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Me and that ladder go back a long long way.
I hadn't been married very long when I took a job to cap a house chimney and re-set the ridge tiles. The trouble was, I didn't have a cat-ladder, so I went to see an old Arfur Daley type named Mr Greenaugh, who owned a petrol station at the bottom of Greenland Rd in Darnall.
Mr Greenaugh had a good second-hand cat-ladder, which he offered to sell to me for £15. "Buy it" he advised me, "It's cheap".
Never one to pay everything a man asks, I offered him a tenner, and then 12 quid, but he held fast. Eventually I gave in. "Ok Mr Greenaugh, knock me a pound off and I'll have it".
"Nothing doing son, he replied, shaking his head. "It's fifteen quid or leave it".
"What?" I asked, incredulous, "you won't knock a penny off? Well you can stick your ladder right up your arse". And with that, I drove away.
The next day I hunted high and low for a cat-ladder but I couldn't find one anywhere. I had a very nice little earner that was going cold and I soon found myself regretting not buying Mr Greenaugh's ladder. So I went back, gave him some old pony about being stressed, ate some humble pie, and got my fifteen quid out.
"Sorry son" he said, "you've missed that boat, it's twenty quid now if you want it".
I was speechless for a few seconds, but eventually I recovered enough to tell him to stick it up his arse again.
The following day, with steam coming out of my ears but with my tongue firmly clamped between my teeth, I bought Mr Greenaugh's cat-ladder for £25. He promptly gave me £5 back for luck and threw in a nice set of aluminum steps. Those are the ones I was repairing today.
I've been using both sets of ladders for nigh on 40 years now, so I don't expect they owe me much.
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