Burned by the milk of human kindness

During the mid-Seventies, i was a council rent collector. Before training, i was given some vouchers for a local shop and was told to buy outdoor clothing. The shop sold Army surplus and i kitted myself out in a khaki jumper with a corporal stripe, Dr Martens boots and a parka jacket with a faux fur trim around the hood. With a full beard and longish hair, i must have presented an alarming sight to tenants, especially when rain-soaked faux fur framed my hairy face. There were two other rent collectors: a retired policeman and a retired soldier. each round had a printed sheet which gave details of addresses and, very importantly, toilet stops. There were many rural rent rounds in lovely villages. Most of the tenants were elderly and very nice. They would often give me cakes or fruit, and offered tea or coffee. i had to politely decline many of these drinks, but most rounds had one address where a drink stop was indicated. Some rounds had upwards of 130 properties, so it was important to keep up a brisk pace to finish and cash up. on one particular round, a lovely couple always had coffee waiting. it consisted of hot milk with a dash of coffee and was scalding. i used to sit and blow on it like mad, while talking to the tenants. it was always waiting for me at the exact time i was due to arrive. So i hit upon the bright idea of arriving slightly later, hoping the coffee would be cooler and i could drink it quickly and be on my way. When i arrived, i said: ‘Sorry, i’m a bit late today. hope my coffee isn’t cold!’ (hoping it was). The nice lady replied: ‘Don’t worry, we kept it warm for you on top of the stove.’ Subterfuge doesn’t pay!

Don Townshend, Chelmsford, Essex.