FREE DELIVERY.

 

 I’ve delivered the chair, thank goodness there was only one flight of stairs up to her flat and I made sure she took the bottom and got most of the weight, while I just did a bit of balancing. In the past I’ve always preferred to carry things myself as often unexperienced help proves more awkward, but these days I’m happy for any help I can get, even Totties. Nice enough flat, quite roomy, but definitely not my sort of décor. She’s not the tidiest of people either, but then who am I to talk. No sooner had we put it down in the place she’d cleared than out with the mobile phone and I had to have my photograph taken, felt a total lemon and can only hope she doesn’t go putting that on line. She’d made scones, or at least she said she had, maybe she’d bought them because they were good, very good. Maybe those terrible sugary things she brought with her last time were just an off day. Maybe she can cook after all.

She wanted to show me what she’d found on line about Tom Hickman the bare knuckle fighter. Well, I’d seen that years ago and often wondered if there was any connection. For a bare knuckle fighter he was surprisingly quite small, which fits along with the cleft chin I could imagine some sort of very distant relative. I’ve always had a thing about hitting anyone in the face, just could not do it. We had boxing at school and I made sure I didn’t get picked to fight, but you can’t hide for ever and the PA teacher had noticed pairing me up one day with my best friend Garry. We danced around tapping each other as the rest of the class jeered, but in the second round Garry got annoyed that I wasn’t really fighting and so he started to hit me, hard. I protected myself the best I could and backed off, but that only made things worse. At the end of the class the teacher asked me why I hadn’t fought. I told him I simply could not hit anyone in the face, it seemed too fragile. That was also the day that I lost Garry’s friendship, he felt I’d made him look foolish.

When, years later I read the obituary of Tom Hickman the bare knuckle fighter it seemed to explain a lot. He’d been out drinking with a friend and on their way back his horse drawn gig had overtaken a farm cart. The wheels had caught and they were overturned killing both him and his friend. It said the cart wheel went over his face, not a feature remained, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Did that go any way towards explaining? It certainly felt very strange.

 

Tottie. The scones were a success, but I think I was a bit quick off the mark getting him to pose for a photograph in his chair. Still it makes and interesting comparison with the early 19^th century Tom Hickman. I’m afraid I didn’t follow his school day memories of boxing as I was still worrying if the scones would pass muster, and that chair is just perfect, and the cushion. He just pulled out a couple of bits of offcut tweed and made the piping as well. That man seems to turn his hand to anything and whatever he touches turns to gold. I think I might need a wee stool if I’m going to take up my harp playing again. Should I ask him or should I buy one. I’ll maybe leave it for now, don’t want to seem too pushy.