journal of a writing man

Monday June 11, 2007

The day, needless to say, started early and out on the road in search of cheap taps for the kitchen.

I shifted uneasily in my seat.

“Why are you figetting?”

“I miss my shower. When you get to my age you’ll know just how much I miss my shower. And why.”

“Tough. Concentrate on your driving, why don’t you.”

In B&Q, after a fruitless search of Focus, we found a tap thing that was a sensible price, and looks very smart.

“It’ll not last very long,” I said.

“Not to worry. It’s cheap, and chances are it’ll be someone else’s problem when it goes wrong.”

For some unaccountable reason, that “someone else’s problem” remark made me very happy. And rather silly.

Graham wanted to look at electric fans for the caravan so we spent a happy few minutes giggling over the silly things that pass for fans in big DIY stores these days.  We collected a few strange glances from the usual collection of miserable gits but no matter. We’re used to it. And, I’m convinced, we’re in the right and the miserable gits are in the wrong.

I do the best I can to avoid becoming a miserable git, and I always appreciate it when I encounter a bit of free, throw-a-way humour from people around me.

I recall an episode in the lift [elevator] at the multi-storey carpark in Taunton. It was crowded and we were on the way down when the device paused, shuddered, and then continued on its way, making a strange grinding noise.

“We’re all going to die,” said a young man with a good sense of occasion and humour.

I laughed, and said ‘well done, thanks’ to him. I think he appreciated it. From the glares of the folks around me, I was the only one who got the joke.

Hey ho. When searching for something to extract from the day apart from the restoration of a perfectly functioning water system, my mind fastened on our giggle in B&Q, and a little poem popped out. I posted it, which is the blogger’s way of leaving things to simmer, and just now I revised it. It’s probably done but you never know. Don’t ever think that, with a poet, you know when you’re done.