1972, A nice summer evening, I have finished work and looking forward to relaxing time with Ann and the boy’s.
I could see my favourite dinner being prepared, all seemed right with the world.
As I was cleaning up and changing into something comfortable, I heard the phone ring, this was quite normal as I was a washing machine repairer and worked for myself, phone calls meant money to us.
Jamie, aged about seven always answered phone, just in case it was for him.
“Dad” he shouted “It’s Mrs. King again. Her machine is not spinning”.
To say my heart sank would be putting it mildly, Mr. King was a very wealthy lady living in a large house in the most desirable part of Surrey.
She and her housekeeper Mr. Murgetroid seemed to think the washing machine could wash anything, I am sure, that between them they have posted a small fortune of coins in the soap dispenser, there could be no other reason for the amount of cash I regularly removed from the pump filter.
This was not the reason for my angst though.
“ Hello Mrs.King, what seems to be the matter?” I asked, trying to sound surprised, as I had only last week repaired her machine.
“It’s made a funny rattling noise and it’s now stopped full of water with all my tennis clothes in it” she said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call round tomorrow and sort it out for you”
Mrs. King was a lovely lady but a bit odd, her husband was a chairman of some international company and mostly lived in London, to me she was a gold mine, and at twenty pounds a call well worth looking after.
Like all things in life there is always something that spoils what seems like a honey pot.
The fly in this particular pot was a small dog called Buster.
A lovely little Jack Russell. Now I’m not a great fan of dogs, partly because of my job, but buster was very special to me, or should I say, I was very special to him.
The next day I arrived at the gates and rang the bell, trying not to be seen from the house, in case I alerted Buster, as soon as the gates opened I reversed my van as near as I could to the utility room door as possible, still trying to hide myself from view, I looked through the rear window to see if I had been spotted.
There he was peering out of the kitchen window with a huge grin on his face, at least that’s what it looked like.
I have, over the years of dealing with Buster, developed a strategy, I know he would not leave the window until I stepped out of the van, as soon as I did so, he would run to the other end of the house and race to greet me, or should I say bite me.
I quickly vacated the van, picked tools up and scattered a few Polo mints to cover my tracks and sprinted to the safety of the door, Mrs. Murgatroid, her live-in house keeper was already keeping the door open for me.
Now this might, at first sight seem a very elaborate performance, but Mrs. ‘M’ and I had perfected this over a few years, it was to protect my shoes from even more damage than they had already suffered under the teeth of Buster.
Thinking back I think Buster was over sexed, he certainly had an enormous willy, it could be mistaken for a fifth leg.
In a funny sort of way this super appendage was a great help to me in my efforts to avoid his amorous advances.
I could gauge his speed of arrival by the frequency of his painful yelps, for as he ran his willy would touch the ground with every stride, 50 yelps a minute would give me ample time to walk quickly for cover, more than this I would have to run.
I reached the door just in time, even the scattered Polo mints, this time, would not deter him in his quest for satisfaction.
Once indoors he was a changed man, no more biting or barking instead a sort calmness overtook him, Mrs. King showed me to the washing machine, she had her normal glass of red wine in her hand and said to me.
“ Alan, you certainly have a calming affect on buster, look at him lying there, butter would not melt in his mouth”.
Mrs. ‘M’ threw me a glance with a half smile, she new this calmness usually preceded a storm.
As soon as I opened my toolbox, Buster’s ears pricked up, he was eyeing my every move.
Since my very first visit to the house, years earlier, I was advised not to move in any jerky or quick way, in case it upset buster, so I had to pick up a tool from my box and use it a very slow motion sort of way, for some one who liked to work quickly this was not always achieved, resulting in more Polo mints being scattered on the floor.
However, this was only a preview of what was in store for me.
To an onlooker what followed must be one the strangest sights they would ever see
A beautiful woman dressed in tennis clothes drinking a glass of red, a rather short Mrs. ‘M’ standing with her arms folded across her ample breasts, and me moving in slow motion towards the broken machine, all this in a quite small room.
With one step I was in position, unfortunately so was Buster, he clamped his little front legs tightly around my right trousers, and without further ado proceeded to to make unbridled love at such a speed it made the car keys jangle in my pocket.
All this was being viewed by the two ladies as if it was normal behavior, in fact Mrs. King said.
“ He,s certainly taken to you, hasn’t he Alan, look at him Mrs. Murgatroid”.
Mrs. ;M; Just smiled and watched as I slowly moved around the machine dragging the blur that was Buster still attached to my leg shagging away.
It seemed like forever, but possibly less than 20 minutes, when he suddenly fell back in his little bed exhausted.
I managed to finish the job, removing about four pounds in mixed change from the pump, tossing a couple of coins in my toolbox for our charity box in the shop.
I pushed the machine back in place, now just one more job to do and possibly the most hazardous, it involved getting down on my hands and knees, to check the hose’s under the sink.
I noticed Mrs. ‘M’ move her vantage point; possibly to get a better view of what we all knew was about to unfold.
Buster, ever ready to take advantage of any chance to satisfy his insatiable lust for me took me from behind, mercifully this was a very short affair for the now exhausted Buster.
I gathered my tools, and made my escape.
They both waved me goodbye, and Mrs. ‘M’ said under her breath.
“See you next week then, Alan”.
I didn’t reply but I knew in my heart of hearts, she was probably right.