Random reminder

Press, 31 January 1984, Page 28

Random reminder

SUNDAY HORRORS

The family had only moved in a few weeks ago. Everything was fresh and new and Son was still experiencing the joys of running barefoot through the shag-pile. Outside, however, the immaculate effect was rather spoiled by some nasty brown marks which had appeared on the cream painted concrete block wall of the drive. Matching the colour would be a problem but on the phone the builder had been most helpful. “Good as gold. Let you have a can of paint you can keep by for retouching. Bring it round Sunday morning.” Came Sunday morning and Son was showing signs of a cold so he should stay in the house. Mum had to visit a sick friend and Dad would represent the family at church. *- It was while Mum was out that the builder’s wife arrived with a generous canful of paint. Son took the can and jaunted through the lounge, down the passage, through the door to the garage. (What a boon this internal access was.) It wasn’t so much the spreading ring of paint on the pristine concrete floor that worried Son as soon as he realised that the lid had only loosely been placed on top of the can. It was the beginning of the trail which he knew must mark his path right through to the front door.

However, the remedy was ready to hand in the ragbag and the bottles of solvents on the shelf. Perhaps the worst could be removed before anyone came back. But it was not to be. After only ten minutes of frantic effort came the rattle of the key in the front door and the cheerful call of Dad’s voice. The sounds instantly triggered the family dog, a white and woolly Maltese who flew, closely following the well-marked trail, down the passage and through the lounge to give his master a proper, all-over welcome. It was a bit much to be confronted with all at once but his self-control was admirable. After all, it was acrylic paint and with sufficient water the carpet and the dog could no doubt be rescued. The cream paw prints would probably come off the navy trousers but the suit would surely have to be downgraded from number one. No, as he soon discovered it wasn’t so much all that as how to get rid of the smell of the copious quantities of turpentine which Son had been applying to the shag-pile. On reflection, after a hard day’s work had repaired most of the damage, it wasn’t so much that the suit had come out of it so badly but it did seem a bit unjust that it should have been his Sunday church suit.