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All material on this website is Copyright © 1995-2007 John Bailey;
 

 
This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Thursday January 4, 2007

You got a problem with that?

"So what's the plan for today, then?" I asked as we munched our morning toast and apricot conserve.

"Trip to the dump. Might want to go to Wickes, too. Then it's putting all the Christmas decorations away."

"Sounds a busy day. I'll need to call in at Sainsbury's at some point, of course."

"Goes without saying, does that. You'll get Sainsbury's withdrawal symptoms otherwise."

Actually, the dump was fun. Very busy with people recycling Christmas stuff as well as the usual steady stream of customers disposing of unwanted furnishings and tacky things of all kinds.

I was designated chief disposal operator and laden with bottles, both glass and plastic, and a large sack of empty tins—our kerbside recycling service seems to be on an extra long holiday and failed to show this week. I had no idea what a pleasure there is to be had of the task of sliding glass bottles into the dumper and hearing them smash inside, out of harm's way. It's a double pleasure, rather like Thoreau getting warmed twice by his firewood but not as worthy. Working with a good pile of wine bottles you get the fun of drinking the contents and then of smashing them in the recycling dumper.

Sainsbury's is back almost to normal after the long holiday. What Christmas stuff is left over has been relegated to 'price reduced' stacks, and the shelves are being re-stocked with sensible foodstuff. There are still large empty spaces, though, where supplies have still to be resumed. You could be forgiven for thinking there was a world shortage of croissants, for example, if you didn't know that it's likely the bakery where they are made is closed right through this week.

Then, to Wickes, at the other end of the retail park. This is a large DIY store aimed more at the serious builder than the average handyman. There's little of the trivial at Wickes, unlike B&Q, and everything has an earnestness of purpose about it. The customers are different, too. Where I joke that all the blokes in B&Q are likely named Brian, these are more your steady, workmanlike Steves of the world, going about their business in an air of certainty and economy of movement, with pencils stuck behind their ear. You know the type. Everyone knows the type.

There's little there to amuse an elderly poet, sadly. I found a piece of flexible coupling hose that made a satisfyingly boozy bugle sound when played properly, so I attempted a three-note version of God Save the Queen, without much success. Then I spotted and pounced upon a lovely long display of door bells. For a short time, until Graham grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away, the store filled with a series of loud electronic variations on the Westminster theme.

I got told to behave myself then, so I stood meekly by and watched as he studied the display of coaxial cable, plugs, sockets and fixings he needs to install a TV arial outlet in the kitchen. Graham is very careful and business like when doing this kind of thing, aiming to get what he wants for the minimum outlay. He finds the task totally engrossing. I find my mind tends to wander so I generally end up doing the Charlie Chaplin act with my walking stick.

"I thought I told you to behave," he said.

"I am behaving. Haven't wandered away, haven't pressed any buttons..."

"That's as may be but if you keep twirling your stick like that you'll put someone's eye out."

"Oh. Sorry."

"So you should be. I'll only be a couple of minutes now so wait patiently, do."

It's strange how it always seems to take an age, isn't it? Waiting patiently, that is. I was good from then on, however, and we we soon enough standing in line for the check-out.

I had to excuse myself at this point. The air in this pro-DIY store is typically laden with solvent fumes from the materials on display and my lungs don't like it. I may be an ex-smoker now, and proud of it, but the damage has been done and there are situations where I have to be careful if I'm not to end up gasping and spluttering like a worn-out steam engine.

Outside, standing in the car park to enjoy the fresh, stiffish breeze, I discovered that I had a good view of the poor old timber-built factory that was torched back in November, and which is still lurking on the skyline. I turned the video camera on it, wanting to preserve my sadness that they are taking so long to demolish and inter this poor old Bridgwater landmark. It seems there was asbestos on the site, which has slowed the demolition process, but even so it's time they put the benighted building out of its misery.

I am impatient in these matters. Once a landmark has been destroyed then I want to see it gone, and something worthwhile erected in its place. I couldn't help but move the shot on to the tower of the parish church, just a little to the left. There's a story here but I'll content myself today with simply recording the scene and shall wait on the resumption of my narrative abilities to make sense of it. If there is any sense in it.

 
After the fire (22 secs)

I had no time to get all maudlin about it, though, for the doors swished open and Graham emerged clutching his purchases and demanding to know what I was up to. It's not fair to be critical, for I hadn't warned or prepared him for my amateur movie making activity. Anyway, he swept up to me, pulled a face, and was gone before I could collect my wits. You do need your wits about you when you're doing candid videography. It's an entirely new art. New to me, anyway.

 
Grimace (4 secs)

And that was my day, finishing with a plenitude of chardonnay and a dish of Graham's special spaghetti bolognese (with extra garlic at my request... I have a passion for garlic just now).

"Are you trying to get me pickled?" I asked as he replenished my glass one more time.

He didn't reply, for he was on the phone to his mother at the time, but I got the distinct impression that the answer would have been... "Yes. You got a problem with that?"