WARD’S WORLD: It’s another day and another door

John Ward of Moulton Seas End.  Photo supplied.
John Ward of Moulton Seas End. Photo supplied.
0
Have your say

A weekly look at life through the eyes of the madcap inventor from Moulton Seas End

As the line in the song goes: “What a difference a day makes” is quite true as you don’t get two the same as I found out recently to my dismay.

It was to be educational from the start. I turned the radio on basically to get an update on the news thing in case anything was to affect me, either to be asked to pay for it eventually through taxation or there was a shortage of something you or I rarely have need of but the prices would be going up accordingly.

After hearing the reasonable sounding news, heard the programme presenter going overboard in very highly patronising terms talking to somebody whom I have never heard of, who it transpires was in a pop group thing but had ‘split’ and gone solo, or on the path to fast fading obscurity as the process is known as, and he was currently ‘working on his album and it was taking slightly longer’ and this in all probability meant he would be asking his mum to get him another box of crayons to help finish it off in real terms.

While half listening to this dross and thinking I should get the handle stuck back on my umbrella and so where did I put the tube of ‘stick anything to anything, but let it set first’ glue as another dollop of global warming was forecast and I like to be prepared.

I was also going to replace the bulb in the kitchen light fitting – it’s one of those bulbs that looked like a deformed paperclip or a surgical appliance for an octopus that is/was among many things, going to save polar bears, last for ‘over two thousand hours’ in use (nothing is mentioned about what it’s doing while in the box unless it’s using part of the quoted two thousand hours up just lying there, waiting) as it had blown as it was now ‘deadipoos’ as a friend of my mum’s would have said.

What I find beguiling, for lack of other words, is the fact these type of bulbs cost a fortune and in this case the ‘two thousand hours’ is a joke as it only went in the light fitting a few months ago and if it was on for an hour or two a day, it’s active lamp life is in hours and perhaps days and nowhere near the thousands quoted.

How can you complain as there is no means of knowing as they don’t have meters fitted on them, so I suspect these lamps are living a life inside their box and as soon as you pay for them, the hours are ticking away as you leave the shop – I must remember to creep quietly up on one to see if I can hear anything going on in the box the next time I am silly enough to buy one.

So by now, lamp out and changed and how many hours life it may have is anybody’s guess, the doorbell did burble away as somebody had pressed the button. On opening the door from my side (I have to do this because the lock arrangement is on the inside and stops folk from just wandering in to admire our light-bulbs) and there stood someone as in a total stranger with one of those ‘I am here to sell you something you don’t want’ smiles and I was to be proven right in this instance, sort of.

As I had already heard about the album to be finished by Fading-Fast, replaced the light bulb – must remember to get that specified on the household insurance as being a ‘high valuable item’ when I get it’s serial number – but still to find the glue for the umbrella handle, I thought let’s have a bit of lightweight, intellectual conversation – hopefully.

From the basic introduction his name was Carlo and not wishing to be too forward, I stopped myself from asking if he had a relation called Monte, then asked what he was selling and he said he was not selling anything, oh no! – but he ‘seems to think’ he has ‘come to the wrong house’ as I ‘wasn’t the gentleman he had met earlier in town’ (his powers of observation were top notch then) but as he was here he wanted me to look, just look at a ‘solid gold bracelet’, that he was not selling of course, and I said I would if he was prepared to have a look at our garden rake that we are not selling either, but ignore the missing prong, third in from the left-hand side as you hold it but on the right-hand side as you look at it from the front end.

You try your best to be helpful and all you get is funny looks or a sort of wide eyed open look as in this time but regardless I still carry on but I do not let Carlo enter as if he sees our new light bulb just fitted, he may have other, sinister motives…ummm.

He opens a slim box and displays a clunky looking men’s bracelet thing and he empathises it being ‘solid’ and one wonders would there be a market for hollow ones?

He rambles on he’s not selling it – I thought I must go down the road and show somebody our electric can opener as that’s still in the box as well – and ‘anybody can wear it, on either wrist’ but perhaps both not at the same time I interject and this is not lost on Carlo as he has, by chance, got ‘another in the car’ so it sounds as if, although he is not selling anything, somebody’s life could be enriched as being a two bracelet wearing person if they can find anyone of course that is selling such items as Carlo is not, least we forget, selling any.

Oddly by now he had given up and before I had shown him our rake, had wandered off back to his car and with a shower of grit from his spinning tyres on his car he is away, perhaps to meet up with his relation Monte?

My mum, of the people for the people, always went to the door armed with a mental response list and some of her replies to such folk follow.

One chappie with large rosette arrived on her doorstep with the intro: “Good day to you madam – I am here (pretty obvious) canvassing in the area for..” followed by mum cutting in with: “Father has only just covered the shed roof with some felt so you’re a bit late..” Wide eyed, its goodbye to him then.

Once two individuals, one did the smiling and the other carried the briefcase, arrived on her doorstep to inform her they were “Bringing the church to her” as she replied there wasn’t the room as father was thinking of getting a greenhouse but Frank, at number 17, was getting rid of his coal bunker so it might fit in there.

Goodbye yet again.

Meanwhile I wondered if Carlo had met up with Monte yet and where was my glue?