For a couple of years after Marg and I got married we lived in Ascot Vale, a few streets down from where John the Pommie resided. The two of us used to get a lift into work with one of our workmates called Richard. Richard didn’t have a nickname as such but was forever on the receiving end of a lot of “Dick” jokes such as: “Have you got a second, Dick?” or “Have you got a bit of string on ya, Dick?”
He used to pick us up on the corner of our street, where, while waiting from him, I used to have to put up with all the stories about “Munchester United”, the soccer team the Pommie used to follow “buck home” home in England.
It used to concern me a fair bit when Dick was late picking us up (Bruce our boss hated late starters) because he would drive like an absolute maniac to get to work on time. But the old Pom didn’t care two bob, he used to say: “I don’t give a fook, me.”
One fine morning, chronically late again, Dick came speeding down the road in his little Volksie, stopped barely long enough for us to get into the car, raced off again at the speed of sound, turned the first corner on two wheels and ran slap bang into an oncoming police car.
A second later I found myself sitting on the edge of the nearest footpath with blood streaming down my face. I had hit the windscreen and by the feel of it, it was probably me that busted it to smithereens. I looked up and through hazy vision took in the scene of the accident.
Both front wheels were flat to the ground, the bonnet and mudguards of the car were disintegrated and there was smoke coming out of what used to be the engine. The car was a complete “write-off”.
After having been questioned by the severely ruffled and somewhat indignant constables, Dick, who had seemed to have got out of it pretty well injury free (apart from a few cuts and bruises and a torn shirt), and I had my face attended to by the first-aid mand who had arrived by ambulance, the police gave the attending tow truck drivers the ok to pull the car away.
It was then that we all realised that the Pommie was still sitting on the backseat clutching his bag on his lap, wide eyed and in a definite state of shock.
“Come on John, get out. We’re certainly not going to get to work in this car,” said Dick to him somewhat sarcastically. To which the Pommie replied “Oh, I wasn’t sure mate. Oh well, I suppose we’ll have to take the boose to work then hey?”