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Hoots & Havers July 07
I moved house the other day and, being a good-hearted soul, I provided a list of the various curiosities about the place with which an incoming resident might have difficulty. It’s a very solid, well-built edifice but it does have a few eccentricities.
The position of water stop cocks, for instance. One is reasonably straightforward and only requires the removal of a piece of skirting board and a hand to be inserted behind the plasterboard of the wall. But the other, for the house has two independent supplies of water for a reason that is long lost in the mists of time, lies beneath a tiny trapdoor in the kitchen floor. I only discovered its presence one day when it went wrong and water welled up through the floor covering.
The electrics were more straightforward. The only curiosity is a socket that took me fifteen years to conquer. It only worked some of the time. I would curse and kick but that did not always improve the situation. It turned out that a plug had to be inserted and then eased out – just a fraction – and then it works perfectly.
And then there’s the telephone. It usually functions a treat until late summer. It took a bit of working out that one, but it’s the wisteria that does for it. It winds its way round the incoming cable, pulling it away from the wall and eventually breaks the connection. I have advised the next resident to clear the shoots from the line every month or two. In fact the wisteria has to be watched else it creeps under the slates, up the rones and in through the windows. If it wasn’t so green and jolly, I would have killed it long ago.
The one unblocked chimney has not had a fire going up it for a decade and the jackdaws have been nesting there for years. Bad news, I suspect. Like many Aberfeldy houses, there’s a sinister stain on the gable beneath the chimney there may well be several feet of ancient soggy nests that have been building up over the decades. That’ll take a heavy-duty clearing job and, because I’ve never used one, I don’t know of any local chimney sweeps.
Those are the obvious oddities and I decided to go no further. Is it useful information to confide that one of the doors can be burst open when one has forgotten the key if you slam your backside against it? In fact the lock on that door is rather more than a century old, the age of the house, and the spring inside snapped some time ago. I scratched my head a bit and replaced it with one of those circular bands that old-time clerks used to keep their shirt sleeves up and away from inky fingers. It’s worked a treat. Oh, yes; and one of the bath taps works only because a vital component has been replaced by a half penny piece. Not a ha’penny, but a decimal half p. It seems bizarre that such a coin ever existed, but the proof lies in the hot tap.
Then other residents and the neighbours must be considered. The new owner will find that the blackbirds will tap at the kitchen window demanding food, particularly when they have young to feed. It is not considered acceptable to cull brats from the adjacent Breadalbane Academy, however obnoxious they may be. It’s pointless anyway, for get rid of one and there’ll soon be another just as unpleasant to replace it. Be careful when one picks up the cans of pop that come over the wall. They often contain a sticky inch of their contents that leave unpleasant stains on clothing. And if you keep a pet, it will likely throw a serious wobbly when it eats some morsel of unspeakable junk that has been tossed or spat over. One of those arm extension grab thingies is a useful tool to extract crisp packets and cans from deep inside bushes where they often end up. But enjoy.
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My Sunday newspaper came with a brochure selling gents knickers. I wouldn’t have thought this was the best way to sell such things, but no doubt an expert recommended it and one always has to be careful when you argue with experts.
The brochure worked in one way because I looked inside it. How often after all, do you see brochures devoted entirely to pants? These were said to be trendy pants and they likely did the job they were supposed to although they gripped the groins of the models worryingly tightly – By the way, where precisely is the groin? I know it’s nether regions, but which part of the nether regions I’ve never been quite sure. Do women have groins? If not it might be a polite word for goolies. The dictionary is rather vague on the subject.
Back to the knickers. I was once an adman and what you always searched for was the USP of the product – the Unique Selling Proposition. This was what your thing had and none of its rivals could emulate. The USP of these knickers seemed to be that they were sold in multiples of three in ‘brushed metal canisters’.
Comfortable, hard-wearing, good value, vaguely sexy for those rare moments that one needs one’s undergarments to be sexy are what might attract the average punter to invest in such things. But being available in brushed metal canisters seemed a most peculiar reason to be tempted to buy. Perhaps it they thought they’d make useful cake tins once the pants were removed, or somewhere to keep one’s sandwiches fresh. A literal lunch box. But as far as I could make out the canisters were thought to be cool. I’m afraid tinned pants are not cool. They’re just silly.
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