ARM Club 1/ARM_CLUB_CD.iso/contents/sillies/silly8/D/Decorate

Text File | 1994-02-11 | 5KB | 92 lines

Sometimes we are advised, with subtlety or otherwise, that it might be
an idea to tidy up the shack, because visitors are expected (and other
extraneous reasons). And we may even be requested / persuaded / coerced
- delete as required - to apply a coat of paint to the interior surfaces
of said abode ....

                        On Decorating the Shack
                        -----------------------

A certain sentient being known by his parents, wife and friends as
Algernon Fudge was recovering from the shock of passing the Morse Test,
when he burnt the toast.

Yet another layer of carbon particles adhered in its turn to the
pre-existing strata of chip fat and soot which bedecked the walls of the
Fudge residence. A shiver went down his spine as he realised that the
day was drawing nigh when the reflectance coefficient of the kitchen
walls would fall below the threshold at which the Voice would be
activated.

'Careless oaf! Thou canst paint the kitchen for thy pains!' Oh dear!
Thought our hero. And he knew this was not the end of it. Sure enough,
the Voice resumed its tirade and with a parting salvo warned our hapless
ham that Morse Test or no Morse Test, the shack must be processed in
like manner, lest our impending visitors believe that they have entered
a sewage complex in the bowels of Paris.  Lack-a-day!  This is trouble
indeed (in common parlance known more familiarly as hassle) - surmised
Algernon, his nerves in shreds. He must forthwith repair to the paint
shop, and procure a can of glop of appropriate size and colour with
which to coat the walls of their love-nest.

Aha! Algernon's optic orbs emanated a dull glow just visible through the
dispersing smoke, as he realised, on his way out to the paint shop, that
his good spouse would be away all afternoon. So if he was quick, he
could work through both rooms, presenting the results as trade for peace
and tranquility on her return. And all this could be done without
disturbance, avoiding the necessity to scrape the woodwork and peel off
the layers of fat. If challenged, he would pivot round, paint can in
hand and present before her riven gaze the 24-point font - 'No undercoat
required!' hoping that this might also be interpreted as 'no preparation
needed.'

By mid-afternoon, Algernon had painted the kitchen walls, and the floor,
and had cleaned the floor. Before him lay the vista of his shack. In
terms of the challenge he had been set, his first impression was one of
complexity. Access to the walls was hindered in most placed by the
various trappings of amateur radio and, in his case, computing. The
things that worked were inter- spersed with numerous items of surplus
and spare ilk which might come in handy but which clearly didn't at that
moment. Indeed, the impediment to accomplishing his task seemed
insurmountable. In desperation, he wondered if it might be better to hie
to the motor spares shop and buy a spray can. But no - thankfully he
dismissed that thought and began to tear at a web of cables in an attept
to start one corner. This would give him the confidence he needed to
continue. That is, if he had not nudged a box of valves which launched
itself from a high shelf into a into free fall trajectory.

With an anguished wail, our hero fled from the scene, returning with the
vacuum cleaner. Before switching on, he moved the paint can to a safe
distance and combed the last slivers of glass out of his thinning hair.
He worked through the rest of the day, the paintbrush occasionally
making contact with the wall. Perhaps if he painted ALL the knobs, his
HF transceiver might not look so bad. The computer keyboard was more of
a problem. The nightmare continued well into evening, and anxiously he
noted the time ever more frequently. Twelve minutes and counting. But
perhaps she'll be late [or early!] The door-latch! And there she was...

On returning from her up-town expedition, Mrs. Fudge placed the shopping
on the kitchen table and looked around to admire the handiwork. Of
course, a thorough job on the kitchen would take until about now, she
reflected. 'Algy darling!' she shrilled, 'I've brought someone to help
you clean up the shack!'

The hair on our hero's neck bristled. Someone ELSE in the shack? And
mother-in-law wasn't particularly renowned for manual dexterity. 'Just a
moment, dear!' he called, and disappeared via the back door. Shortly
afterwards, he trundled a laden wheelbarrow, trailing cables, through
the kitchen. 'What are you doing?' Mrs. Fudge asked, as her hubby
hobbled through the front door, jangling the contents of the barrow down
the step outside the porch. His mouth twitched as his lips curled into
an oafish grin, and his eyes rolled as he stumbled towards the car on
the driveway.

'I'm going mobile!' He said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Best wishes (!) de Duncan G0SIB @ GB7EVY

*** EOF