TheBanyanTree: A good conversationalist

[John Bailey]

Thursday June 24, 2004

A GOOD CONVERSATIONALIST

A rainy day, with high winds. Outdoors a section of lightweight bamboo 
fence screening was caught in the gale and set to flapping to and fro, bent 
on self-destruction. I stood in the kitchen watching it for a short while.

"I'd better go fix that, Dolly," I said.

Being home alone I talk to Dolly quite a lot, you see. Not that she graces 
me with much in the way of a response beyond the occasional soft yowl. 
She's a good listener, though, and I always reckon that's more than half 
way towards being a very good conversationalist.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yes, standing in the kitchen, watching the fence 
destroy itself in the wind.

"I don't suppose for a moment you'd like to come help me?" I asked.

Dolly threw me a scornful look but otherwise did not interrupt the more 
serious business of giving her latest toy -- Evil Mouse, we call him -- a 
jolly good thrashing. In the living room Harry Cat was snoring gently on 
the sofa and, by my side, the boiler was purring nicely, putting a little 
heat into the house. All lovely and cosy.

But, there was nothing for it. The fence needed fixing.

So I slipped my coat on and went out, battling against the wind. Well, it 
would be windy, wouldn't it, when you're fixing a fence.

Actually, the damage wasn't too bad. A fixing had come adrift, freeing 
about seven or eight feet of the bamboo screening. There was no way I could 
effect a real repair. That's a two man job. So I pulled out and rolled up 
the loose section, stored it in the garage against Graham's return, and 
fixed the loose end of the remainder with a couple of those plastic ties. 
Like the ones they use to handcuff criminals on arrest these days, only 
smaller.

The wind helped me through the door with a good firm hand, and I shut it 
out behind me with considerable relief. Dolly was flomped on the dining 
room carpet, one giant paw placed firmly on top of Evil Mouse.

"Do you know, Dolly," I said. "I've yet to come across a fence that wasn't 
trouble sooner or later. Quantum, is that."

She snorted. Loudly.

"Oh, perhaps you're right. Quantum is stretching it a bit."

See what I mean about her being a good conversationalist?



--

John Bailey   Lincolnshire, England

journal of a writing man:
<http://www.oldgreypoet.com>