The clubhouse was actually an old garage had been sealed on the door side. It had a loft and old comfortable furniture. It was more of a place for men to sit together, have a smoke , listen to old scratchy records and reminisce about the past, and contemplate the future. We liked to come out there, to get away from the kids, and joke about what it would be like if we actually turned it into an office. We bought an old limo, put in an phone, took out an ad, and there you had it. Mitch and Brian’s car service. Think of us as contemporary version of Amos and Andy, and Kingfisher thrown in for good effect. We would sit out in the driveway smoking malodorous cheap Italian cigars, in plastic strap lawn chairs and make remarks to the women who passed by. We wore bowler hats , and cheap waistcoats and our shirts were often sweat stained with dirty collars. I kept my grandfathers pocket watch on a gold chain just for effect. We took small wagers on the side, and often a spirited game of dice would ensue. Local husbands would wander by, attracted by the smoke and the gambling they would venture up to the clubhouse to try their luck. Tis never turned out well for them, our skills being quite sharp. The wives soon Grew sick of us, and one who was the sister in law of the chief gendarme dropped a dime The local gendarmerie made it their business to roll by on regular basis. they started making our lives and business intolerable. They did not like our conduct or the fraternal mingling that had begun to centre upon the clubhouse. One day we received a visit from the local Major, who made it clear our antics would no longer be condoned. We retreated back inside the clubhouse and continue to meet there most nights, to smoke and listen to scratchy records, and reminisce.
