It struck me that most of us have at least one Mr Sidlow in our books, and in some cases they form the majority of our clients.
In our industry a standard Mr Sidlow will go something like this:
Phase 1. Cashflow isn't looking too good, but if I juggle a bit we can get through it.
Phase 2: Better go to the bank to extend my overdraft (in better days).
.
Phase 3: Getting close to the overdraft limit, better stop a few payments and try to chase some money in.
Phase 4: This is really getting quite bad - got a few court orders and creditors are really pushing.
Onions up the rectum will include: Lying to HMRC, selling leased equipment, sending cheques that will bounce, starting a new company in an attempt to open new trade accounts, hiding under the desk.
Finally: Call a finance broker; look at them accusingly when they ask for bank statements. Say you don't have any adverse credit.
When they are finally presented with bank statements full of returned items and 10 CCJs within a month, you will be fully justified in your view that finance brokers are useless - they couldn't help when you needed it!
Fortunately we only have a few, but they do make life more colourful!
By the way, I left the final para in just because it amused me.
Vets are useless creatures, parasites on the agricultural community, expensive layabouts who really know nothing about animals or their diseases. You might as well get Jeff Mallock the knacker man as send for a vet At least that was the opinion, frequently expressed, of the Sidlow family. In fact, when you came right down to it, just about the only person for miles around who knew how to treat sick beasts was Mr. Sidlow himself. If any of their cows or horses fell ill it was Mr. Sidlow who stepped forward with his armour of Sovereign remedies. He enjoyed a God-like prestige with his wife and large family and it was an article of their faith that father was infallible in these matters; the only other being who had ever approached his skill was long-dead Grandpa Sidlow from whom father had learned so many of his cures. mind you, Mr. Sidlow was a just and humane man. After maybe five or six days of dedicated nursing during which he would perhaps push half-a-pound of lard and raisins down the cow's throat three times a day, rub its udder vigorously with turpentine or maybe cut a bit off the end of the tail to let the bad out, he always in the end called the vet. Not that it would do any good, but he liked to give the animal every chance. When the vet arrived he invariably found a sunken-eyed, dying creature and the despairing treatment he gave was like a figurative administration of the last rites. The animal always died so the Sidlows were repeatedly confirmed in their opinion - vets were useless. ….
it was an uncomfortable relationship because Siegfried had offended him deeply on his very first visit. It was to a moribund horse, and Mr. Sidlow, describing the treatment to date, announced that he had been pushing raw onions up the horse's rectum; he couldn't understand why it was so uneasy on its legs. Siegfried had pointed out that if he were to insert a raw onion in Mr. Sidlow's rectum, he, Mr. Sidlow, would undoubtedly be uneasy on his legs. It was a bad start but there were really no other available vets left
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