WARNING: DEALS WITH RATHER OVER WORDY AND SELF-RIGHTEOUSLY POMPOUS UTILISATION OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND WILL THEREFORE CONTAIN OFFENSIVE WORDS AND MATERIAL WHICH SOME PEOPLE MAY FIND OVERLY OPPROBRIOUS
Date: Wednesday 20th Jan 2021
Location: Somewhere on earth
Specifically: Underneath a hedge surrounded by empty bottles of paint remover. Ooooh excuse me blurghhhhhhhhhhh
Mood: Scruffy and as “miserable as ah flea pan ah barld head”.
Finding myself in need of a morning stroll to clear my head I jump out of Hymie (steps still non operational) and onto the snowy wastelands of a prehistoric ice age. I know this because a passing local farmer called out to me from his sledge, pulled by a team of huskies (which looked suspiciously like the alsatians from next door). “I’d get back inside boyo its like the f***ing ice age out here!” “Save yourself!” he cried as he disappeared around a bend, onto an icy pathway and down the side of a small glacier. A scene that would have been spectacular had he not compensated for being a dog short by adding a small poodle.
Further inland a heavy overnight rain had caused former puddles and patches of water to swell into mighty rivers and seas obliterating anything and everything in their path. It was hard to know which was worse the ice or the flooding. Obviously some celestial being on a bad hair day had decided that the colour of earth clashed with the colour scheme of the other planets and had simply plucked it from the universe and flushed it down the toilet. “There thats the last we’ll see of that ugly looking thing, in the morning I’ll nip to Ikea and buy a nice new globe in pale yellow, it will harmonise well with Mars”.
Back at base I was getting worried. Hymie had already had a bad experience with the sub-zero temperatures when he was recently covered with so much ice he looked like an igloo. Now, looking back at him from my current vantage point atop a concrete slurry tank (slurry is a euphemism used by farm workers because the term is more acceptable than admitting they spend the day wallowing in shit) Hymie looked unstable, as if he had come loose from his moorings (not that there were any there to begin with) I hesitated, unsure whether to return to check on him. I didn’t want to make a fuss, he hates that. My hesitation cost me. In that moment Hymie had moved several metres; the reason was soon apparent. The snow and ice had decided that, since, in their world water reigned it was only fitting that they pay it a visit, out of respect if nothing else. Besides it would make a nice change for the children (collectively known as ‘water babies’).
Then in an instant. Panic! Where was Hymie? I heard what sounded like a horn but it was quite a way off. But no sooner had my ears picked up the sound than it was gone leaving only a silent, snowy, windswept landscape.
On the verge of despair, my scrambled brain struggling with what I could possibly do next, Hymie appeared. He was close to disappearing over the horizon, a tiny speck virtually indistinguishable from any other feature of the landscape - save for his large satellite dome. It was impossible to hear any sound from this distance yet I knew he was in desperate trouble. He needed to be where I could look after him, yet he was now completely out of sight. If only I could do something to thaw him out; turn his engine over, dry him out and get a diesel infused cocktail inside of him? But all I could sense was an acrid stench of smoke. I looked around but there was nothing out of the ordinary, my iMac was still on the drop down table, my steampunk customised cyberman looked on from where I had placed him on the dashboard, but he wasn’t blowing out smoke and he didn’t look like he wanted to ‘delete’ me. The electric kettle was on the hob, a strong flame underneath it bringing it slowly to the boil. Then, a gestalt moment as my mental arithmetic skills kicked in like an erupting Krakatoa, “Robinson!” Work out the following and give me the answer....
“What happens if an imbecile takes an electric kettle with a plastic base and fills it with water; but instead of plugging it into the mains he lights the gas and places the kettle on top of the lighted flames?”
“Come on boy quickly!!”
“Er...... the base will catch fire, giving of an acrid smoke that will choke the aforesaid idiot, potentially leading to an early departure to the Heavenly Guild of the Profoundly Stupid and most likely set fire to his house.”
“Well done you are paying attention”.
“Now get on with it quick”.
“Wha....
“the kettle boy! Take it off the gas!!”
Oh no!!! Bloody hell, bugger bugger buggery bugger and several more buggers! What in the name of absolute and over cooked charcoaled cheese have I done now!!??? In one daft movement (no I didn’t meant deft) I yank the kettle from the hob and set it down in the only vacant space available (no not inside my head!) on the floor. Fine except the base of the kettle is in flames and I’ve now just branded my (fairly) new Collin Marris carpet with an indentation that appears to have been left by the occupants of interplanetary space travel!
I’m sure this is not what people mean when they say “put a light under ‘t kettle lad”
Ping! From a near incinerated motorhome to a message. It’s from Jill, a friend who lives in Northumberland who’s a serious mountain-climber. She lets me know that she is en-route to Snowdonia. I express concern “I guess you have everything you need to protect you from the cold” She assures me that she’s “suitably prepared, have all the right gear for such an ascent and I’ve even bought new crampons!”
I wish her well on her travels, but really felt the last part should have been kept between her and her mother.
GO SOMEWHERE DIFFERENT
I was intrigued by this post from friend, fellow steampunk and founder of Doncaster Steampunks Tina Dodgson. The quote is from the Dalai Lama and concerns going somewhere you’ve never been before. Taken literally, the quote is poorly timed given the present COVID-19 crisis, but it’s still a great idea. In her post Tina said “I have never ventured to the back of the loft....not sure its worth the trip!”
I found this interesting because the loft was always one of my absolute favourite places to visit. Entering it was a bit like visiting Narnia, but instead of walking into the darkness of a mysterious wardrobe and emerging into a fairytale land of snow and wonders like talking animals, witches and wizards, princes and princesses you climbed upwards into the gloom of a dusty wonderland fiddling around for a light-switch that was accessible only after running a gauntlet of painful, unpleasant and at times, comical obstructions that, over time, have become immortalised in a series of mishaps known as The Seven Perils of the Attic;
1. The scaling of the packing case mountains.
2. The excruciating suffering associated with stepping barefoot on a piece of discarded lego. (an experience causing such agony that it has now been classified as a torture by the US Military; right up there with water boarding, administering electric shocks and the trial of the Iron Maiden; a technique so utterly devastating in it’s awfulness that even the toughest of prisoners crack after listening to them for less than 4 minutes.
3. The involuntary and somewhat unexpected visit to the far side of the attic caused by treading on a roller skate.
4. Tripping over a random object and falling through the celling This generally leads to the occupants of the room below expressing surprise at the manifestation of an unexpected visitor, trivialised to some extent by the party exploding in a prolonged burst of hilarity.
5. While attics can be a great source of wonderment, mystery and suspense they also tend to be dark, dusty and potentially dangerous places. And if theres one thing many of us dread its encountering a member of the arachnid persuasion, to whit, a spider, especially should one fancy bungee jumping from the rafters and onto your head. Here are a few tips to help you should you become the unfortunate recipient of the aforesaid beast.
a) If you have reason to believe that the thing that just landed on your head is a spider the first rule is ‘Do not panic’ after all it’s been said many times that there isn’t a spider in the country that can hurt you (unfortunately it isn’t this one but still...). Theres no sense taking the risk of doing yourself a mischief by running around the attic, tearing at your hair and yelling “gerritoffme, gerritoffme!”
b) Is it alive? It’s possible that the thing taking up space on your dome isn’t even alive.You’re going to feel silly if the only thing you have on your head is a deceased rat or a small collection of ex house flies which would never trouble you in the first place. Would they?
C) What size is it? Try to get an idea of how big the thing is; can you feel a faint tickling sensation right in the middle of your scalp? Or can you feel it’s long, hairy, spindly, creepy, crawly, spider legs wiggling in your hair and jiggling it’s fat, bloated, blood filled arachnid body just above your ears and in the middle of your forehead? The first you can flick away with your middle finger. The second is probably something that arrived in a box of bananas (in fact it probably ate them all on the way) from deep in the Amazon Rainforest. In this case it would not be unreasonable to scream blue murder (try to avoid the spider crawling inside your mouth) and demand the presence of someone with a crossbow.
6. A common potential pitfall is the accidental placing of your hand on a live wire. This will cause you to yelp with pain and topple backwards onto your old deckchair which snaps around you like a vice. On the plus side someone usually hears your cries and comes to help. On the downside they spend a good ten minutes guffawing loudly at the sight of a deckchair that appears to have grown arms and legs.
7. Until you find the light switch, wandering around an attic is pretty much the same as wandering outside in the dark. Avoid embarrassment by using a torch which, even if you have an accident, will at least allow you to see the item that caused you to be rushed to hospital.
Lofts are no longer what they used to be. Formerly the place where used and unwanted stuff went to die as well as a great source of fascination, they have now become a source of income.
Maybe little Martha is crying for her teddy bear but its tough because it will fetch at least 50 pence down the cricket club boot sale on Sunday. “Oh daddy why can’t I sleep with my teddy any more?” “Because you’re 47 you silly girl”
Not that it’s anything to do with the Dalai Lama of course who said it years before Covid was invented. Well, I say ‘invented’ because rumour has it that the government found that scaring people with a killer virus was a more practical method of subjugating the masses than executing disenters in public, throwing their weight around and generally being horrible to everyone. As a bit of consolation for being deprived of their executionary entertainment they made the wearing of face masks compulsory which, although deemed completely useless by the world health organisation nevertheless gave them a good belly laugh as people wandered around getting mistaken for bank robbers, cat burglars and general undesirables or pretending to be super heroes like Mark of Zorro, Batman and the Lone Ranger.
In the end I couldn’t decide how to reply so went with “I just got in the bath”
On a serious note I received this wonderful reply from Kirsten Sims which beautifully sums up the joys of (an accident free) adventuring through the attic.
“My parents attic was like an Aladdin’s cave (although they called it the loft.)
It was the well know phrase in my house when we were growing up.
“Mum I need .............. for school play/project”
“Oh I think we have one in the loft”
Plus it’s where Tommy the pet tortoise hibernated.
I remember one time my sister went up to look for something (she very rarely did) suddenly there was a massive scream and she nearly fell out rushing down the step ladder.
She was mumbling about ghost or large rat or something living up there.
Dad was dispatched to check that it was all ok.
And came back to explain it was just Tommy moving around in his box.
I have many more......But my fave story is when my parents moved. They got rid of most of the loft hoard and there new loft was a little easier to get into and better boarded.
My daughter and her cousin used to go up there (as children) when they were being cared for there. They would have a blankets cushions and make a den for the day. They would even send down a large wicker basket tied to a rope, to get snacks and drinks sent up.”
MONSTER BUILDER
Modest as ever Rachael tells me she is building a monster truck for her little boy Josh. It’s an obvious fib and a gross understatement which she nevertheless reinforces with a picture of the finished item.
I know Rachael, and so do you by now, so I snuck around to her house for a peek. Just as I thought the real monster truck that Rachael built was parked outside three houses with a hydraulic lift to access the drivers seat. I will not have my diminutive chum selling herself short.
KAT RESCUE!!!
Help! My friend Kat (Zombie killer, crazed madwoman and general rampaging chainsaw wielding berserker) has developed something of a tooth fixation. She has taken a break from her usual magnificent creations in order to make things with many teeth including the teeth themselves er.. which come in different colours and wear little hats n things. Here, see for yourself!
Don’t forget! Further info from Kats FB page at Kat Croker Art n Stuff!
Comments