Far be it from me to moan, but...
IT’S probably a mistake to expect encouragement or kind words from your wife.
For that is not their purpose on this planet.
They are there to puncture our bloated egos, burst our bubbles of complacency and generally undermine any misguided sense of self-worth that we might possess.
Thus when I told mine that the subject of today’s column would be my tortured attempts to contact the council to get them to collect an unwanted piece of furniture, her comment was pithy and dismissive.
“Another moan then,” she said with an air of boredom and contempt.
And it got me thinking: the vast majority of these columns have been moans of one sort or another.
Which reminded me that only recently three people separately described me as a “grumpy old man” in as many hours.
And even we thick Brummies can begin to detect a pattern in such circumstances.
Therefore, in an effort to disprove the scurrilous contention of those who think I enjoy carping, I won’t tell you how it took several hours last Thursday to get through to the council section that deals with the collection of bulky household items.
I won’t mention that had I been at work that day, it would have been impossible to persist in my endeavours.
I won’t tell you how I repeatedly tried to take up a disembodied voice’s invitation to leave a phone message only for the system not to be working.
And I certainly won’t tell you that when I finally got through, I was told the collection would not be made until January 9.
Or how I, a dullard when it comes to these matters, managed to complete almost all of the Birmingham Mail’s puzzle page as I sat, phone gripped to my ear, waiting for someone in the refuse disposal department to answer me.
As tempting as it is, I won’t observe that it’s small wonder so many of this city’s neighbourhoods are cluttered up with discarded beds, sofas, fridges and washing machines.
Instead I shall concentrate on happier things that prove I do sometimes look on the bright side of life.
Such as how our Christmas decor will be enhanced by the bed and mattress that is now propped in our utility room because it would be wrong to leave it in the garden until the council finally call.
I shall treat with nonchalance the small fortune I pay to the authority each year in council tax.
I shall wish the elected members of Birmingham City Council and all their employees an enormously merry Christmas and a tremendously happy and fruitful New Year.
I shall wonder the streets like the reformed Ebenezer Scrooge, a smile on my face and a seasonal song in my heart.
And I shall merely roar with good-natured laughter when I arrive home and my wife dismisses my good humour with the suggestion that I’ve had a little too much to drink.
Merry Christmas, dear readers. And a Happy New Year.
Perhaps....
