Heavy Heavy

Day two of the spring clean. The place is looking so good we could have visitors in. I’ve no idea who; a kirk elder perhaps. 
Then the big arrival. Another eleven iron sinkers for the middle-ranking vessels. Each each stamped with the original owner's name. NLB. The days when there were National Boards which ran things. Men with dark suits and heavy framed glasses. And they ran them well, or if they didn’t, no one knew. 
I remember when I did a job as a student working up at some place in the northern lands on an agricultural project, one of the old boys related to me how he’d been out on a small boat crossing to an island with several men from the Agricultural Board. The helmsman spotted something in the water ahead. And gave a shout. What is it, asked my man. I think it’s a board, answered the helm. I don’t think so - it seems to be moving, retorted my dry witted pal. The men from the Ministry were apparently unamused. A tale repeated a few times, I do think.