05-05-2025, 05:51 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-06-2025, 07:00 AM by P7_TOM.
Edit Reason: Patience m'boy
)
A question and a twiddle - signifying absolutely nothing.
How do you get 14 neighbours and half a dozen tradies into a workshop?
Scene 1:: It is not as easy as you may think; with your indulgence, I shall explain. There I was, in the workshop, oblivious to the 'child minding' scheduled for the day. I own a very (very) lovely very old 'Disston' 'rip saw' – carved Apple wood handle, full length and probably one of the finest hand tools ever made. Every once a while it needs to be sharpened and set; lots of teeth, each one requiring its own 'special' needs attended to; so concentration at maximum. To 'set' the teeth, each alternate 'tooth' must be persuaded to be 'set' in the opposite direction to the preceding one; so once again total focus. Finished off the last one and returned to planet earth; nearly jumped out of my boots when a small voice said; “what are you doing?'.
Scene 2:: Stood at the end of the bench, was a small solemn face; the urge to curse, very loudly and profanely dissipated rapidly; I took a deep breath and said quietly “well' I'm sharpening a saw”. “Can I see it?” - “please”. So, I took the saw out of the 'vice' and as I did, it made the usual mystic, fascinating noise it did when 'bent' and some friction is applied. “Oh! - make it sing again” said the small voice. Well, for two decades now there has been a violin and bow in case stored in the 'odd bins' rack (no idea so don't ask). If you 'bend the fine spring steel of a saw and scrape a fiddle bow over it, the saw can be persuaded to make a 'musical' sound (sort of). The small face was delighted.
Scene 3:: I put the kettle on; dreading the inevitable; Alas. The plea for 'more' so much like Oliver Twist's plaintive plea; it would be and outrage to deny it. Having absolutely no musical abilities whatsoever, I turned to 'the net'; found a favourite aria and put it up on the 'big screen'. Small face and I settled on stools to watch. The second time we played it at max volume – the third time was at the request of my 'visitors', mentioned in Scene 1. There is no coffee left in the pot; no biscuits left in the jar: but there were at least 20 people who forgot about the bloody election for an hour. All down to my old, treasured saw. Take a moment to listen; it is worth it.
Toot – toot. Bravo indeed.
How do you get 14 neighbours and half a dozen tradies into a workshop?
Scene 1:: It is not as easy as you may think; with your indulgence, I shall explain. There I was, in the workshop, oblivious to the 'child minding' scheduled for the day. I own a very (very) lovely very old 'Disston' 'rip saw' – carved Apple wood handle, full length and probably one of the finest hand tools ever made. Every once a while it needs to be sharpened and set; lots of teeth, each one requiring its own 'special' needs attended to; so concentration at maximum. To 'set' the teeth, each alternate 'tooth' must be persuaded to be 'set' in the opposite direction to the preceding one; so once again total focus. Finished off the last one and returned to planet earth; nearly jumped out of my boots when a small voice said; “what are you doing?'.
Scene 2:: Stood at the end of the bench, was a small solemn face; the urge to curse, very loudly and profanely dissipated rapidly; I took a deep breath and said quietly “well' I'm sharpening a saw”. “Can I see it?” - “please”. So, I took the saw out of the 'vice' and as I did, it made the usual mystic, fascinating noise it did when 'bent' and some friction is applied. “Oh! - make it sing again” said the small voice. Well, for two decades now there has been a violin and bow in case stored in the 'odd bins' rack (no idea so don't ask). If you 'bend the fine spring steel of a saw and scrape a fiddle bow over it, the saw can be persuaded to make a 'musical' sound (sort of). The small face was delighted.
Scene 3:: I put the kettle on; dreading the inevitable; Alas. The plea for 'more' so much like Oliver Twist's plaintive plea; it would be and outrage to deny it. Having absolutely no musical abilities whatsoever, I turned to 'the net'; found a favourite aria and put it up on the 'big screen'. Small face and I settled on stools to watch. The second time we played it at max volume – the third time was at the request of my 'visitors', mentioned in Scene 1. There is no coffee left in the pot; no biscuits left in the jar: but there were at least 20 people who forgot about the bloody election for an hour. All down to my old, treasured saw. Take a moment to listen; it is worth it.
Toot – toot. Bravo indeed.