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disaster has not deserted him. How, I wonder, can he find the gelt to buy houses? He must still have some cash salted away from his Cromby Hotel days.

      ‘But this latest one can’t go wrong,’ exults Sid. ‘It’s a sure fire winner. Nobody’s really begun to tap the potential.’

      ‘What is it?’

      Sid looks round carefully as if the boozer might be crawling with industrial spies. ‘Pogo sticks.’

      ‘Pogo sticks!’

      ‘Not so loud, you berk. I don’t want to tell everybody.’

      Sidney watches a couple leave the pub and I can see him wondering whether they are going to rush home and start dismantling the telly to make pogo sticks.

      ‘You reckon they’re going to catch on, do you?’

      ‘With a bit of help from the right quarter. The art in this game is to get the merchandise before you start the craze. That way you get it cheaper.’

      ‘I understand that, Sid. But it’s a bit risky, isn’t it? What about all those hula hoops?’

      ‘I was unlucky there, Timmo. I didn’t know all the little wrinkles. I’ve got a professional public relations adviser now.’

      ‘What does he do?’

      ‘He gets you into the papers without you having to pay for an advertisement. He’s got lots of great ideas. We’re going to have a pogo stick race round Trafalgar Square and an attempt on the world pogo stick high jump record outside Buckingham Palace. Imagine that! It will give the whole thing a sort of royal seal of approval. We’re giving one to Ted Heath. He’s athletic, isn’t he?’

      ‘Yes, but he can’t use it on his yacht.’

      ‘I dunno. When there’s a calm and nothing much going on he might be glad to bounce up and down on the fo’c’sle. Think of the pictures we’ll get. Everybody will want one.’

      ‘What makes you think Ted Heath is going to accept your blooming pogo stick?’

      ‘He won’t have any alternative. We’re going to send a frogman down to tie it on to the anchor.’

      ‘I don’t reckon he’s going to like that, Sid.’

      ‘I don’t know about that. I just hope he accepts it in the spirit in which it is given.’

      ‘That of wanting to make a load of bread, you mean?’

      ‘Well, he’s done all right, hasn’t he? I don’t see why he should object to chucking it about a bit. The Conservatives are champions of private enterprise, you know.’

      Poor old Sid can be so naïve sometimes that it makes me want to weep.

      ‘How does Rosie react to all this?’ I ask.

      ‘She’s so wrapped up in her boutiques she doesn’t know what I’m doing.’

      ‘Boutiques?’

      Sidney looks slightly deflated. ‘Yeah. She’s got two. Thinking of opening another one. She’s got quite a flair for it.’

      Good for Rosie. I wonder Mum wasn’t rabbiting on about it. I suppose, being pre-women’s lib, she reckons Sidney must have done everything.

      ‘Must bring in a few bob.’

      Sid looks downright uncomfortable. I can see where the money for his house is coming from.

      ‘Yeah. It’s handy of course. Gives her an interest, that’s the main thing. Of course, it hasn’t got any of the potential of my schemes. When one of these goes then, woosh! One’s talking about tens of thousands.’

      That’s the trouble with Sid. He is always talking about tens of thousands. Never doing anything, just talking.

      ‘I hope it all goes well for you both, Sid. That’s a nice bit of stuff you’ve got there.’

      Sid looks at his trendy whistle as if seeing it for the first time.

      ‘Do you like it? I’m not sure, myself. It’s one of Rosie’s. To tell you the truth, I think I look a bit of a ponce in it.’

      ‘I know what you mean,’ I say. ‘I think that bloke over there thinks so too.’ In fact, the geezer in question is harmlessly reading his paper but he looks up when he sees Sid staring at him. Unbeknown to Sid, I give him a little wave from behind his shoulder and the fellow waves back. Sid blushes scarlet and buries his mug in his glass.

      ‘Blimey, you’re right,’ he says. ‘The buggers are everywhere. I’m never going to wear this lot again.’

      ‘Probably wise. I think that wrist chain is a symbol of The Gay Liberation Front, isn’t it? Funny, I always think they should be called The Gay Liberation Behind.’

      But Sidney is too busy tearing his bracelet off to listen to me.

      ‘Let’s get out of here.’

      ‘Hang on a minute, Sid. Your friend might be over to buy you a drink in a minute.’ But my desire to stay is not only occasioned by the embarrassment I am causing Sid. At the far end of the room are a couple of fair looking birds, one of whom definitely has eyes for me. They are both on the posh side but I reckon that they are not above the thought of romantic dalliance. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? You don’t get birds in a boozer unless they know their way around. Dinner time, too. Down at the office the old man is taking his corned beef sandwiches out of his briefcase and they’re out on the town. It’s terrible, but it’s life.

      ‘Hang on a minute, Sid,’ I say, grabbing him by the arm. ‘I reckon we could be away there.’

      Sid follows my eyes. ‘Yeah. Brings back memories, doesn’t it? This always has been a good place for pulling birds.’

      For a moment I don’t know what he is on about and then I remember my embarrassing experience when I was trying to show Sid how I could charm chicks and be a successful window cleaner. That seems a long time ago now.

      ‘Where are you going?’ I say to him as he strains for the door.

      ‘I told you, I want to get out of this place.’

      ‘Don’t worry about him. He’ll soon back off if he sees you prefer birds.’

      ‘I’ve got to go shopping with Rosie this afternoon.’

      ‘Go another time. She’ll be all right without you.’ It is depressing to hear Sid going on like this. I can remember when he went ape if he walked past the underwear counter at Marks and Sparks.

      ‘I promised her.’

      ‘Break it.’

      ‘I can’t.’

      Fortunately my desire for Sid’s presence diminishes strongly when the bird who showed signs of being able to resist me gets up and starts making as if she is about to leave.

      ‘Right. Piss off then,’ I tell Sid.

      ‘Aren’t you coming?’

      ‘I think I’ll stick around for a few minutes.’

      ‘Don’t you want to see Rosie?’

      ‘Very much, Sid. But she is my sister. Use a bit of common. I haven’t exactly been fêted with crumpet over the last three months. Just to see a bird is a new sensation.’

      Sid shakes his head. ‘I’d have thought that gang bang at the nick would have done you for three years. I don’t know. In front of your own Mum and Dad, too.’

      ‘It wasn’t my fault, Sid. I was stoned, wasn’t I? We all were. It could have happened to anyone.’

      ‘Yeah. But when that bird climbed on the table–’

      ‘I’ve told you before, Sid. I don’t remember anything about it.’

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