Well I think it’s only right and proper to end the week as we started it – with a new-lad Craig tale.
The poor little bugger has hardly said a word to me all week so it’s maybe time I bought him a pint or maybe a woo-woo. Perhaps an Erasure CD – who knows?
Enough of all that.
A couple of weeks ago, John took Craig out to fit a job in Burnley which involved him popping into the local industrial suppliers to get, amongst other things, some chemical fittings/anchors. (These were the chemical fittings with the vials.)
When John returned to the van, he carefully passed Craig the box containing the fittings which Craig plopped on the dashboard. John immediately berated the boy for being a bit cack-handed and told him to hold on to them.
Obviously Craig asked him why and John went into some serious spiel about them being nitrous fittings – nitrous being somehow related to TNT and that the slightest jolt could have the vials exploding due to their extreme volatility.
The next thing you know Craig was holding the box of fittings at arm’s length trying to compensate for the van seriously leaning to the left due to its suspension issues (nothing to do with Jasper having sat there for years you understand).
Not only that, but John decided to deliberately tear-arse round every mini-roundabout and take every corner as poorly as possible to see how Craig’s balance was.
According to John, Craig’s balance was fairly tip-top; it was the poor lad’s nerves that were beginning to fray, especially when John ‘accidentally’ clipped one of the larger roundabouts in Burnley centre flinging poor Craig across the cab and into the door.
Of course, John told Craig to be more careful.
By the time they reached wherever they were going, sweat was pouring from the hapless Craig and quite a bit of colour had drained from his cheeks. He simply couldn’t wait to get out of the cab and hand the explosive fittings over to John and have a fag.
However, John, being the top-notch japester that he is, took the box, and, just as Craig was lighting up his cigarette, staged a butterfingers and dropped the nitrous fittings to the floor.
This led Craig to recoil in a similar manner your average silly mid-off would staring down the barrel of a full-blooded cover drive.
[A picture paints a thousand words and all that.]
You can imagine how non-plussed young Craig was when nothing was blown to kingdom come and his cigarette had rolled off into a puddle.