The evening went very well and, as she put on her coat to leave, I said, ‘Just a minute. I want to see you again. What’s your phone number?’
‘I’m not on the phone,’ she said, and started to walk away.
My heart sank. I thought she was giving me a line just to put me off but then she turned back and said, ‘But my granddad is. He only lives down our street. You can phone me there if you like.’
So I did. I got through to granddad Bill and, a little bit embarrassed, explained who I was and asked if he would please go and get Lorraine. ‘Right, lad, just a minute,’ he said and I heard him put the phone down, shuffle down his hall, open the front door and leave. I must have hung on for a good couple of minutes and I was beginning to think it was a wind-up when I heard some lighter footsteps running back in and a slightly out-of-breath Lorraine said, ‘Hello, Ronnie, is that you?’ And that was that. We were, as they say in those parts, courting. We are still together 20 years later, although communication is much easier now they’ve invented mobile phones.
I soon got to know Lorraine’s family, who were having quite a tough time. She had a brother Paul and sister Alison. Her dad wasn’t living with them and her mum Pat was holding down three jobs to look after her kids. Lorraine, who was only 16 when I met her, was also grafting to pay her way, getting up at 5.30 each morning to catch the bus to her job as a machinist, making curtains at Dorma for Marks & Spencer.
On one of our first dates, I told her that, as well as working in the video shop, I also played cricket, although, not wanting to sound boastful, I didn’t say I was on the books at Lancashire. Lorraine showed a suitable amount of interest and then said, ‘I play rounders.’ So, being a modern man who likes to share interests – and relishing the idea of seeing those legs in a really short skirt – I went along to watch her and she was pretty good. The match was quite tight and the opposition were getting a bit feisty, so I started to wind them up from the sidelines. It worked in so far as they lost their composure and Lorraine’s side won the match but I hadn’t realised that women tend to react to losing far more aggressively than men. I couldn’t believe it. One woman lost it all together. She picked up first base and threatened to use it as a spear. It was riveting to watch but I decided it was time to make a tactical retreat. I’ve faced some of the most hostile fast bowlers in the world, but none of them was as scary as that woman and I decided there and then that men should steer well clear when women start scrapping.
It was only when the season started and I began to disappear for weeks on end that Lorraine realised that cricket was my main job. It brought a big change in our lives because we weren’t able to see nearly as much of each other, but she never complained once and has always accepted the fact that my work meant we’ve had to spend long periods apart.
As well as playing for Lancashire second team and Under-25s, I signed for Eagley Cricket Club and so became the youngest ever Bolton League club professional. I also had the chance to play a couple of games up at Penrith, which turned out to be one of the most significant trips in my life. I got chatting to their pro Gavin Murgatroyd – I was filling in while he was injured – and he suggested I should ring a chap he knew called John Bird. ‘He’s a great bloke – a director of Tesco and a cricket nut. You’ll like him.’ It was one of the best bits of advice I ever received and was soon to help me in my latest business venture, with Fil Mercer.
Fil – a cross between Arthur Daley and Del Boy with a bit of Alan Sugar thrown in – had sold his video shops to Video World which later became Blockbuster. He was now looking for a new venture to invest in and I was keen to have another string to my bow just in case the cricket didn’t work out. He’d assisted in a fruit and veg shop when he was a teenager and reckoned, if modern retail techniques were applied to what was a very old-fashioned business, we could clean up. ‘The first thing that has to go is that imitation grass draped over apple boxes,’ he said.
We drove all over the north of England, looking at greengrocers and most of them were rubbish. We found a great shop in Sheffield, Arthur Fox Fruiterers, and that gave us several ideas for our own place. Fil put in £75,000 and I borrowed 25 grand off my dad and we started to look for our first shop. We realised that position was everything and, contrary to most advice, we decided our shop should be as close as possible to a big supermarket so we were within walking distance of their car park. We labelled our produce as farm fresh, while everyone believed the supermarket stuff was mass-produced and pre-packaged. It was bollocks because it often came from the same market but it worked for us.
I was determined to be hands-on so I needed a quick education in retailing and that’s when I remembered Gavin’s tip about John Bird. Surely the Head of Retail at Tesco, a guy employing more than 60,000 people, would be able to put me right? I rang and spoke to his secretary, and a couple of days later he phoned me back and agreed to meet. I warmed to him straight away and he was very encouraging. He even created a training course for me and sent me to work at Tesco’s Hatfield branch under the experienced guidance of manager Gary Snell. It was quite an eye-opener. Gary gave me a crash course in everything from rotating stock to display, from margins and profit and loss to how to get customers flowing through the store. He also put me to work in the fruit and veg and dairy sections.
One day, I was on the till when the tannoy sounded out: ‘Mrs Robinson to reception, please. Mrs Robinson to reception urgently.’
Gary came racing over and said, ‘Quick! That’s the code for someone nicking stuff.’
As he spoke, a guy came tearing past me clutching a couple of bottles of whisky, raced out of the door and started to leg it across the car park. For some reason, I went after him. I passed Gary, already puffing, in the car park and set off up the hill towards a roundabout. As I overtook the rather portly security guard, I heard him wheeze, ‘Go on, my son! You can get him.’
I was now closing in on the guy and suddenly realised what I was doing. For all I knew, he had a knife. Or even a gun. He’d certainly got a couple of bottles he could break and try to glass me. I kept chasing but made up my mind if it turned nasty I wasn’t going to risk my cricket career for a couple of bottles of scotch. I reached out, grabbed his collar and he stopped, clearly knackered and in no state to fight. ‘All right, all right,’ he panted and put the bottles down. Then he started to walk away.
‘Hey, mate!’ I shouted to him. ‘You’ve got to stay here! Don’t make it difficult. I don’t want to roll around the floor with you, but I’ll stop you if I have to.’
He stopped and at that moment the security guard and a couple of members of staff caught us up and to my amazement jumped on him and pinned him to the floor.
As we walked back down the hill, I said to Gary, ‘Is it always like this?’
‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘At least one a week.’
Shortly after that, I had to fill in one of those questionnaires sports people get from newspapers and magazines. One of the questions was: What do you do in the off season? I wrote: ‘Security guard, Tesco’.
By the time I got back home bursting with ideas, Fil had found our first shop and we kitted it out like no greengrocers Bolton had ever seen. We tiled the floor, made an inviting wide entrance, fixed up a television to create a bit of interest and installed a machine for making freshly squeezed orange juice. As far as I know, it was the first in any greengrocers in the country and it brought in loads of customers. I would stand there, squeeze the oranges and hand round samples. ‘Here you are, luv, try this. The freshest orange juice in the world.’ Then I’d bottle it in front of them. Another satisfied customer. We also bought a van and had the slogan painted on the side: ‘Stop me if you’re feeling fruity!’
Fil and I worked our socks off. We’d be in the market at 2.30am to buy the produce and we wouldn’t finish until about half past six that night. Lorraine thought I was a gentleman