Open Writing

'Oi, you, come to the front. . . what's your name, eh?'

'Andrew Rochdale,' I said, 'from Bolton.'

'Make yer mind up. It sez ere that you're Andrew Bolton from Rochdale . . . Bit old for this sort of thing, aint yer?'

Some of the others laughed.

'Oh, I'd like to give it a try,' I said (having paid £200 for the privilege.)

'Well, it's yowr funeral... we don't accept responsib -'

'Yes,' I said, ‘l understand.'

'How's yowr equipment?'

'It's in good working order,' I said. 'Look.'

He looked. 'Yes, all roight. That'll do. No, don't switch on yet, fer christ's -'

'And this is my protective gear,' I said. 'Is it up to scratch?'

'Yeah,' he said, 'better'n some I could mention.'

This time I was the one who laughed.

He raised his voice. 'Naow, everybody, here are the rules,' and he read them out. 'If anybody breaks any of em ee'll be disqualified.'

'Or she,' piped up one of the women, whose name was Rosa.

'Yes, ee or she, that's right... Naow, let's get on wiv it.'

*
In the bar later, when it was over, and we'd ail been awarded our certificates, Rosa said to me, 'You must be the oldest but you did better’n any of us.'

'Ah,' I said, 'that comes from years of experience.’

'What d'you mean - experience doin this sort of fing?'

'Well, not exactly but. . .'

'You don't seem the manual type to me, more loik a whatsit.'

'Actually, I used to be a bank manager,' I said and she shrieked in mock terror and the others stared.

'So that's ow you know about cracking safes, then,' she yelled.