Christmas is fast approaching

I expect there are those super-organised folk who do just that, but to the rest of us, it always seems to end up in a rush, with last-minute things cropping up, and an uneasy feeling that something has been missed. 'Spect it was for ever thus.

Once upon a time. Sounds like a fairy story but it isn't. Malton used to have a huge advertising hoarding stretching from the doorway of Brown's Printers and occupying the whole of the high wall, down as far as the gents toilets which used to bring the wall to an end. Now all that remains are the wall-plates, the timbers to which the hoardings were fastened.

Sheldons, if I remember rightly, was the name of the firm who operated the bill-posting business in Malton and Norton, the operator himself was Mr Newton who lived up a yard opposite where I lived in Newbiggin. He had a bike, a ladder a bucket of paste and a long-handled brush, and would set off in a morning with packs of sectionalised posters, as big as a house-end in his pannier bag. The bike would be propped up somewhere, the top of the hoarding would be pasted up and number one of the sections would be sort-of thrown at the hoarding, caught by the brush and quickly spread out in its rightful place. The adjoining section would be deftly stuck beside the first, followed by another couple underneath, and lo and behold we had a huge picture, all nice and smooth, correctly aligned, and whether it was windy or not, it was always right. A real professional that man, and I often used to marvel at his ability.

All gone now, including I expect Mr Newton, but perhaps time for a re-think, for Malton is getting very tatty at the edges with the miserable efforts of the fly-posters. Every bit of nicely painted street furniture is plastered over with brightly coloured, usually falling-off, bills, which their applicators never bother to remove. The owners of the control boxes etc on our pavements go to much expense to have them tidily painted, and no sooner done that these phantom bill-posters come along with their rolls of Sellotape and clap day-glo bills on. The rain comes, the sticky tape stops sticking and the lot soon look a mess.

There were a similar set of advertising hoardings along the gable end of a building in Newgate, and I think on the old blacksmith's forge. All gone in the interests of tidiness. But the scheme rebounded, and all we now seem to have is one public hoarding under the arch at Water Lane. I don't know who's the responsible authority for this problem, but firstly we need a tidy up, all the rubbish properly removing, and an awareness campaign telling would-be bill-stickers that their notices will be removed, for which they will be charged. We then need to provide an alternative, and why not another custom-made billboard in Railway street, or elsewhere, so that it could be legally used, free of charge.

I spotted one of the new Minis the other day, a far cry from that first model which hit the roads in 1959 and as far as Malton is concerned I remember it well. At this time I was at Malton Motors, and Malton's favourite doctor, Dr Mayo had seen pictures of this 'amazing new small car' and came in and ordered one. Eventually it came - a red one. Not the colour he would have chosen, but that's what came, and so, tickled pink (or should I say - red), he became Malton's first mini owner. I think that first model was 848cc, yet he always said how well it went, and of course there was always the novelty value.

The only major snag I can recall were the windows. The first models had glass which slid sideways on the two doors, no interior trim other than something stuck on the inside of the door panel, and huge, but extremely useful door pockets. Ideal for a doctor. Until it rained. If the windows were even slightly open, the rain came in, and the driver got a wet shoulder or a wet face, and even when closed the water found its way under the glass and its runners, down the inside of the door and into the door pockets. No use carrying any patient's pills in there on a wet day, or anything else for that matter, and as far as I can remember that window problem was never solved until wind-up windows came along. But one thing, Dr Mayo always enjoyed his little red mini and forever had a smile on his face as he buzzed around the town. Another doctor customer, Dr Lapage had one of those now much sought-after, Triumph Roadsters. Some readers may well recall them, they had a 'dicky' seat which had a glazed cover which lifted up and became a windscreen for the folks in the open back seats. Great days, when cars were innovative, and when you had a choice as to whether or not you had a heater fitted! A radio? An expensive extra of course!

Today's thought: To be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness. (Bertrand Russell) 1872-1970.

Updated: 12:15 Thursday, December 06, 2001