(118) 'The Cost Of Venting One's Spleen'

[Ken]

I have always believed in the power of the pen or, to use today's terminology, the power of the keyboard. In this recollection of past events I will tell of three occasions where I have used my love of writing to make myself feel better. 'To vent ones spleen,' is to reduce the frustrations within oneself from taking over!

The first occasion my spleen was well and truly vented, was in 1967, for I was one of the fifteen million regular listeners to the Pirate radio ships.  I was furious when the announcement was made that they were to be closed down, so I put pen to paper and wrote a long letter of complaint.  In it I questioned the right of the then Prime minister, Harold Wilson, to remove my right to listen to the music I enjoyed and I demanded they be allowed to remain on air.  They didn't, but on, September 1, I received a reply from the Prime Ministers Office, thanking me for my letter and an explanation why their closure was necessary was given. This acknowledgement pleased me but four weeks later, my pleasure turned to delight when Radio one was launched.  On September 30, I cheered when I heard Tony Blackburn come on air, and I listened with joy to the first record, 'Flowers In The Rain,' by The Move.  The second song, and still one of my all time favourite songs was, 'Massachusetts,' by, The Bee Gees.  To my mind, my letter of complaint, and the thousands of others that had been sent, had succeeded, for we still had pop music available all day long!

I've still got the reply to my letter of complaint to, 10 Downing Street, as I have the reply's from Margaret Thatcher's and John Major's offices, whom I'd contacted later.  But the next memory of my letter writing prowess goes back to my days of success and of the arrogance that sometimes accompanied them.  I had grabbed my post, one morning, just as I was leaving my office for a trade show at the Birmingham exhibition centre.  I was staying at the best, on site, hotel and later that evening I was annoyed to discover the bathroom toilet was supplied with ridiculous shiny loo paper, it was costing a fortune to stay there and I was expected to wipe my backside with something that looked like children's tracing paper?  A few minutes later my bad mood increased when I opened my office post and came across a petty and unnecessary letter from the Midland bank.  I immediately wrote a scathing reply to the manager, telling him to never trouble me or waste my time with such minor stupidities again.  It was with some satisfaction that I placed the letter in an envelope, ready for posting on the morrow. Another spleen was well and truly vented for I had written my cutting reply on the annoying shiny loo paper.  With hindsight that was probably not the wisest thing for me to have done.

There are five Supermarkets / Grocery shops in my home town and not one of them stocks the item I require to start my day happily.  I speak, of course, of my much loved, 'Duck Egg Breakfast.'  So I have to rely on a store in Ammanford for my supply and, sadly, that's thirty miles from my home.  However, it's a Tesco store and its from there they run their efficient online delivery service for my area.  It's a service I value and I'm one of their most loyal customers, you won't find me knocking the mighty Tesco's.  Their helpful delivery drivers are often at my home, bringing me items essential to life, like wine, whisky and duck eggs.  Imagine my horror when two weeks ago I discovered that their hierarchy had decided to discontinue selling them.  Once again my vent was well and truly spleen'd, the gloves were off, the keyboard was out and an email was sent to Tesco's head office.  In it I pointed out that I was a loyal customer, giving them 99% of my grocery business, which exceeded seven thousand pounds annually.  In return I expected a product range that would fulfil my needs and duck eggs were one of them.  I went on to say that if they needed to prune their range, to cut out the only duck egg they offered was a mistake. Surely, if their buyer needed to cut a product out, it would have been wise for it to have been one of the twenty two hen eggs that they stocked.  I finished by informing them that Asda also stocked duck eggs and, if necessary, I would immediately change my allegiance, and my seven thousand pounds, to them!

Jenny didn't share my outrage at all, what a lot of fuss about nothing was her comment when I suggested Tesco and Ken Tuffs were now officially at War. My wife's spleen was obviously not as vented as mine. But when, twenty four hours later, Tesco's head office phoned me and informed me that duck eggs were once again available for me to purchase, she had to agree that the power of a well written letter can work. I have found it almost, always does.  I will finish with a tale of a time when my chickens came home to roost, when I got my deserved comeuppance.  I had been summoned by the Midland Bank to attend a meeting that didn't bode well.  I was no longer riding high, in fact I was to coin a phrase, in deep sh*t territory. The bank manager looked at me solemnly as he opened an old fashioned file and removed it's contents, a look of complete satisfaction was on his face.  Amongst the papers he held in his hand was a long strip of shiny loo paper that I'd sent to him seven years earlier.  He started to read what I had written on it and I found myself grinning.  Taking out my comb I asked him for a sheet of the paper to wrap around my comb, "I'll show you how to play a tune on it," I said.  He was not amused and the day did not go well!

 

[Ken]

Three memories, one recent, one old, and one almost ancient.  All tell of occasions where I have felt the need to air my anger or, as the saying goes, vent my spleen.  In this story I get to use a phrase regarding my past behaviour that was eventually bound to happen, 'My comeuppance!'