This one happened in the early ’80’s…
Whilst perusing the postcards in Snaith paper-shop window – amongst offers of massages etcetera there was one postcard that caught my eye. A petrol, cylinder mower for sale. It was a good one too – a Suffolk Colt or Punch or something equally spiffing.
I made a note of the accompanying telephone number and toddled off home. I rang the number and a strong Irish accent answered. The mower was in the next village and yes I could go round now. He gave me the address in his lovely Irish brogue and I was round there like a shot.
I omitted to say that the mower was advertised at £35. This was a tidy sum in the ’80’s.
I arrived at Chez Paddy and noted that the lawns were immaculate. He managed to find a bit of uncut grass to demonstrate the mower’s abilities. Great – stripes and everything.
Now the hard part – the negotiation. Don’t forget it was £35.
I’ll give you £30 says I.
Give us £25 and it’s yours says he.
Now I know that all Irish don’t negotiate this badly because my lovely wife is a demon….
Probably our favourite holiday of all time was when we went to Goa a few Xmasses ago. Everything in goa is cheap but MLW thought that she had to haggle.
We were browsing one of the local markets one evening and there was this fabulous pair of ornate flip-flops which would have been £20 in Europe, for sale for about the equivalent of £1.20. MLW offered the poor stall-holder £1. I had to walk away in shame.
Good holiday though.