17 June, in the year of our Lord 2020
Up, and with a plan for the morning, for a warning light hath appear’d on my coach so breakfast and to The Repair Shoppe at an appointed time of a quarter past ten a’clock, which is the furthest travel I have made these two months gone and more since March, Mr. M. Jones to meete me there, tho’ he complaneing anew that his Sleepe disturbed and it difficult to rouse himself these mornings, none of which to his pleasure. All to plan, and anon my coach fixed, I to agree the concluding matters pertaneing and payement with Jay behind the Covey screen at the counter and we to make our way, when —
‘A thought occurs to me: while I am here, perhaps you could look at — ?’ and together we turn our gaze to the Gentleman who has accompanied me, sat a Special Distance apart and unaware, reading a copy of Coach & Carriage Monthlie twelve months old.
‘What seems to be the problem?’
‘Mainly an inability to rouse himself the morning, difficulty starting especially when it is dampe. And of Sleepe at night, which is disturbed, and comes insteade after dinner. Also procrastination.’
‘Tell us a bit about him. What’s the history?’
‘Well, to be honest I’m not the best one to ask when it comes to history, but he has a son some fortie years of age, so he’s been in the family a long time. We think probably first half of the Twentieth Centurie.’
‘Anything else we should know? Has he been repaired before?’
‘A man in Oswestry had a go at one of his hips. Bits of biscuit tin, I think. It helped the mobilitie side.’
‘And what exactlie would you like us to do?’
‘Just kind of get him going again, if you can.’
‘Well, we’ll do our best.’
‘I don’t want him all spruced up and polished like new. That wouldn’t be right.’
‘Nah, of course not. He’s a bit battered, and that’s part of the charm, innit? He needs a conservation job. Hey, Dom, what do you think?’
‘Well, he’s a challenge,’ says Dom, wiping down his hands on his overalle. ‘I’ve not seen one quite like this before but, you know — ’
‘Do you think we’ll have to leave him soakin’ overnight, to rehydrate him?’
‘I think that’s the very least we need to do,’ says Dom, knowledgeably. ‘We’ll have a go at hammering out some of the dents. And we need to do something to help keep the wine in. It’ll need patience, but the good news is that he’s all there.’
‘You think?’ say I.
Home to a downpour the Like of which I have rarelie seen in June, and to supper. Jay says I should return in a weeke for Mr M. Jones. And so to bed.