What's wrong with the world today? There's no tolerance any more, no spirit of adventure, no humanity. The driver threw us off the bus and refused to budge, then called a policeman. Literally threw us off, along with the two lengths of worktop we were carrying.

It all started when the judge said my defence of "not my fault, your honour" was little short of ludicrous. "Almost," he added, "as ludicrous as the excuses you gave me when you fitted my kitchen 17 years ago."

That was when I gave up any thoughts of appealing against the six-month driving ban he'd just handed me for travelling at excessive speed on the motorway. How can you appeal against a man with such a long memory?

So, no car, for six months. I wasn't worried at first - business has been so slack I haven't needed one. And I can cycle from home to the showroom, which should improve my fitness into the bargain. Every cloud has a silver lining.

And then, one Tuesday, this scruffy chap parked his tatty old pickup outside the showroom, walked in and started to make my displays look untidy. Never mind, thought I, ignoring him regally, nobody will see him. What I didn't know was that he'd just been left a few houses by his late parents and was about to buy the biggest kitchen I had ever sold - along with bedrooms, bathrooms, studies and other fitted furniture for every room.

As soon as he told me, I put the kettle on. My demeanour changed again when he expressed his deep concern about whether or not I could handle the cash. It seemed that his dearly-departed parents didn't trust banks. They preferred shoeboxes under the bed. What a nice chap, he'd brought his plans in and by the end of the day, we'd roughed out all of his rooms and he'd left a box labelled size 10 tennis shoes as a deposit, to show he was serious.

By Friday, I was excitedly explaining our forthcoming workload to my 75-year-old chippy, Nigel, at our weekly installation meeting. We still like to keep these meetings going, because you need to be ready for the upturn. We hold them off-site so that there will be no interruptions, every Friday evening at our favourite pub, The Politician's Fiddle. And because it's business, it's all on expenses. We were into our third item on the agenda, or should I say pint, when Nigel mentioned transport.

"How are we going to get there, now you can't drive?"

"Er, no problem. I'll ask Phil the plumber to come back..."

Nigel interrupted me, saying: "He's in Mumbai, working on a hotel. He wanted me to go, but the prickly heat..."
"Alright, alright, alright," I retorted, "I don't want your full medical history."

Nigel then asked me if I had my bus pass yet. "Because," he went on, "if this client lives on a bus route, we could get there for nothing on the bus. Do you think they'd let us take the furniture with us?"

"Hmm, now there's an idea."

As it turned out, not a very good one. And two men walking down the high street carrying lengths of 40mm worktop is not a great advertisement when you're trying to build a quality image. But hey, every cloud and all that, it would be good for our fitness levels.

Well, my fitness levels, anyway. Just a mo', Nigel's croaking again. "Yes, Nigel, that is the ambulance you can hear. Just lie still, til they get here. I'm sure they'll help me lift the worktops off you."

R.E.Tailer