Oh good ! Jos Biggs is back in fighting form. 

My garden wall dried out after the red rain, but it had a rusty streaky appearance which was not going to wash clean. There was nothing for it, it would have to be painted; I couldn’t pretend that it was a new experimental look.

I’ve got a lot of garden wall; it’s not only long but it’s also quite tall. It was going to need a lot of paint.

While these thoughts were circulating slowly through my mind I came upon a radical idea - why not clad the bottom half of the wall? Then there’ll be less to paint - so it won’t cost as much.

I let Desire and Common Sense fight themselves to a truce in my mind, and found myself a Wolfgang.

Wolfgang came, accompanied by all the necessaries, and meticulously transformed my wall from a streaky eyesore into a discrete work of dignified glory.

But Wolfgang needed paying. Common Sense smirked - Told you so! Would have been cheaper to paint it.’

Desire parried with Yes, but it does look nice!

I hatched a brilliant plan; I would have to go to the hole in the wall, but I would go early, before it got too hot and before everybody else took all the parking spaces outside the bank.

That part worked fine. Having parked immediately opposite the Bank I exited Henry and strolled across the road to the ATM. As I did so I passed 3 men of Moroccan appearance, draped languidly over a car which looked as if it had recently taken part in the Senegal section of the Paris/Dakar Rally. 

I was aware that I was being watched, and that didn’t bother me. What did bother me was the ATM’s electronic assertion that it wouldn’t be working for a bit.

I addressed it in severe tones, but that didn’t work. I hit it - and that didn’t work either!

I turned to my audience. ‘Is it going to be out for long?’ I asked in Spanish.

‘Until 9 o’clock’ Came the answer in 3 part harmony.

I decided to go into the bank to the machine inside, which doles out money in tiny amounts only sufficient to buy a cup of coffee.

I pushed the baffling security buttons on the door. They promptly had a multi-coloured seizure, but refused to admit me.

‘It doesn’t open until 9’ Came the chorus from behind me.

I looked at my watch - it was 8.10 - too long to stand and wait. I was not happy. I swore in a not too sotto voce at the ATM and the bank in general.

Six eyes watched to see what I was going to do next. I was the entertainment of the moment.

I walked up close to them, swept them with an inclusive look, and with excellent BBC English clarity of diction expressed my opinion of the sexual orientation of the Bank and the ATM in one succinct word.

Three delighted grins, without quite the required number of teeth, spread across their three faces. In unison they replied B*****!

I like to think that I have added to their English vocabulary in a meaningful way. I mean, who nowadays says How now brown cow?