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Our Saddle Would Not Fit!
| 30 December 2009
You will have met this lady if you have ever advertised a child’s pony for sale. I will call her Mrs T-W – or time waster for short. She always makes her first phone call at around 9.30pm. She tells you that she is interested in your pony and you put on your best polite frame of mind, even though you were just going to bed. However, she then spends the whole 45 minutes that she is on the phone telling you about all the amazing ponies she has ever had and all the people she knows who have ponies at full livery with well known producers. You are let off the hook when there is something she wants to watch on the TV and she tells you she will ring tomorrow when she has made arrangements with the ‘expert’ she is going to bring with her about when they can come.
She rings again a few days later – now she knows you she can leave it until 10.30pm. You have to remember that she is a potential customer and therefore you can tell her to go away in the finest colloquial terms. She wants to come the next morning at 11am. It is the only time her famous expert can get away. You remind yourself that you really do want to sell this pony. It is one you bought purely to get going and sell on to make a few pounds to support the others and so you mentally cancel your arrangements and tell her through gritted teeth that you will see her tomorrow at 11am.
She rings again a few days later – now she knows you she can leave it until 10.30pm. You have to remember that she is a potential customer and therefore you can tell her to go away in the finest colloquial terms. She wants to come the next morning at 11am. It is the only time her famous expert can get away. You remind yourself that you really do want to sell this pony. It is one you bought purely to get going and sell on to make a few pounds to support the others and so you mentally cancel your arrangements and tell her through gritted teeth that you will see her tomorrow at 11am.
She finally pitches up at 2.30pm, complete with five assorted children, three dogs and said expert. You have to convert your house into a service station as demands are made for tea/coffee/orange juice/biscuits and use of the toilet and you have to clear up after the dogs as one of them craps on your front door step. The toilet gets blocked as one the children deposits a whole toilet roll in the pan and when unblocking you notice that the boys have had a who can squirt it the furthest competition and the walls need washing down.
You eventually get outside to see the pony. The poor thing gets ridden by each of the children and there is much swopping of stirrups and muttering about the fact that we don’t have Peacock irons. The last child coughs as it gets off and deposits a lump of green gunk on your suede seated saddle. The expert decides she does not want to ride.
Back in the house, further refreshments have to be dispensed, this time accompanied by pictures of all the ponies they have ever owned. Don’t try and ask what they think of the pony because Mrs T- W is in full swing about her previous ponies and in no mood to discuss yours. They leave having not said what they think of the pony and when waving them off you find that the prolific dog has left another present.
She finally rings you a few days later. By this time you are bosom pals and she can leave it until 11.30pm. Only after another 45 minutes of conversation does she get the nub of the matter. The expert thinks the pony is too small for the child it is intended for ( why come and see it in the first place springs to your lips) and in any case their saddle would not fit! Any reference to anyone living or dead is not intentional – but I know for a fact that there will be people reading this who know Mrs T-W and her family oh so very well!
You eventually get outside to see the pony. The poor thing gets ridden by each of the children and there is much swopping of stirrups and muttering about the fact that we don’t have Peacock irons. The last child coughs as it gets off and deposits a lump of green gunk on your suede seated saddle. The expert decides she does not want to ride.
Back in the house, further refreshments have to be dispensed, this time accompanied by pictures of all the ponies they have ever owned. Don’t try and ask what they think of the pony because Mrs T- W is in full swing about her previous ponies and in no mood to discuss yours. They leave having not said what they think of the pony and when waving them off you find that the prolific dog has left another present.
She finally rings you a few days later. By this time you are bosom pals and she can leave it until 11.30pm. Only after another 45 minutes of conversation does she get the nub of the matter. The expert thinks the pony is too small for the child it is intended for ( why come and see it in the first place springs to your lips) and in any case their saddle would not fit! Any reference to anyone living or dead is not intentional – but I know for a fact that there will be people reading this who know Mrs T-W and her family oh so very well!
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