I should know better

A famililar figure strolled down the lane the other day.

Tarmac Man.

Over the past year he has gradually covered all the offending muddy area round and about the house with tarmac. Actually he has been employed by Scottish Water, who own and maintain the road my lane turns in to - they paid for all the tarmac and thenI bought some of it at reduced cost - generous of SW to (unknowingly) subsidise my needs, and excellent for Tarmac Man to sell the same black stuff twice over.

And here he was again.

I was a bit puzzled. There`s only a tiny bit left, decayed and cracked concrete round the water toby. Was it worth his effort?

We solemnly measured it. Eighteen feet by nine. By previous experience that would cost about a hundred.

He looked a bit uneasy. "That concrete could take a lot of digging out. It could go quite deep."

I pointed out the bits that had come away already, proving that it was actually very shallow.

"Then there`s the cost of taking it to a tip and paying to dispose of it. Tips cost nowadays."

I pointed out a space in the top orchard where it could easily be tipped.

He looked downright distressed.

"Well it`s going to cost nine hundred pounds!" he blurted out.

My look must have said it all. I didn`t actually ask if he had a vehicle strong enough to carry the weight of gold plate he was going to use. But I made it quite clear that it wasn`t on. "I`m not made of money. Especially this close to Christmas."

And then his face changed on the word "Christmas", and I suddenly saw it all. I WAS his Christmas. He had calculated out the whole cost of the festive season and come down to extract the money from gullible Mrs Claus.

Well, it was a case of mistaken identity. He was firmly sent on his way.

And Mrs Grinch stepped carefully over the little area of cracked concrete and went indoors.