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 â 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 â it rarely seemed to be the speaker â 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 â to my eyes â 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 â with all this repetition â 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 â prone to nicking weird objects from the lost property office where he worked â 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 â mentally of course, that was very important â 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 â or perhaps not tell each other.
Anyway, regardless of Timmyâs antecedents and Rosieâs moral scruples it is clear that an awful lot of people â or, perhaps, a lot of awful people â 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
âDonât forget to water the plants, dear.â
âNo, Mum.â
âNot too much water. You donât have to drown them.â
âYes, Dad.â
âMake sure you close all the windows and lock everything up when you go out.â
âYes, Mum.â
âDonât forget to let the cat out.â
âNo, Dad.â
âAnd donât let Natalie stay up too late watching television. Sheâs still growing, you know.â
âYes, Mum.â
Mum picks up her gloves and handbag and looks round the room.
âIâm certain there was something else I wanted to say.â
âThereâll always be something else you want to say,â says Dad, wearily. âHurry up, Mary, or weâll miss the train.â
âYouâll be good girls, wonât you?â says Mum. âOh, dear. I wish I wasnât going, now.â
âWhat do you mean, ânowâ?â says Dad. âI never wanted to go and stay with your sister in the first place. Itâs bad enough having her here, but at least I can suffer in my own home.â
âHave a lovely time, Mum,â says Natalie. âYou too. Dad. I hope the weather stays nice for you.â
âIt never has done yet,â sniffs Dad. âEvery time we go there itâs âOh dear, what a pity. If only youâd been able to come last week. The sun shone from dawn till dusk.â I donât believe it ever stops raining.â
âDonât listen to your father,â says Mum patiently. âHe loves it when he gets there.â
âIf he gets there. If you donât get a move on weâre going to miss that train.â