Tuesday, 20 November 2018
In the kitchen we have a large wardrobe, (cupboard), containing mostly pots and pans and other kitchen utensils; which explains its location in our house. Anywhere else and it would be out of place.
A few weeks ago, when everyone was out of the house, I made a big hole in the back of the wardrobe and another in the wall so that I could go into the wardrobe and out into our garden through the wall.
I put all the pots and pans back in the wardrobe/cupboard and concealed the large hole to the outside.
It was like the wardrobe in the book by C S Lewis, "The witch, the lion and the wardrobe". Once you enter the wardrobe you could go into my own garden Narnia. I mean ... if it is good enough for this Lewis fellow, it is good enough for me.
When the family got home, they complained that it was a bit draughty in the kitchen. There was a distinct wind coming from outside which rattled the cupboard's doors.
My wife ... oh, I never told you did I? My wife and I met on the net. We were both bad trapeze artists. But that's another story.
Anyway, as I was saying before I interrupted my train of thoughts ... We used to train for ages high up on the trapeze jumping from one swing to another. We often missed each other because she arrived ten minutes late. So we both fell and met on the net ... as I was saying.
Now where was I? Ah ... trains ... they are usually late these days. The other day they said the train was cancelled due to shortage of staff. Why can't they employ taller ones? One way to improve trains being late is to replace the time-tables with calendars. "The next train for London will arrive on Wednesday!"
As I was saying ... or meant to say ... my wife discovered the hole at the back of the wardrobe and ... let's say she has no sense of humour whatsoever.
No sense of adventure either. I explained that by going through the wardrobe she would travel out into a new Narnia world in the garden; walking through sunshine, or mist or rain or whatever the weather outside might be.
Her reply will not be posted here to protect readers with a nervous disposition. She could not see why we can't walk through the back door if we wanted to visit the garden in all weathers. But she didn't say it quite this way!!!
She didn't like my next adventure either. I installed at the very end of our garden a chocolate dispensing machine. I bought the machine from a shop that was closing down and they had it on the side-walk outside. I got it home and installed it just by the pond at the end of the garden and filled it with all kinds of chocolates. I thought it would be a good incentive to go out for a walk in all weathers.
My wife, unhumourous as ever, did not understand my actions. I explained that it gives my walk in my private Narnia a real purpose. What is the point of going out in the garden in all weathers for no reason at all? Now I can enter the wardrobe, go through the hole at the back, and walk gently all the way to the pond and reward myself with a bar of chocolate from the machine. What's wrong with that?
I intend to invite friends and relatives and conduct tours of our garden through the wardrobe. They would all file into the kitchen and one by one enter the wardrobe and walk all the way to the chocolate machine. What fun that would be! I may even have little scenes from Roald Dahl's "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" re-enacted in various places in the garden.
Sadly, my wife has brought in reinforcement in the shape of her mother. She landed on her broom stick early this morning ... and that frightened the wildlife for miles around. The skies darkened with the multitude of birds flying away. Some were so intimidated that they returned the seeds they had taken from our garden last year. The squirrels too ... they put their nuts on the garden bench and ran away. The urban fox which visits our garden every so often committed suicide; whilst the hedgehog is in psychiatric therapy.
I suggested we also give broom-flying lessons or play quidditch like in the Harry Potter films.
No sense of adventure whatsoever, my family.
Do you think I'm eccentric?