Rip Off Britain with Angela Rippon and some other mature troublemakers tell us how awful banks have been to unfortunates who have lost out.
MoneySavingExpert Martin Lewis is never off the box, telling us how to avoid high overdraft interest rates.
Many banks are going to be charging us about 40% starting this month. Tear into them, Martin.
Meanwhile, Mrs X has been tearing all over the east part of Lewis taking photos of families on their doorsteps and doing other lockdown activities.
She has been so busy that she has given me a job. I am now a waiter.
She is not the best navigator so she is using me to drive her around. You would think that would make me her chauffeur.
The big part of the job is not the driving, it’s the waiting.
She always says she’s going to nip in and will be back in 10 minutes. It never is a quick job and 10 minutes can be up to an hour.
I’m not one to say women talk a lot, but something seems to delay her every time.
I worry because she often comes back to the van and says: “What nice people.” I wonder whether she is not just eyeing up the men from the Point area.
Point is Rudha in Gaelic, so anyone from Point is a Rudhach.
I mention that because she had me really worried the other night. Having decided to nip out for a copy of The P&J, I asked whether she wanted me to bring anything back.
She said sleepily: “Bring me a Bounty and a Rudhach.” How dare you? I will bring you a coconut bar but I will certainly not bring any men from Point back here for your delight.
She opened one eye, looked up from the armchair and explained that along with the Bounty she wished a copy of the Point community news magazine, which is called Rudhach.
Oh heck. “Just joking. I knew that,” I said, as I bade farewell.
It’s farewell, too, to Johnny Beattie.
He was always one of these irrepressible Glaswegians who were often on the telly telling jokes and singing. They often dressed up as women.
That wasn’t a wee private thing. He and buddies like Rikki Fulton, Jack Milroy and Stanley Baxter were pantomime dames.
Big demand for panto in Glesca always. Money in the bank.
I will always remember Johnny for one particular gag from the 1970s.
He said: “This man shouted down to the landlady that there was no towel in the bathroom with which to dry his hands.
She shouted back: “You don’t need a towel. You can hang your hands out the window.”
The man replied: “OK. It’s just as well I’m not having a bath.”
The Westminster government has not been bathing itself in glory either these days.
Face coverings were made mandatory in all Scottish shops and places serving the public.
Westminster laughed at us and despatched Michael Gove to TV studios to say Nicola was wrong. Trust the people of Great Britain to socially distance, he said.
Now, possibly to show that Mr Gove is not to be trusted to be PM, Boris Johnson popped up and announced that face coverings will be compulsory.
That’s the sign of great government – unambiguous guidance, consistency in communications, everyone on-message… my hat. They don’t know what they are doing.
If the UK Government actually wanted to do it properly, all they need do is follow Nicola Sturgeon. Just do as she does – but a few days later to try to disguise the fact it wasn’t their idea.
On Friday I had a bill to pay and, of course, everybody wants you to pay by card so they do not have to handle cash tainted by your potentially virus-smeared sticky little fingers.
That’s the theory. Good idea, it’s probably a safer way to do it.
Until the card machine breaks down. These devices are failing in their hundreds and thousands now because they have been in constant use for months.
So I told the shopkeeper to send me a bill in the post.
Ah no. He didn’t want to do that. Things were very tight, you see. Any chance I could pay cash? Please, pretty please, he said – or words to that effect.
OK, I would have to go to the bank but I would do that to help him out. I’m a nice person, you see.
I even phoned up the bank to make sure it was open.
I told them I would be round to pick up the cash.
The manager said to hurry up as they were closing soon. So off I went and as I pulled up outside the bank, it slowly dawned on me what I was about to do.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would screech round to a bank, pull a mask over my face, rush up to a teller and ask him for the money.
