Blue or Green

                                                                   

Billy Turnbull and Jimmy Fairbanks had been arguing for the past half hour, a normal state of affairs. To be honest, they argued about most things, had done for years. Today it was the colour of a car, which their mutual friend Peter had owned many years ago.

‘It was Blue,’ asserted Billy in a high-pitched bark that reminded one of a yappy Yorkshire terrier.

‘No, it wasn’t I tell you it was green,’ stated a red faced Jimmy, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to issue from the pit of his more than adequate stomach.

Chalk and cheese the pair of them. One five foot nowt, and built like a lat, the other a mountain of cholesterol fuelled, blood pressure

.

 In twenty years of friendship they had rarely agreed about anything and it didn’t look as if today was going to be any different.

‘Blue!’ yapped Billy.

‘Green, dark green,’ rumbled Jimmy.

‘No, I’m sorry, but it was blue, like a sort of royal blue.’

‘Don’t be daft, they only made Morgan’s in British racing green, at that time.’

‘Me daft, you’re the one loosing his marbles, it was blue I tell you.’

‘Dark green, I distinctly remember the colour, it was so dark as to be nearly black.’

‘Yes, nearly black, like maybe, a navy blue.

             ‘A pint of best, Mabel,’ Peter said as he reached the bar, ‘they been at it long?’

Mabel placed the pint on the bar, took the proffered note and said, ‘You going over to join them?’

Peter turned and watched his friends at the corner table, they were going at it so hard that they hadn’t noticed him come in. ‘No I think I’ll just sit here and drink my pint in peace, until things quieten down.’

‘Good idea,’ Mabel said, handing him his change, and heading off to serve someone at the other end of the bar.

Peter pulled the paper out of his pocket, turned to the back page, read the post-mortem on the England, Portugal, debacle, then turned his attention to the racing page. He was half way down his pint and trying to decide between, Likely Lady or Jack the Lad, in the three thirty, when Billy spotted him and called him over. Reluctantly he refolded his paper and made his way to the table.

‘Just the man,’ Billy said, ‘we were discussing the Morgan.’

Peter looked at him blankly and Jimmy butted in. ‘The Morgan the green one.’

Peter tried to say something, but before he could open his mouth, Billy spoke up, ‘The old Morgan you bought about fifteen years ago, the one you did up, the blue one.’

‘It was green I tell you,’ insisted Jimmy.

‘What are you on about?’ asked Peter.

‘Are you going senile, fifteen years ago you bought an old Morgan sports car, a dark blue one.’ exclaimed Billy.

‘No. I didn’t.’

‘Aha, I was right it was green,’ crowed Jimmy.

‘No you’re both wrong,’ said Peter, ‘It was a Singer Le Mans four seater sports and it was post-box red.’

‘But, but…’ Billy spluttered.

‘No buts about it Billy,’ said Peter, ‘I’ve got the photo’s at home. Now I’ve got to get to the bookies to put this bet on, so I’ll see you later.’