What a Load of Rubbish Read Online Free PDF Page A

real ’eroes – who d’ya think cleared thembows an’ arrows off the beaches at the battle of ’Astings so that the paramedics could stretcher King ’Arold off the field. That had been a Tilsley, sir… Sir?”
    “SNORE…”
    Malcolm’s family history had been a little too long and drawn-out to hold the gent’s attention for very long; his mind began to wander. As Malcolm rattled episode after episode of his family history off by heart, the gent had sat on a garden wall and drifted off to sleep. He was woken by Malcolm shaking him gently by the shoulder, with a start he came to life. “Oh – er – YAWN ! Sorry Malcolm, you were saying…”
    But Malcolm didn’t mind. “No – no – no, sir – I goes on a bit sometimes.” There was an awkward silence, then:
    “Yes – well, thank you again, Malcolm. Now I must catch my train – time is money you know.” And he was off – in the direction of Suburbiaville British Rail station, leaving Malcolm to replace his pooperscooper and broom on his barrow for the next time. This was not the first time something like this had happened – and Malcolm very much doubted it would be the last.
    “Look mum, there’s Malcolm!” a small child’s voice called down the street. The sound reached Malcolm’s ears just as he was putting away his brooms and pooperscooper, his eyes scanning from oneside of the street to the other, searching for any rubbish he may have missed.
    “Can we go and see him, mum? Can we, can we?”
    “Oh alright Jack,” the young mum sighed and gave in. “But hold your sis…” But it was too late. The small boy galloped off down the street in the direction of Malcolm then came to a screeching halt when his mother’s voice rang out. “Jack, wait for your sister. Rosie – hold Jack’s hand!” A hint of rising panic in the lady’s voice.
    “Now, now, now – don’t you worry, missus!” Malcolm’s practised country drawl would assure the young mum; the woman would never guess at his level of education. To her, Malcolm was just another manual worker, one of the lesser educated types who cleaned the streets – no particular ambition in life. All the same, he was an extremely nice chap, and so good to the children – her pride and joy.
    “I’ve got my eye on ’em! And ’ave they been bin good children for their mum?”
    “Oh yes, Malcolm, and guess what? Jack has started to eat his vegetables.”
    “But only carrots and peas,” Jack cut in quickly. “I ’ate cabbage I do, and sprouts – YEEUCK! ”
    Malcolm laughed out loud at the little boy’s screwed up face, then winked at mum. “In that case, can I gi’em one o’ mesweets?” Malcolm would never dream of offering children a sweet without the permission of a responsible adult. He had read too many stories in the newspapers about nasty grown-ups who pretended to be nice, giving presents to children who didn’t know they weren’t very nice until it was too late. He waited until the young mother nodded and smiled.
    “Okay, Malcolm – but only one,”
    Malcolm delved into his donkey jacket and brought out a packet of sherbet-lemons. Not the loose ones that come in a jar, stick together and attract bits of hair and fluff in your pocket, no, these were individually wrapped and came in a sealed packet.
    “’Ere y’are children,” he would say. “An’ be sure t’clean yer teeth after or they’ll go all yeller!”
    “They will, Malcolm, they will,” mum assured; the kids nodded eagerly and helped themselves.
    “Say goodbye – and thank you, children,” said mum.
    “Thank you, Malcolm, bye-bye.” And with cheeks bulging, little Jack and Rosie would skip off down the road, just ahead of their mother, leaving Malcolm to gaze down the street after them with hands on his hips, shaking his head in wonderment and blinking away a joyful tear. “I dunno,” he’d muse, “ruddy kids, eh – lovely, innit?”
    Skill with the pooperscooper. Kindness with younger children