When I was young and in want of cash (all the time) I used to trudge round to the local labour exchange during school and university breaks and sign on for any job that was going - masonâs mate, loader for Speedy Prompt Delivery, part time postman etc, etc.
During our tea and fag breaks (âHave a go and have a blowâ was the motto) my fellow workers would regale me with stories of the Second World War: âVery clean people, the Germansâ, or throwing Irishmen through pub windows (the latter apparently crossed the Irish sea in hard times and were prepared to work for less than the locals). This was interesting, but what really stuck in my mind were the recurring stories of the mate or brother-in-law - it rarely seemed to be the speaker - who had been seduced, to put it genteelly, whilst on the job by (it always seemed to be) âa posh birdâ: âEw. Would you care for a cup of tea?â âAnd he was up her like a rat up a drainpipeâ. Even one of the - to my eyes - singularly uncharismatic SPD drivers had apparently been invited to indulge in carnal capers after a glass of lemonade one hot summer afternoon in the Guildford area.
Of course, this could all have been make believe or urban myth but, but I couldnât help thinking - with all this repetition - surely there must be something there?
It seemed unrealistic and undemocratic that Timmyâs naïve charms should only appeal to upper class women so I quickly widened his demographic and put him in situations where any attractive member of the fair sex might come across him or, of course, vice versa.
The books were always fun to write and never more so than when involving Timmyâs family: Mum, Dad - prone to nicking weird objects from the lost property office where he worked - sister Rosie and, perhaps most important of all, conniving, would be entrepreneur, brother in law Sidney Noggett, Timmyâs eminence greasy, a disciple of Thatcherism before it had been invented.
One day I woke up and had a brilliant idea. Why not a female Timothy Lea? And so was born Rosie Dixon, perhaps a gentler, more romantic flower than Timmy; always bending over backwards to do the right thing and preserve herself - mentally of course, that was very important - for Mr Right, but finding that things kept getting on top of her. In retrospect I regret that I did not end the series with Rosie and Timmy clashing in a sensual Gotterdammerung, possibly culminating in wedlock. Curled up before the glowing embers they would have had much to tell each other - or perhaps not tell each other.
Anyway, regardless of Timmyâs antecedents and Rosieâs moral scruples it is clear that an awful lot of people - or, perhaps, a lot of awful people - have shared my interest in the coupleâs exploits and I would like to say a sincere âthank youâ to each and every one of them.
Christopher Wood a.k.a. Timothy Lea/Rosie Dixon
âI can remember when you were sent back from Browniesâ Camp,â says Dad.
âThatâs unkind, dear,â says Mum. âIt was a day trip to Hampton Court and she had a nose bleed.â
âI wasnât sent back from Queen Adelaideâs, Dad,â I say. âI resigned. I didnât think that hospital life was going to agree with me.â
âThat was sensible of her, Dad. You have to admit that. The longer she stayed the more difficult it would have been to make the break.â
âHumpf.â Dad is obviously not impressed. That does not surprise me. I would have to come back disguised as my sister Natalie to get a smile out of him.
In many ways I was sad to leave the hospital but when the ceiling gave way and Dr Quint and I fell on Sister Belterâs bed I knew, in my heart of hearts, that it was time to move on. People can be very quick to jump to conclusions and the fact that Adam and I were both semi-naked could have led a suggestable mind to imagine that we had been indulging in more than frivolous horseplay.
âWhatâs she going to do, now?â says Dad. âThey wonât have her back at the Tech, you know.â
I really hate Dad when he talks about me as if I was not in the room. âIâm thinking of going into teaching,â I say.
âTeaching!?â If I had said bronco-busting, Dad could not have sounded more surprised.
âYou havenât got the qualifications.â
âIâve got my âOâ levels,â I say.