I watched an episode of ‘Open All Hours’ the other day and, apart from the delectable Barbara Flynn, the noise of the electric milk float and clinking of milk bottles reminded me that my Dad (long gone but still missed) did several stints as a milkman. I think his first stint was in Pompey in the early 60s (I can’t remember the name of the dairy, might have been United Dairies). I know he was a milkman for the Co-Op at one point and much later did a stint for Unigate. I once volunteered to be his off-sider and so, one very freezing very dark very early morning, we set off on his run. The float cab had no heater (though it did have two front wheels instead of one), the idea being that you ran around a lot to keep your appendages warm. Pints, half-pints, thirds for the school. Silver-top, gold-top (extra butter-fat, usually Guernsey or Jersey).and so on.
It wasn’t for me (I went into removals instead, it was easier) but some of the old hands on here must have had a go at it. Tell us all (including the alleged stories about the missus and the milkman ;))
) she went bright red, shouted oh crap! slammed the door shut and came back a short while later in a dressing gown looking very sheepish. She explained that it’s her husbands birthday and she was surprising him thinking he’d forgot his door key. I collected the money and said he’s a very lucky boy (Whilst thinking to myself - so am I after that floor show!) my boss was extremely jealous.