Furiously moving shorts

Large coins in furiously moving shorts

 There’s all manner of debris to be found down the sides of the sofa, and I vividly remember my father hacking away madly at an upturned three piece suite.  He was sure he was on to a winner. This scene is deeply imprinted upon my mind, and no settee since has left my possession without having its guts ripped out. It’s hard to beat the feeling of thinking you are about to get something for nothing…..even if it was actually yours in the first place.

  

For my efforts I have been able to top up my sons LEGO collection, pocket a few small coins, and have amassed bin loads of tissues orange peel and old toast.  Since about the 90’s there has been the subtle introduction of the remote control too. In 10 years time no doubt settees will rattle with MP3 players, memory sticks and dongles……..whatever they are.  

 As a young boy growing up in a public house, my concept of the freebie developed, and I dared go where I imagined my father never ventured. Daily I rummaged round all the seats in the bars after shutting time.  Plenty of cash is left behind by drunken men with loose pockets.  The cleaners were not too thorough and could have doubled their income if they only knew what I knew. Being the son of a publican I also found favour with the locals, who would treat me to crisps, nuts, shandy and free pool.  In those days the jukebox would be refreshed weekly with vinyl. If I timed it right, I could be the sole beneficiary of an instant record collection.

Hooked on my own brand of “recycling”, I walked for miles along cycle paths, which I learned were coin graveyards. Keen cyclists, with few places to stick a wallet, would shove large coins in furiously moving shorts. These coins would shake out unnoticed as the hobbyist flew along, and roll more often not into that conveniently placed receptacle which I had claimed as my territory……..the gutter.

 Growing up in a seaside town in England also had its benefits in the form of gaming arcades.  Everybody has found the odd coin in the "winnings" tray, but I coaxed these glitzy machines through their worst financial moments.  Natural disasters of unknown origin would cause hard cash to fall and I duly harvested their crop into my tiny hands. Neither lookout nor getaway vehicle was needed, just the sanctuary of the nearest sweetshop. Bliss!  

Back in the pub I also developed the unfortunate habit of collecting "drippings". Every spirit bottle, (stupidly hung upside down), beer pump and dispenser had its leaks. I was a leader in the field of recycling long before the word had been invented.  Catching the drips with dozens of containers would have been too obvious, so instead I would meticulously "milk” leaky vessels and taps into my cup.

 Perhaps dad was onto it too. He seemed quite happy to spill and “lose” beer to the drip trays.  These were regularly decanted into large jugs I wonder now if like me he drank his frothy mixed beers, or re-branded them for sales “aftertime”.  Maybe he was in the big league after all.