On Tuesday I visited Accrington in the North of England, a part of the country famed for cloth caps, whippets, Woodbines and wife-beating.
My route takes me past the nearby town of Darwen, a festering shit-hole that is a blight on the county, the country and, indeed, the planet.
However, there an exception in Darwen, a thrupp'ny bit in the pudding, a gem that sparkles in the ordure - Carlos Viveiros.
Carlos is a curious name in Lancashire, a county where 60% of men are called Gary. He is from somewhere is South America, or maybe Central America, and he runs a factory that makes chairs.
In one of my previous lives, I worked for a sister company that sold office furniture. We bought chairs from Carlos and sold them to our customers.
Unfortunately we were losing money like Bush loses poll ratings and, when deciding which bills to pay, Carlos was bottom of the list.
So he would ring me up to politely request payment.
[Carlos' lines should be read in a kinda South American accent, if you can manage it]
"Ah Carlos, what can I do for you?"
"Give me my money!"
"Hey, come on Carlos, you know if I had the money, you would be the first person I would pay, even ahead of my own salary"
"Just give me the money. You took my chairs, now you have to pay for them"
"But Carlos, we are owned by the same guy. I would have to get him to lend me money to give to you. He would be transferring money from one pocket to the other. So really, you need to call him for the money."
"I will come to see you and cut you with a knife! You want that? Huh? Cut you with a knife. Now give me the money."
"Carlos, given the choice I would vote not to be cut with a knife, but I really don't have any money."
"A knife. I know where you work, I can visit you tomorrow. The money or the knife?"
"Erm, okay. Let me see what I can do"
Now that is a credit control process that really works.