Right at the end of a Radio 4 programme recently, there was a discussion about the cost of entry into Premiership football matches where ticket prices of £60 or £100 per game is not uncommon.
An elderly chap being interviewed said he could recall many years ago arriving at the turnstiles when the attendant greeted him with: "That will be ten quid, mate”.
"What?!" the old chap said, "I could get a woman for that!"
Without batting an eyelid, the fellow on the turnstile retorted, "Not for 45 minutes each way with a brass band and a meat pie in the interval, you wouldn't!”
A final plea
As I pointed out earlier, I’m really getting short of material for the newsletter.   Please come to my rescue by sending articles, pictures, letters, diary extracts, or anything you think others may wish to see.   If I don’t get more contributions soon, I might have to resort to printing even more of the stuff John Thompson, our indefatigable correspondent from ‘down under’, sends me on a regular basis.   A few examples are reproduced below.   You have been warned!
The Grim Reaper came for me last night , and I beat him off with a vacuum cleaner.   Talk about Dyson with death!
A mate of mine recently admitted to being addicted to brake fluid.   When I quizzed him on it, he reckoned he could stop any time.
- I was driving this morning when I saw an RAC van parked on the side of the road.   The driver was sobbing uncontrollably and looked very miserable.   I thought to myself - that guy's heading for a breakdown.
- I sat opposite an Indian lady on the train today, she shut her eyes and stopped breathing.   I thought she was dead, until I saw the red spot on her forehead and realised she was just on standby.
Then as now
Even as far back as 1982 parking was an issue in the centre of Lincoln.