Meeting the Opposition

I was in Hugh's, my butchers, today. Hugh's a smashing little chap and we always natter away endlessly, as Hugh serves who ever walks in after me first, as a matter of course. I'm seldom in a hurry and often as not use the doorstep of his shop as a smoking post. Ducking my head in to chat to Hugh, between drags.

I wasn't smoking today. Not at the moment I was inside, leaning on the counter and chatting to my man about fridges. There in my Fleck Tarn, German camouflage T shirt, " Pest Control " emblazoned Hi Viz vest and trade mark leggin's from WeatherWear of Walsall. (Go on, treat yeself! Say Ditch, of the F&MWTC advert personally recommended them!)

And this bloke walks in. Younger chap. Short sleeved, light blue shirt on. Pair of smart, black strides. I didn't need to look down to the polished, black shoes. Pretty obvious they'd be there. I couldn't take my eyes off the mobile phone case on his hip though. Well ..... actually, I probably exaggerated my focus on that, in an attempt to draw his attention from the fact that I'd just glimpsed the professionally screen printed motif on his left breast pocket. So, This was " APS " ?! We meet, at last; Moriarty!

Three years ago, I've washed up here, see? Soon enough got my cards out and made it known to who ever I spoke to what my trade was. Within six months, I receive a letter, addressed to some hitherto unheard of Pest Control business, not five miles down the road from me! It's almost as if this guy's heard of me and thought ~ as so many do! ~ " I can do that! Gizza job! " And so woke up the next morning and declared himself my rival.

And here he was, stood beside me, in Hugh's. First time I'd ever knowingly set eyes on the man. The man who has periodically replaced my own business card with his own ~ a thing I've never done, anywhere, to anyone, to be honest. I imagine it's a ploy whispered about at 'Setting Up In Business' seminars? They probably call it " Cuckoo Carding " or something? Smacks of lack of confidence, to me.

Anyway, he was stood on my deafer side. Thus I was more guessing than listening to what ever passed between us three. Sensing much of what he might have said and doing my best to respond accordingly, or else steer the subject to things I could talk of without needing verbal responses to prompt me.

Between himself, Hugh and I, it seems like mink and pine martens became the happy medium. Thus a general, three way conversation kicked off on that area of subject. I feel it really was a largely natural conversation too. I mean, matey appeared the least informed of the three of us. Hugh was simply offering his own, casual and annecdotal points of view. I was obviously the only person in the shop who had any real, personal experience of pine martens.

Indeed, when Hugh openly and unselfconciously stated that he'd never yet actually Seen a real, live piney, I similarly assured him that I could catch one of the buggers and fetch it in to show him! Being as they'll likely be nesting just now though, thinking about it, I'll just direct him to the little film I took of one and put on YouTube.

Anyway, as matey picked up his meat and wandered off to his sleek, black, shiney 'Range Rover' type motor, I turned to Hugh and said; " Why the fuck does he bother nicking my cards? What possible harm could we be doing each others businesses? That bloke's never going to appear behind some shit stinking cow shed, and no hotelier would want me stalking about his place. The types of services we're cut out to provide are fundamentally different. We'd make a better Team than bloody rivals! "

Quite true too. I'd mentioned to matey ~ might have heard his name but, I'm no good on names anyway ~ how my old Fuller Cat Trap had recently done the work on a couple more feral's. I could tell, by his reaction and expression; Trapping a cat - indeed, probably trapping just about any fucking thing was complete anathema to the guy. I doubt he even owns a trap!

But, as I also pointed out to Hugh; " No fucking way am I coming in here, offering to install or service that Electric Fly Killer! I'd be terrified of breaking ye tiles, as I tried to drill for the fixings. Then I'd hardly know what plugs to use. My place is out on the bog and round the back of ye semi derelict cow sheds. That blokes is on carpets. "

My parting shot was the irony of how the local pub / eatery had got Rentokil in ~ and how I'd nearly thrown up when I stepped out the back of there for a smoke, just the other day. Drains were blocked and stinking like fuck. Drain Flies and House Flies all over the place. And some sad cunt had hung a desultary fly paper up. Not a single fly on it! Said to Dean O' then; " Look at the fucking state of this! That's what ye get when ye paying through the nose for fuckin' Rento! "

But that's all quite another story.