It must have happened to you at some time. There you are sitting in your car at a junction or something and you just get the feeling that the driver approaching is about to do something unbelievably daft. Then guess what? They do!
Perhaps they turn without indicating, or indicate without turning. Often there’s no real evidence they are paid up members of “The Dopey Brigade” however there must have been something subtle you picked up on because having nudged you in the proverbials your guardian angel then whispered down your ear something like “Now this could be worth watching!”
Perhaps just being out on the road makes you more aware of those that are firing on only three cylinders, after all it’s too dangerous to be taken casually. However this goes on all the time and you really should be awake to it.
A while back I was given a “Heads up” whilst at a house clearance auction. I was so pleased as I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it for worlds.
It happened like this.
Getting bored with the endless parade of dusty old paintings and badly stained electro plated candlesticks my attention wandered to a fellow bidder who was aimlessly walking around in a distracted manner. He was alone but giving a good impersonation of somebody trying to solve the world’s problems over the phone whilst cooking the dinner, juggling two chain saws and keeping on eye on the kids who were playing hopscotch on the M1.
Everybody else in the room had positioned themselves where they could catch the eye of the auctioneer, their catalogues were neatly folded and marked at the lots they were interested in. Not him though, he was wondering around, shedding sheets of paper as he absentmindedly picked up lots that had already been sold, then stepping backwards onto other people’s feet. I doubt there was a single individual there who hadn’t clocked him, whilst he demonstrated total ingnorance regarding his surroundings and those about him. With a heavy sigh he looked at the auctioneer, then totally disregarding the poor guy trying to conclude the sale of Lot 247 he interrupted him by demanding to know what lot they were on.
This was like sticking a bamboo cane into the spokes of a speeding pushbike. Everything came to a screaming halt, during which the auctioneer forgot what the last bid was and to whom he was trying to extract the next one. People moaned and muttered, he was quizzed as to whether he was trying to bid, he countered with the defence that if he’d wanted to bid then he’d hardly have enquired as to what lot was being sold. The auctioneer stated that once bidding had commenced, conversations and enquiries were not welcome. However this criticism went straight over his head as he was now looking for somewhere to rest his not overly streamlined arse.
Turning his back on everyone he ambled over towards the furniture waiting to come under the hammer. Several sofas and easy chairs were already occupied by punters, suddenly his eye was taken by a Victorian cane garden chair. It was a delicate piece that looked as if it had all the tensile strength of papier mache. He gazed at it and inspected the worm riddled frame, he checked his catalogue and scratched his chin. I had already given this piece the once over myself half an hour previously and concluded that the only thing keeping it together was the woodworm all holding hands. It hardly seemed capable of supporting it’s own weight, and I pitied anyone who tried to lift it without being left just holding two handfuls of dusty powder. Still, maybe he owned a dust shop, perhaps he’d cornered the market in exporting furniture that was left with only a life of hours, who knows?
A felt a gentle tickle in my left ear and a fairy voice said, “Don’t ignore this, you’ve seen enough evidence already to know he’s an accident that’s been circulating for ages ….. he’s now on final approach!”
Surely he wasn’t going to bid on it?……Nope ….. he was going to sit on it!
At first it wasn’t obvious that this was his intention for he appeared to have lost interest in it and had his back towards it. Then to my amazement he slowly buckled his knees and ever so gently lowered his 20 odd stone earthwards. He’d reached that point where although he’d made contact he still wasn’t supported by it, when he suddenly sighed and allowed gravity to take over. He visibly relaxed into the embrace of the ninety year old piece of casual, part time furniture.
The assortment of creaks, snaps and p’twangs as the frame flew apart were only outshone in the impressiveness stakes by the look of astonishment on his face when it occurred to him that gravity still had a hold, and that his journey southwards was about to begin in earnest.
His next decision was momentous. Not content with demolishing somebody else’s chair by crushing it under him, he concluded that the situation could be saved by grabbing hold of the rosewood china cabinet next to him! A foolish move I felt.
Still it did have a delaying tactic in so much as his final demise was put off by almost a whole handful of seconds. This was due to his having grabbed the cabinet by the door handle, which of course hadn’t been locked by the last person who had wanted to examine the half tea service that was at this very moment sliding towards a fateful reconoiter with the concrete some eighteen inches below.
It occured to me that although the chair was clearly in pieces it was still obstinately hanging in mid air, so it was likely that my friend’s final resting place was to have a foundation of smashed crockery, as by now he was physically propelling the tea set with a force that outmanouvered mere gravity.
The most attractive option was that he would end up inside the china cabinet as he was still forcibly hanging on to the open door like grim death, whilst his head entered the gap. However I was a mere amateur at such spectacles of human endeavour, for although I had noted the presence of the pot jardinaire on top of the now fully animated china cabinet I hadn’t expected it to play such a major part as fate had obviously intended. I guessed it would go backwards and just land on top of the unsuspecting child in the pushchair in front, but no, it wasn’t to be!
It went skywards in a truly impressive arc. Having reached its zenith it changed direction and plumetted onto the back of his neck with a precision that would have made the damnbusters murmur in appreciation. He made his first noise, not so much a yell more a strangled moan of acceptance that today wasn’t going all his way.
The shock of the impact on his neck coincided with the journey’s end for all of the other mobile elements of this circus including his arse. Throwing his head back he managed to complete his entry into the world of china cabinets and spectacularly emerged through the top of it. He was wearing the damn thing and sitting on a nest of bamboo and porcelain shards to boot. People sitting within five yards of him were nonchalantly picking bits of wood and glass out of their hair.
The whole room was frozen, everybody just looked at him, nobody seemed to want to approach him and offer help in case his bountiful actions weren’t yet finalised, what else was left for him to attempt?
He looked up at the auctioneer, the auctioneer looked down at him.
Straightening his hat he admonished the man with the gavel……
“Well I’m still waiting …. what lot are we on?”
