Loud And Blurred
I felt like a burglar.
Sneaking through the door in the early hours of the morning, after another busy shift of relationship counselling and meeting future members of Alcoholics Anonymous. My bitch seemed strangely subdued, that might have something to do with the large box in the hall.
The one that said “Chainsaw” on the side.
Now, I like to think I’m a pretty observant kinda guy, I can spot a drunk driver at half a mile and a doomed relationship at the first utterance of “Iwanimnicked”. I was reasonably certain that I hadn’t owned a chainsaw when I had left for work the previous day. My gardening skills hadn’t yet stretched to growing anything in need of its attentions. Besides, I’ve moved on to embroidery now.
The last time Mrs Brian and I had had a conversation I’m sure she hadn’t mentioned sending her CV out to logging firms. I don’t think the Disability Discrimination Act could make any of them employ a lumberjack with vertigo. Even if she did have her own tools.
I was nonplussed.
My bitch looked nonplussed.
From the gentle snoring coming from elsewhere in the house I guessed we were two for three. I could go and accidentally nudge her awake to find out why the household power tools had doubled overnight, but this course of action was fraught with danger. What if she confirmed my (so far unmentioned) suspicions that her mother was related to Leatherface and she had worn her old one out? No, that was a conversation best left until Mrs B was definitely in a good mood. She can get quite grumpy if woken up a couple of hours before her alarm clock is due to go off. She’s a bit funny like that.
Erring further on to the side of caution I made up my, now familiar, spare room bed and slept fitfully between dreams of picking up strange hitch-hikers and imagining every central heating creak to be the pulling of a starter cord.
Having successfully made it through unscathed until lunchtime and time to get up in preparation for another afternoon/evening/night of Small Corner peacemaking; I was no closer to solving the mysterious power tool materialization. I was even further away from enlightenment when I got downstairs to find said chainsaw now missing. I’m positive I hadn’t imagined its presence and I know it wasn’t a hallucination. I may have been nearly knocked out by cannabis fumes when opening the door of a pool car earlier the previous evening, but I certainly hadn’t inhaled.
This was a dilemma best pondered in the park with man’s best friend and a rubber ball. Having reached a solution, a quick detour was called for.
“Your sign says you have flowers for every occasion…..?” I enquired.
“Yes, that’s right. What sort of event are you celebrating?”
It seems a fifteen quid mixed bouquet and a card saying “Sorry” are the solution to all chainsaw occurrences.
Even if you’re not sure what you’re apologising for.
It has something to do with Mars and Venus, apparently.