I used to know a man who ‘travelled in drain covers’ for Brickhouse Dudley. I liked to speculate that he carried with him a case of small but perfectly formed cast-iron samples, perhaps crafted by spotty young apprentices, plucked from a life of nare-do-wellery on the housing estates of Brickhouse and/or Dudley and given gainful employement in the world of drainware.
To be fair to the Brickhouse Farm Estate, I seem to recall that it was quite a pleasant place to live. It was also the home of my childhood friend Pat, whose malapropistic mother it was who once vouchsafed that her sister was very poorly in hospital and ‘on a sirloin drip’. Godde bless the theraputic powers of cow’s blood! Y’ wouldn’t get the luxury of steak in today’s NHS, I’ll warrant.
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