Random reminder

Press, 7 March 1983, Page 30

Random reminder

UP THE SPOUT

It’s a rather ordinary sort of Christchurch suburb really; one where most people mow their lawns, keep their houses painted, and their children, if not their spouses, under reasonable control. One particular resident who hoses his entire driveway after the weekly lawn mow, receives a few second glances for this unrelenting effort to keep his concrete clean. No one is actually sure why he performs this task (England expects every man to do hose duty?) but he’s a nice guy and a good neighbour, and he no doubt has a few sniggers at some of our own strange little ways. Anyway one of these neighbours had some major work done on his roof recently, involving a large number of broken concrete tiles. As each tile was discarded and thrown on to the lawn from the second storey, it shattered into a hundred little pieces, many of them the size of a finger nail. Given this procedure for about six hours, a fair pile of this debris gradually threatened to overthrow the very grass that was so kindly providing a landing area for the broken tiles. The builder of the day, a fair and industrious, if somewhat rotund fellow, very capable himself at smashing tiles, offered the use of his trailer to take the

smashed remains of a once beautiful roof away. This left the seven year old son’s favourite soccer pitch hidden beneath half an inch of concrete crumbs. They raked, swept, scraped and wept but to no avail. The crunch of feet still resembled that part of the kitchen where the toaster is kept. The husband, brilliant as ever, suggested the vacuum cleaner, and after promising his wife that he would wait until cover of darkness, waited until she had simply sneaked out of the house for a few hours one afternoon — soon, all those annoying little bits were zipping and pinging their way up the spout, and the grass gradually returned to its former splendour. Now the dear old soul up the street, who knows a thing or two, happened along and leaning over the fence whispered, “I know that some people around here like to keep their sections neat but this ...” The reply, some would call it cavalier, but with timing par excellence, was. “Actually, I’m glad you came past — Our iron isn’t working, and I WOULD like to give it a quick run over when I’ve finished hoovering. Would you be a love?”