23 Jul 2018

And Then, A New Hobby...

You may remember, but on reflection why you would is a mystery, that my little nest of vipers took a shine to stainless steel colanders a little bit after a while ago and as a point of interest I can update with the fact that two small and one large remain unused while the one small that’s in almost daily use shows absolutely no visible signs of wear and tear and remains stubbornly unbroken.

Anyhoo, on Saturday she had her two yearly eye test which was a success but was dented by something most strange. That would be strange to you. To me? Name of the game, par for the course, all part of life’s rich pattern etc.

Damn! Is he ever going to get to the point of these randomly selected words? Sorry, here we go.

While in the eye test place she noticed the eye chap had a little fan running on his desk, it being warm an’ all. On successful completion of the tests I could see she was busting for the chap to finish talking through the results of the tests  and when he did finish, he used the fateful phrase, “Any questions?” At this her face lit up as she replied, “Yes, a question I do have; where you get baby fan from?”

He glanced in my direction with a look that said, ‘What the f...?’** then back at her and explained, pointlessly, that it was a USB fan and where he done did go to get it.

Once out of the opticians the fan, and a need for one, was the only topic she had. I thought about it and thought, you know wot? As hot as wot it be, while I be doing laptop stuff of a late afternoon and evening, the little fan could sit on the coffee table and spread a little cool air, right? I put this to her and the answer took even me of the expect the unexpected a tad aback. “Don’t want to use it. It just to put on shelf and look at.”

So there you go, she’s now the proud owner of a miniature, antique finish ‘ornamental’ fan as pictured below. Will more be added to this embryo collection? Her alone knows at this time.


**With regards to the missing letters, as tempting as it is to use previously classified ‘naughty words’, which now seem to be acceptable any old place, I feel I’d be letting the teacher down who got me through my English language O-level all those years ago against all the odds. And who knows? He may, perchance, read this rambling rubbish from time-to-time. Sir, if you do have occasion to pop in here, would you please leave a note in the comments as to the secret of your impressive longevity? Many thanks.

Quote;  Amanda Petrusich.

“On a good day, even writing can feel like a form of collecting — of gathering words, images, and ideas and arranging them in an order that feels right.”

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