Sometimes the obvious solution isn’t.
Obvious, I mean.
In times of crisis it’s nice to know that there is always someone there for you. Even though Mrs Brian with her disdainful looks and pithy comments weren’t readily available; there is always another option. In my case I turned to the internet and Yell.com. They may have been having an off day recently but, it’s hard to miss their advertisements these days. So, I gave them another chance.
“Hello, Leafy Suburb Naturist Club. Brad speaking, how can I help you?”
“Oh…err….hello. I….erm… got your number from the internet….”
I had the feeling that this wasn’t the first slightly tongue-tied person Brad had fielded a call from. The truth is that I didn’t really think about who I would be speaking to when I dialled the number. I challenge anyone to telephone a naturist club and not imagine the person on the other end being in the buff. I’m sure Brad was a lovely chap. However, the images that persisted on presenting themselves in my mind were somewhat disturbing. I hoped he and his co-workers had designated chairs.
“Yes, I have a little problem I wondered if you could help me with?”
“Oh I see. Don’t worry, we offer a wholesome, clothing optional environment focusing on body acceptance and giving you the opportunity to gain a better body image and more self-esteem.”
I wondered if they used Blu-Tac or drawing pins in their office. My money was on the Blu-Tac.
“Oh right. How are you with stingy things and spiky watchamacallits?”
I hoped they had the air conditioning cranked up so that they didn’t catch a chill in this cold snap we’ve been having.
“You see, I searched for ‘fighting dirty against Mother Nature’ and you were recommended.”
Buffy Brad wasn’t sounding so cocky now.
“Yes. Do you have a callout charge? Or, is it just an hourly rate?”
“Err… We don’t do home visits.”
“How are you going to rid my knoll site of the stingy things and spiky watchamacallits then?”
“I’m not exactly sure we can help you. We don’t fight against Mother Nature; we embrace her.”
Sigh. I wasn’t entirely certain that Mrs Brian would be too chuffed with Brad and his chums embracing in the garden. She’d be bound to ask some tricky questions. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“Any chance you could pop round to embrace some of her less welcome offspring and rip them out by the roots?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I have plenty of Dettol…..”
“….and an angle grinder if it helps?”
Typical. Trotting out a flashy mission statement but, when it comes down to the nitty-gritty they turn their noses up. I’ll bet they’ll be the first to complain when cheap EU labour comes in and takes their jobs. They’re safe for a while yet; searching for a Polish naturist club willing to do a home visit was beyond even the trusty Yell. It’s only a matter of time though.
With Mother Nature still winning the battle of the knoll site and Buffy Brad falling woefully short of expectations; it was time to bring out the big gun. No more Mr Nice Guy.
It was Google-Time.