THE BOY WHO ALWAYS HAD MONEY IN HIS POCKET AND WHY WE TURN OUT THE WAY WE DO.

Bob Sykes was one of the chaps who always seemed to have money to spend. While the rest of us in the “gang “ had to wait for the next letter to arrive from Granny and the neatly folded ten bob note slotted in between the pages of Basildon Bond or an exeat Sunday with the parents and the loose change from father's pocket once the luncheon bill had been settled at the Lamb Inn, Sykes always had money in his pocket.

“How dew do it Sykesy?” we'd ask him. He always reply in that very annoying way of tapping the side of his nose and saying even more infuriatingly, “Take care of the pennies and the pounds will look after them selves.”

Someone in the gang, probably Blake, named Sykes “Ten Bob Sykes” because he nearly always pulled a crumpled ten shilling note from his right trouser pocket at the school tuck shop counter. The rest of us had pennies or a shilling or two if we were lucky but Sykes, “Ten Bob Sykes”, always managed to come up with the folding stuff.

It gave him friends of course but not real friends like me and Blakelock. Ten Bob Sykes so-called mates were brown nosing him just because he had money. Mind you he wasn't actually all that generous with it. I suppose it's because of that that the trouble happened.

If he'd been the sort of decent chap who'd have divvied up when a bloke was a bit short or if he'd lent a couple of bob without wanting it paid back the following week with interest, then he'd of been all right. Having the money gave him a sort of power I suppose. Having Blunt too, Blunt who was in the upper fifth and who boxed for his house, he was a bloke you wouldn't want to argue with. Blunt had bloodied Cunliffe and Cunliffe was quite a big bloke. Blunt had landed him one on the nose before chapel one morning and Cunliffe's nose didn't stop bleeding until after the last Psalm. He looked a frightful mess and he hadn't got a handkerchief so his shirt was covered and he got into a right state and a bollocking from Jones. Blunt was “Ten Bob Sykes” minder and collected the money that was owed to him when it was due. You didn't ever want to borrow money from “Ten Bob Sykes” unless you absolutely knew you could pay it back on time and with the extra required.

Mother always said, “Neither a lender nor a borrower be”, which was all very well for her to say but she didn't have to buy stuff from the school tuck shop every day or owe Dyer three and six for some quite rare Commonwealth stamps.

Anyhow that's how it was that I asked Sykes, “Ten bob Sykes”, if he'd lend me half a crown for two weeks. In two weeks I knew that I'd see my parents and that I'd be back in funds by then. No worries. “Ten Bob Sykes” reached into his right trouser pocket and produced half a crown. He tossed it in the air like a referee at the start of a match and coolly caught the spinning coin after it had arced its way upwards above both our heads. He caught it and quickly placed it on the back of his upturned left hand keeping the coin covered with his right.

“Heads or tails. Double or quits,” he said in his annoying voice.

“What d'you mean Sykesy?” says I.

“I call heads or tails. If you win you don't have to pay me anything but if I win you have to pay me back double.”

“Five bob if I loose?”

“Nothing if you win,” said “Ten Bob Sykes”.

“Why don't I just borrow the two and six and leave it at that Sykesy?” says I.

“It's a toss up or nothing,” said “Ten Bob Sykes”.

“Go on then, “says I at which “Ten Bob Sykes” scooped the coin from the back of his hand and flipped it up into the air again. Before it had even finished it's assent he shouted “Heads!” and sure enough the half crown coin landed heads up on the floor. “Ten Bob Sykes” bent down and retrieved his coin.

“That's five shillings in two weeks time and don't be bloody late. No excuses accepted.” He reached into his right trouser pocket and fished out a half crown coin and flicked it at me with disdain.

“Don't spend it all at once,” he said coldly. “Ten Bob Sykes” wasn't a nice person at all and I felt that I had perhaps made a mistake.

I paid Dyer another instalment for the stamps and stocked up with sherbet fountains and Caramac and had some left over for a couple of Battle Picture Library comics and a trip into town to the Rex cinema to see the Magnificent Seven.

It was a bit of a blow when Father wasn't well and he and Mother couldn't make it for the exeat as had been planned. Actually it was several blows once Blunt had caught up with me and the tooth that the dentist had filled last term needed to be done all over again thanks to Blunt.

“I'll be dealing with you every week until you pay up Sykes what you owe him,” was how Blunt left me spitting blood and saliva in the corner of the music room.

As luck would have it Blunt broke his femur in the inter house rugby match the following Saturday and was carted off to the RAF hospital where he was laid up in plaster for months. It was a bad break and we all heard the snap as it ricochet around the games field rather eerily. Blunt made a hell of a fuss.

Without his “heavy” support “Ten Bob Sykes” wasn't much of a threat. He sulked around and barged into me a couple of times saying “You owe me,” out of the side of his weasel mouth. But that was all. With Blunt out of the way at least there would be no pain and “Ten Bob Sykes” would just have to wait until my funds were once again in a liquid state.

“Ten Bob Sykes” didn't wait though. He went to Jones, who went to the Head of House to report that some of his money had been stolen. He said that he had seen me take a ten shilling note out of his pocket and that was that.

I was called up before Head of House and vigorously denied the charge.

“Well. Sykes has said he saw you. You say that you didn't do it. It is a serious charge and we need to get to the bottom of it. “

I could of course have told the truth about how “Ten Bob Sykes” had lent me half a crown and how I hadn't paid it back yet because of how my father being sick had meant that I hadn't got any more pocket money and that Blunt had beaten me up and all that. I didn't because you don't tell Jones or Head of House anything like that. You never tell them anything.

Any how the storm blew over. My desk and tuck box were searched but no money was found and the Head of House decided that under the circumstances he would be keeping a close eye on me and that for good measure I'd be gated for four weeks.

“I don't know if you did it boy,” he said to me, “But I don't want any of this sort of nonsense to happen again.”

I think it was Blakelock, my friend, who discovered that Sykes “Ten Bob Sykes, ” had a double sided half crown. It had heads on both its faces.

“How the hell d'you find that out?” says I to Blakelock.

“I saw Sykesy using it the other day when he was talking to Sparrow about something. It fell on the floor and rolled off and when Sparrow picked it up he said, 'Hey Sykesy this coin has got two heads'. Well Sykesy wasn't very happy and grabbed the thing back off Sparrow saying maybe it has and maybe it hasn't. And that was that.”

“The bastard,” says I.

After lights out one night me and the “gang” got around Sykes, “Ten Bob Skye's”, bed and we put a pillow case over his head, dragged him out and off into the bathrooms. Someone kept KV while three others held Sykesy firmly by the arms. I asked the questions.

“You'll get nothing out of me,” said Sykes, “Ten Bob Sykes”.

But we did. My father gave me one of those Swiss army knives for Christmas, the red handled thing, with lots of useful blades. It was with the combination of the sharp knife and the saw that I managed to cut through Sykes, ”Ten Bob Sykes”, little finger on his right hand. He howled like a baby but we put a pair of socks in his mouth. His blood, and there was a lot of it, turned the whole Swiss Army knife red, not just the handle.

The deal was that when he came out of the San he went to Jones and Head of House and told them that he'd made a mistake. He hadn't seen me take any money and he'd made up the whole thing.

His little finger had been caught in the dormitory window when it slammed shut and sadly no one could find the tip of it. I flushed that down the bog.

Sykes, “Ten Bob Sykes”, knew that if he didn't do what he was told he would loose another finger or worse. He did what he was told. I paid him back the half crown I owed him but he couldn't put it into the pocket of his trousers because his right hand was still bandaged up.

He always had money in his pocket but it stayed there for the rest of that term any way.

I think he became an investment banker where as I followed my father into the family butcher's business.

HOW FISH GOT THERE.

After something like a three hour climb up through the woods out into the boulder strewn rough terrain, then scrambling further on up between the serious rocks themselves, the Lac Bleu is reached with a final assault that leaves the veins gasping for more blood and the lungs bellowing their hardest. The lake is deep and the water in it is unnaturally blue. Formed from the erosion work of long gone glacial cut and thrust in the Hautes Pyrenees, the expanse of ice cold blue water is imprisoned at over two thousand meters up the mountain. If you walked right around the edge of the lake you'd travel for maybe a mile or more. The water is freezing and even on the hottest mid-summer day the temptation to dive in must be resisted as a heart attack could result from the shock. Death could be fairly instant.

Graham did dive in. He ignored the warnings we gave him and stripped off and went in head first. If he died up there it would have to be a helicopter job to get the body down again. We weren't going to carry a stiff down. It was a hard enough job managing oneself. Anyhow Graham didn't die. He came out less than a minute later looking as blue as the water he had foolishly dived into. His teeth didn't stop chattering for an hour and we just looked at him and said we told you so you chump. His girl friend was a bit more sympathetic and tried to rub some warmth into him. It was a good job that they didn't want to go off behind a rock somewhere for a celebratory summit shag like some mountain climbing consenting couples do. Graham's girl friend wouldn't have found anything worth getting hold of between the guys frozen legs.

“There's fish in there,” said Graham when he'd got some of his senses back. “I saw one.”

“You were hallucinating,” said somebody. “There's never any fish in there.”

“There is.” Graham was sure he'd seen one.

“What sort was is?” someone asked.

“A fish,” said Graham. “About that long,” he held his cold shivering hands about eighteen inches apart. “It was a …...fish.”

“Bollocks,” said somebody.

“Pollock's,” said somebody else rather wittily.

“How do they get there?” Someone asked the question.

“I'll tell you,” said someone else and the group settled down on the rocks in the warm afternoon sunshine to listen to the explanation.

“Once upon a time there was this shepherd see. This shepherd looked after his sheep up here in the summer to stop the wolves from getting at them. There were wolves up here back then see. Anyhow the wolves would come up here at night and take three or four sheep and the shepherd couldn't do much about it see. The wolves could smell the flock see and they knew there was a square meal waiting for them. The shepherd had other ideas and he heard that wolves don't like fish see. So one day he bought up from the valley below a whole load of dead and rotten fish see and he covered his flock with them to hide the smell of sheep see. The wolves didn't like the smell and didn't bother to come up after a fish super see. Now some of the dead fish had eggs inside them and they washed off the sheep when they drank from the lake and that's how the fish got there see.”

“Bollocks,” said somebody again. “I'll tell how the fish got here, if they did.”

“The shepherd you've heard about spent day after long day tending his flock and all he had to eat was mutton, mutton and mutton. He thought to himself wouldn't it be wonderful to have something else. He began to hate the taste of sheep so much that it really was beginning to effect his job. Sod it he thought to himself. If the wolves really want a go at the sheep, let them. This was a dangerous attitude for a shepherd. There was nobody else on earth at that altitude who could kill and prepare a sheep in so many different ways. Roasted, stewed, curried, charred, slowly done on hot rocks, flash fried, deep fried, boiled and cold. There wasn't a way that the shepherd hadn't cooked or eaten bits of his flock and there wasn't a bit of the sheep he hadn't tried either. There was, he found, a rather distasteful film of sheep fat developing as a permanent feature on the roof of his mouth. He smelt of sheep, kept warm in their fleece, had sexual intercourse with them, ate them , counted them when he was awake, dreamt of them when he was asleep. He could hear sheep, he could smell sheep but above all he could taste sheep. And that's when it dawned on him that if he bought some live fish up from the river that ran through the valley bottom, he could enjoy the occasional fresh fish to eat. So that's what he did. The very next time he went down the mountain, when he returned he brought with him on his back in a milk churn filled with river water, fourteen trout he'd tickled from the river. He built a sort of keep net out of sticks and stones right on the edge of the lake to stop the fish from escaping out into the lake. He fed them scraps of bread and mutton and watched as they put on weight. One morning he found four floating on the top of his makeshift damn and he didn't know if they died because of the altitude, diet, disease or some unseen predator, although he couldn't find any out of the ordinary marks on them. The remaining eleven thrived and the shepherd enjoyed several gastronomic experiences with the fish. The last three mysteriously disappeared from their holding pool one night. Whether they leapt to freedom or more likely forced their way through the protective but weakened containment structure wasn't certain. What was however, was that three big trout had escaped into the lake and that was how the fish got there.”

There was a minor ripple of applause from some of the group.

“My turn,” said someone keen to have a go.

“The fish have always been there. You see when the lake was formed all those hundreds of thousands, millions even, of years ago it wasn't up here. No my friends it was down there. What happened was that the fish were already in the water when the lake, it was probably only a pond then, a puddle even, found itself pushed up with the emerging mountains. Bang went the earth's plates and up popped the Pyrenees with the fish trapped in the rock pools that were thrust upwards. It's as simple as that and that's how the fish got there.”

“Yeah, right.” said somebody obviously not impressed.

“It was the birds.” Somebody else spoke up.

“When the birds, the osprey and the like, used to catch fish for their young from the river below they'd fly over the lake and some of the fish would wriggle free from the bird's talons and drop into the water. Some would die but the strong ones, the survivors, spawned the shoal. That's how the fish got there.”

“Actually they came in from the rain.” it was one of the girls, the one from Tunbridge Wells who did lots of climbing.

“You know when it rains sometimes and you can almost smell the camels, see the red dust that the winds have blown over from North Africa, well it's the same here. The strong winds howl around these mountain peaks. They carry with them the detritus they pick up on the way. Tiny fish are scooped up and dumped here in the lake at that's how the fish got there.”

“Right. I think it was in the stomachs of animals that ate the fish, right,” said a lad who was convinced that it was in the stomachs of animals that ate the fish and was trying to impress the girl from Tunbridge Wells.

“Imagine the animals and birds that eat fish, right. Well they eat fish and some of the fish doesn't die, right. So the fish that doesn't die is alive in the gut of the animal or bird that's eaten it, right. Some hunter shoots the animal or bird that's eaten the fish and out pops the dazed but distinctly alive fish, right. If the animal or bird that's eaten the fish has been killed near the lake, right, then the released but confused fish could end up in the water. It could get revived, right, find a mate, right, and that's how the fish got there.”

The girl from Tunbridge Wells wasn't that impressed.

“They got there like they got into the sea.” It was the girl from Tunbridge Wells's mate, the one she'd arrived at Lourdes on the train with.

“How did the fish get into the sea? Well they got up here into the lake in the same way. Except of course that they are not salt water fish. Fresh water more like. But they got here just the same. And how did they get here? It was God that put them here on the fifth day if I'm not mistaken. He put all the creatures on the earth and all the fish into the sea. I remember how. 'Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creatures that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven' He created great whales and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly. Abundantly seemed to be the word of the fifth day. And that's how the fish got there.”

“You've got a bloody good memory.” Somebody skimmed a flat stone over the surface of the still lake's water and it skipped off into oblivion while most watched.

Graham coughed. He was feeling warmer and the sun had helped.

“Actually they didn't fly down from the sun or walk there or were somehow dropped off and although I like the idea, I don't think the shepherd stories carry much weight. The fish I saw was probably a reflection of my own indulgence. Each time we think that something cannot possibly be there, it is. What we thought couldn't happen, has. Man becomes fish, fish becomes man. We're interchangeable.”

Graham slipped out of his girl friend's hand and dived back into the lake and this time none of the party ever saw him again.

It remains a mystery how fish got there.

TANGIBLE ASSETS

Tanya was undoubtedly a “big girl”. Her breasts went before her in a way that the figure head on an old ship might once have, proud and decisive above the foaming waves. It hadn't always been like that and at sixth form there had been nothing to write home about. Tanya's mother called her daughter a late developer. But as developments went even her mum had to admit that now Tanya's tits were Titanic.

Not the brightest button in the box nevertheless Tanya got a 2:2 at Leeds and through some family fluke landed an interview and a job in PR in London. Her personality was like her chest, big, and it won over all whom she met. Some would describe her as “bubbly”. Others as “over the top”. No one could call her dull. Tanya excelled at her job and it was through no fault of her own that she found herself in the firing line when the call came for redundancies as the company floundered in the credit crunch. Like hundreds, thousands, of others Tanya joined the unemployed.

Never one to sit it out Tanya took on various tasks that came her way. She worked in a charity shop and joined the amateur dramatic society to critical acclaim by the local Watford paper.

“Miss Worsenot gave a convincing performance as the heroine in the company's latest offering of the Dracula Spectacular. In particular her heaving bosoms lent a real sense of the fear of the Vampire at her neck and Miss Worsenot can surely go on with confidence to greater parts.”

The reviewer's words were prophetic and indeed Tanya did go on to “greater parts.”

Her family weren't particularly impressed with the page three photograph but Uncle Timothy approved although he didn't let on to his sister. As a result of the exposure Tanya found herself courted as something of a minor celebrity and her appearance out shopping in Watford with her mother gained her several sideways looks, most of them from admiring men. Tanya didn't have time for men and although she had boy friends, she'd never felt the need to indulge any more seriously than the occasional snog. At twenty her mother told her she was still quite young enough to “catch the one when he comes along”.Tanya had no doubt that her mother was right. She also had ambition, an overriding sense that it was her destiny to be rich and famous and that pursuit left little time for developing relationships.

Her first move into her own business came just before her twenty first birthday when she made an appointment with the local branch of the Nat West Bank and went to see a business development manager.

Sam was in his thirties and dressed as he was in the regulation dark suit and tie, looked the part. Tanya on the other hand looked more like someone who had just come directly from page three and several of Sam's colleagues were mildly disappointed that their first appointments on that Monday morning hadn't been with Tanya.

The business plan was simple enough. It involved Tanya's breasts and their ability to attract business. As she explained, “I'm not setting up as a knocking shop, a knockers shop if you like (here she laughed loudly at her own joke) but I think the idea has legs.”

Sam thought the idea had a lot more than just legs but thought it best not to say so.

“I'm calling the business “Tangible Assets” and propose to open my first branch in the High Street next month.”

Sam looked a bit gob smacked. Tanya continued.

“We'll be catering mostly for the male market and encouraging clients, we'll call them clients, to come into the shop for a touchy feely experience.”

“Touchy feely?” asked Sam not feeling particularly comfortable about where the interview was going.

“Yes,” said Tanya. “Touchy feely”. There was a pause between potential new customer and perplexed banker.

“I know that men and quite a few women enjoy the topless female form and all “Tangible Assets” will do is offer the chance for adults who want to to have a chat and a touch.”

“Is it legal?” asked Sam in a voice rather too high pitched and with eyes the size of oranges.

“It's not illegal. I've taken advice and what I'm doing is no worse than what the Sun newspaper or those top shelf magazines do. The touchy feely bit is done in private between consenting adults in “Tangible tepees”. We're going to call it in tents theraphy."

"Intense theraphy?" asked Sam.

"Yep," said Tanya not realising that she and the bank manager weren't exactly on the same wave length.

Tanya produced an artist's impression of the shop. It's front looked like a cross between Ladbrokes and Argos with a hint of Waterstones and Starbucks thrown in. The words “Tangible Assets” were in an interesting logo across the front window that looked like what it was trying to purvey. The letter “g” in the word “Tangible” was made up to look like the human ear and the three “S's” in the word “Assets” were formed in such a way so as to look like the naked female form. The inside was well lit with comfortable chairs and low tables and waitresses delivering coffee to the customers sitting at the tables reading magazines and browsing the “Tangible Assets” menu cards. There were five tepees erected around the shop.

Sam studied the artists impression and seemed impressed himself.

“Will it be like a club?” asked Sam slightly more relaxed.

“No. Not at all. It will be a shop. We'll be selling nice coffee and charging customers for a touchy feely session. Sessions will be strictly timed at one minute, two minutes or a maximum of three. Touchy feely vouchers can be purchased from the waitress and will be charged at five pounds a minute. A regular cappuccino, we call it a C cup, and a sixty second touchy feely session will cost six pounds fifty. A large cappuccino, a D cup, and a one hundred and twenty second touchy feely session will be thirteen pounds. Clients will be able to select the quality and size of the “Tangible Assets” they are being touchy and feely with and we'll produce menu cards of all the available assets on offer.”

Tanya pushed a menu card and the the cash flow forecast across the table towards Sam who couldn't decide on which set of figures to focus.

“Given an eight hour trading day we should turnover with only half capacity somewhere in the region of £6,000. That's five tepees working for four hours each at five pounds a minute.”

Sam looked at all the figures in front of him. He looked impressed with both sets although his attention was drawn to the more in your face set of five pairs of naked breasts that were displayed on the tastefully photographed and laminated menu. His eye fell on the description of one set.

“Feeling these firm 34 double D's will be an experience that you'll remember for ever. Treat yourself to the hands on experience that you'll never forget. Stroke don't poke, go gentle not mental.”

Sam had never seen a menu like it.

“I've worked out the worst case scenario,” said Tanya leaning forward to point out that particular set of figures. “The best nets us about £15,000 in a full day's trade.”

“What about your overheads?” Sam couldn't believe he was being serious about such an outrageous business proposition.

“To start with it'll be me and six willing, bright and well endowed girl friends. That'll allow one girl for each tepee and two waitresses. We'll obviously change the rota to prevent too much ware and tear so to speak”. Tanya went off into another of her laughs.

“Each worker in “Tangible Assets” will be paid a percentage of the prophets after expenses. It's as simple as that.”

“And what's to stop ...er....what shall we call it....er....hanky panky.” Sam was trying to be careful with his words.

“You mean what if the clients want a bit more than just a feel?”

“Well yes.” said Sam.

“Each tepee is designed to fit just two people sitting down at either side of a table. Each “Tangible Asset” in tents therapy session is filmed and the film apart from acting as a record of the event will be offered to the client at the end of the session as a memento for £10. If the client doesn't want it, it'll be destroyed. If a client gets out of hand..... (on hearing this expression an extraordinary image conjured up in Sam's minds eye).....then the film will have recorded the event and the appropriate action will be taken. Apart from that in each tepee the client's chair is discreetly wired up to a harmless but stunning electric shock system controlled by the "Tangible Assets" counselor, that's what we're calling the girls, and a press of the button will repel any unwanted or rough advances. Finally by paying for a touchy feely session each client agrees to be fastened into their seat for the duration. We don't want clients standing up during their sessions or leaning too far across the table. It's strictly a touchy feely therapy and not a chance for a bit of slap and tickle.”

Again the words that Sam was hearing played dangerously with his thought process.

“You seem to have thought things through Miss Worsenot.” said Sam trying to shake off the images of erect manhood and slap and tickle. “So what can the bank do to help?” (apart from provide one or two clients he thought to himself).

“You'll see in appendix three my cash flow predictions and the borrowing requirement. There is a set up cost but we reach break even after two months positive trading using the worst case scenario”.

Sam said nothing and looked from one set of figures on his desk to another.

“What “Tangible Assets” will be doing is offering the community a very good and much needed therapy service. We will be providing a unique, discreet and legal opportunity for people to feel the finest sets of breasts and talk with their owners, our counsellors, in the complete privacy of a relaxed High Street environment for a fee that is very affordable. Most men go through their whole lives without the chance to feel a really fine pair of breasts. “Tangible Assets” will be making that dream a face to face reality.”

Tanya sat back smugly having delivered her pitch.

Sam studied the cover of the proposal in front of him. “Tangible Assets” it said. “When feeling is believing.” was the strap line.

Of course the Nat West bank declined the opportunity to back the venture. It was perceived by the managers who sat up the food chain from Sam as being “too high risk.” More privately the view was expressed that if some page three girl was going to encourage the good men of Watford into her High Street parlour to drink coffee and agree to be tied to an electrically wired chair and only allowed to stroke the naked tits on offer to him across the table for a tenner, then what the hell was the real world coming to?

Tanya found the backing she and her friends needed from a private investor and the business opened as planned in Watford to much mixed media reaction and lengthy queues.

It didn't take long for Tanya to become the multi-millionaire she had always wanted to be. “Tangible Assets” was franchised in over thirty six countries and apart from giving rewarding and well paid work to hundreds of woman of all shapes and sizes, the global business helped to counsel tens of thousands of men, most of whom became much better lovers and husbands as a result. The police too were secretly impressed with what one Chief Constable called the "knockers on effect." The level of sexual crime against women dropped noticeably when "Tangible Assets" opened their doors in a neighbourhood.

Uncle Timothy, Sam from the Nat West Bank and the Chief Constable are still regular customers at “Tangible Assets”.

Last year Tanya Worsenot had a breast reduction operation and received an honour from the Queen.