by ToClark
* On a later occasion, a spirit of rebellion swelled in his breast and, when Folklore attempted to requisition him as unofficial chauffeur, he lied and told him that his car was out of action that day. Using the prospect of a slap-up lunch at British United Plastic's expense as a bribe, Mrs Folklore was drafted in at short notice to take them and Dave relegated to the back seat of the Folklore Rover in disgrace. When Grey, with a cynical grin, asked him how it had been he replied:
"Let me put it this way. We were overtaken by the same milk float three times".
He reversed with difficulty between two parked lorries and was stopped again at the barrier. As they started off down the road, he weaved precariously for the first few hundred yards while he adjusted Folklore's seat belt with his left hand, trying to steer with the damaged right because Folklore was unable to fathom it out for himself. They were in good time at the offices of British United Plastics.
The discussion was exceedingly boring, being mainly about the comparative prices of resin and Dave had nothing to contribute to this anyway, but little seemed to be required of him so that he was able to sit unobtrusively in a corner and yawn behind his hand. Eventually, they were taken on a brief tour of the resin plant and thence off to lunch, which, he had come to realise, was the object of the whole exercise as far as Folklore was concerned. The 'Gourmet's Paradise' was staggeringly expensive but Folklore had refused to have any of an alternative suggestion to go to the 'Midland Bernie Inn' from their hosts. The bill would come to more than his family had to live on for a week, he reflected as he surveyed the menu. He ordered melon for a starter, same as Folklore and took his recommendation to have the lobster baked in champagne, but he couldn't help noticing that the two men from British United Plastics were ordering rather modestly (making the excuse that they were both in need of losing a few pounds). Folklore, who could have given them two stones apiece and still been heavier than either of them awaited the feast, his eyes aglow with atavistic pleasure.
The melon was placed before them simultaneously. It was a fancy job, carefully dissected into slices which the chef had stepped alternately sideways, giving a pleasing effect. A sprinkle of ginger and a glace cherry topped it off. A generous portion, he thought. He experimented with one of the segments, chasing it around the bowl a little. Too big to take in one mouthful, he chopped it in half with his spoon and ingested a piece before raising his glance across the table. Folklore's had gone! He was vigorously scraping at the rind with his spoon to extract any remaining edible matter - the whole process couldn't have taken thirty seconds. A dribble of wetness ran gently down Folklore's chin and Dave suddenly found his appetite beginning to fade, he couldn't look at his hosts. The main course disappeared down the Folklore throat at about the same speed that the dog in the 'Lassie' advertisement devoured its chunky meat portions, including most of the contents of the communal vegetable bowls, and the peach melba was disposed of with such alacrity that he doubted whether it could have touched the sides of his gullet on the way down. He sat, watching Dave and the men from British United Plastics as they caught up with him, a droplet of peach melba glistening unheeded at the corner of his mouth, the light in his eyes grown dim with repletion.
As a parting shot, he demanded the cheeseboard along with his coffee and it seemed to Dave that the waitress deliberately gave him an indecently large chunk of stilton as a challenge. He did not let her down.
There was no point in going back to the factory now, Folklore pointed out when they had parted company with their hosts, as it was then 2.30 and they were half an hour away in the wrong direction. It might have been otherwise had they been in the other direction (he didn't want to give him the impression that he would take liberties with his employer), so if Dave took him home, perhaps he would like to join him for a cocktail.
"Lucky British United Plastics" he thought "to be so strategically placed to feed his boss!"
Dave got home a lot later than he might have expected to. The Folklore cocktail had been very short (as he was driving) and Mrs Folklore's chattering very long. Folklore himself had neatly sloped off, leaving him to catch the full weight of the day's society gossip. At length, he excused himself when he could get a word in, making the point that his boss wouldn't want to miss out on any of the hundred-and-one fascinating snippets she had had to impart and she promised him that she was sure not to let that happen so he went on his way feeling that at least he had kept his end up.
On Wednesday morning he unlocked the pilot plant and checked the chain which still dangled behind the 'Old 4D'. The pliers had gone, the terminal link was sawn through.
The Department's level of achievement was geared to the Weekly Works Meeting, which was invariably held on Thursday afternoons and it was necessary to have at least one 'Major Technological Breakthrough' per meeting. Had they been monthly, life might have been a lot more leisurely within the Department. It's just as well they weren't held daily! On this particular week, in Grey's absence, it fell to Dave to provide Folklore with the evidence of innovative excellence and since Monday had been devoted to removing the tops from three resin drums and Tuesday to British United Plastics, he did not have much time, and was further hampered by his injury. Had he not been seduced to the pub on Thursday lunchtime by Howell, he would doubtless not have given way to flippancy when Folklore came round just before the meeting to get the latest progress report and would have been content to lose face a little and send him on his way with a zero.
"Well, what have you to report that would be of interest to the Meeting?" he leaned forward and Dave caught the bouquet of halitosis and Folklore's lunch full in the face. He recoiled, sucking in his own breath in the hope of suppressing his beer fumes and backed off to a safe distance before saying the first thing that came into his head.
"I have found that a small addition of 'WM7' (the New, Blue Whitener of OMO fame) gives us a vastly improved optical whiteness." He held up a piece of foam which the painter had used to set up his spray gun with and which was neatly sprayed brilliant white all over.
"Fascinating! Fascinating! Good Man! The Meeting will be most impressed!" He tucked the sample under his arm and made off before Dave had time for second thoughts.
What may or may not have been said has never been revealed, but the minutes of the Works Meeting for that week contain a reference to a new super optical whitening system which would overturn the economics of the low colour-index market and there was a dry smile on Grey's face when he returned the sample to the pilot plant the following Monday morning.
"I gather you made a bit of progress, last week."
"So they say" replied Dave cautiously.
"You want to be careful, you know. Sir doesn't have a sense of humour." He tossed the sample into a corner where it remained until the next clearing out session. Neither he nor Folklore ever mentioned it again.
The proper exercise of Industrial Management involves a rational analysis of all the aspects of a particular problem according to the principles of Work Study: Viz: Select, Record, Examine, Develop, Install and Maintain."
P.S. 1973
