Goodwill
gesture 18-July-01
A
strangely exhausted and depressed Fencemaster dropped
like a wet dog on to the sofa last night (it was
raining). The lovely policemen saved the day, by
being amused just the right amount (the British
police really are
the best in the world), but there's a lot I
wish I'd said.
I
did promise to remove the items on the fence now
(the dirty old bike wheel and two pedals, in a nice
symmetrical arrangement, forming a 'triangle of
interest'). It was suggested I do this as a 'good
will gesture'. If only I could find the keys. Had
I thought, I'd have suggested they (whoever it is
that put the sign up, no one seems to admit any
responsibility, except me) take the sign down, 'as
a gesture of goodwill'.
Fences
aside, I'm almost looking forward to the holiday
we have the last week in July. I usually dread any
holiday, as I live in perpetual fear that while
I'm away, wherever I'm working will find out I don't
actually do much. This isn't true you know, I'm
just insecure, so always restrict holidays to one
week, just in case. I realize this isn't fair on
Mrs F and the three junior Fencemasters, but it's
not a fair world. They have to learn that, they'll
thank me for it in later life. Maybe.
Sting
17-July-01
Mr
Sting, as I call him, is doing a concert in Hyde Park
at the end of July, but I won't be going as I'm away
then. Never mind. I saw him many years ago (about
40 I think) when he was with the Police (pronounced:
PO-LEASE). If you're going to see Mr Sting in Hyde
Park, be sure to visit the fence, it's only about
10 minutes walk away.
Coincidentally,
I met three very nice policemen today (one
was a policewoman), fans of the fence, but unfortunately
they had come to see me in an official capacity:
A harassment complaint.
No, I haven't been harassing the fence (well I have,
but it doesn't mind), I have been harassing the
landlady, apparently. I don't know who the landlady
is, as the policeman informed me that it's not McGlashans
(they who remove everything, and deny everything).
This new landlady is a mysterious extra piece in
the puzzle. Either way, me putting things on the
fence has been causing her undue stress.
Perhaps
she shouldn't have put the sign up (you know, the
one where she's pretending she's Howard De Walden
Estates) in the first place. Maybe my bike was causing
her stress too. I don't know.
The
harassment route is quite a clever one for the fuming
landlady to go down, as it's a criminal matter then,
not civil like trespass would be.
Aren't
the English upper classes marvelous?
The
officers left after 20 minutes, they really were
extremely pleasant, suggesting in the politest way
that now would be as good a time as any to stop
putting things on the fence.
Fencemaster
wishes he had friends in the legal profession, goes
into thought, worries about the fence, worries about
work, worries about all the unopened brown envelopes
at home...
Thirty
six 16-July-01
Being
thirty six is going well so far (I was thirty six
yesterday). Although I did start it off by attaching
a bicycle
wheel and pedal to a fence. It could have been
worse, I suppose. Mrs F was very patient this weekend,
and allowed open discussion of a few fence issues
without so much as a raised eyebrow, let alone fist.
She even offered me an old pair of shoes and a handbag
for the fence, which could give it a pleasant feminine
touch.
She
hasn't produced them yet though, and when it comes
down to it, saying goodbye forever
to a pair of shoes will prove physiologically hard
for her, if not impossible. Some counseling might
be required. I would love to reduce the shoe count
in the Fencemaster household though, they're everywhere.
Some even follow me round, I'm certain of it. www.shoes.co.uk
is Mrs F's homepage of choice. I firmly believe
the fence is an ideal place for shoes.
Cab!
13-July-01
Cycling
is great for creative thought, as there isn't much
alternative. Not for an aged commuter like your Fencemaster
anyway. Today, again, I realized I'd be too late to
attach the dirty thing in my office to the fence without
the bearded man stepping in, so dug around for other
inspirational ideas.
In
London, whether cycling or driving, you have to
look out for blokes (OK, women too) on scooters.
You need to be especially careful of scooters with
clipboards attached to the handlebars. Everyone
in London knows what they're up to. They are trainee
London taxi
drivers doing what's called 'The
Knowledge'. They're prone to stopping suddenly.
Creative
idea of the day: A partwork (you know, issue
two free with issue one/subscribe now for a free
mouse mat) called Cab! An initial headword list
is presented below:
Cab!
*Cabs of the world
*Cabs through the ages
*Cab Comment
(Example: Cab drivers - Should
they be armed?)
*Cab health
(Example: Isometric exercises you
can do in your cab)
*Routes of all evil
(Example: Heathrow Airport to Kensington.
The scenic route)
It's
a start anyway. Anyone interested? I'll require
the usual pointless fact-finding trips abroad and
lots of free lunches, which there's no such thing
as.
Where's
my dog?
12-July-01
I
don't have a dog. However, I do consider the three
junior Fencemasters to be acceptable dog substitutes.
The only difference between three dogs and three junior
Fencemasters is that dogs are welcome in pubs, children
of any sort generally not. That really is the only
difference.
I
don't see this as a major disadvantage as I wouldn't
want to take them into pubs anyway. It's just the
principle: 'Your dog's welcome, but don't bring
any filthy, noisy children in here'. It's not
something I feel strongly about, so don't worry
unduly.
Speaking
of dogs, there is a good case for a temporary lapse
in rule #fr001 (What? You've not read the Rules)
so that a lovely old black labrador could be temporarily
attached to the fence.
Now
I don't want any animal rights-style complaints,
as dog owners are often known to attach their charge
to anything handy while they nip in somewhere to
get something. It wouldn't have to be for long either.
However, I don't have a dog, so it's not an idea
with legs, so to speak. If only that brilliant business
idea I had about 15 years ago had taken off. Here
it is:
Rent-A-Dog
'If you like dogs,
but are often away,
why not rent one?
just for a day.'
As
a business it floundered quickly. I didn't have
a dog then either.
Wind
11-July-01
What a lovely day for cycling. Even the wind accidently
veered until it was temporarily behind me, thus mistakenly
providing assistance instead of fulfilling its traditional
role of attempting to throw me off or reduce my forward
speed to about 1 mile per hour (I'm not as young as
I was).
McGlashans
seem to start running their basment flat laundry
before 7am now, which must obviously be less of
a disturbance for the people that live in the house
than someone locking a bike to the railings. My
plan to lock a round thing to the fence this
morning was thus hampered, as I didn't particularly
want to have another close encounter this week,
not with the bearded
man anyway.
Jobsworth
11-July-01
It's been suggested that Mrs Fencemaster should be
more correctly titled as the Fencemistress,
but her limited tolerance of all fence-related matters
rules this out, don't you think? Anyway she's been
very excited all week, due to her new bread
machine (credit cards are wonderful things).
She
got it wrong the first time and forgot to add the
flour, or egg, or both. We had to eat it and look
impressed anyway. A few more tries and there it
was. A loaf-shaped lump of bread on the table. Mrs
F was so excited she fell about laughing, then got
up and pointed at it in a hysterical manner, then
fell about laughing again. I was terrified. I'd
like to help her celebrate the bread machine, and
ask her to make a loaf to attach to the fence, but
it would be more than my job's worth.
Find
a fence 09-July-01
I had a good look round this weekend, hoping to fulfill
the most popular suggestion - another fence. It's
featured in the star
suggestions list for two weeks, and is an eminently
sensible idea. Even several fences, all different
styles, would be nice. However I couldn't find a suitable
fence. I had a nice white picket fence in mind, to
start with. Can anyone point me in the right direction?
I hope so.
If only I lived in Montana, I could contact the unlikely-named
Fencemasters.
They make fences. Your London-bound Fencemaster breaks
into song: 'Movin' to Montana Soon…' (Frank
Zappa. 1940-1993)
The
Fruit Room
06-July-01
The current combination of work and weather, not to
mention my insistence on rising about two hours too
early have been taking their toll and added up to
an irritable Fencemaster. Mrs F has noted this, and
responded with fruit.
I should count my blessings. I would have genuine
cause for complaint if she stacked up all those harbored
grudges, and the first thing I knew about it was a
note on the mantelpiece. We haven't got a mantelpiece
though. Perhaps that's why she resorts to fruit.
Mrs F has, as I'm sure you suspected, been using fruit
as a weapon. Big, hard fruit as well, all in a similar,
but more calculated way to the handbag.
Oh yes. Your Fencemaster does not want or deserve
any sympathy, and knows how to handle it. He just
has to ensure Mrs F creates the right sound effect.
No matter how demonstrative, grumpy, and generally
useless to have around I have been, it's always a
good sign when Mrs F launches any kind of attack (it
isn't always fruit). All I have to then do to resolve
even the most hopeless situation is ensure that the
orange, pear or apple that's hurtling toward me like
a cricket ball, hits me about the head or body in
such a manner that it makes a sound that's pleasing
to Mrs Fencemaster. It could be a 'bop', or it could
be a 'thwack', either way the results are the same.
Mrs F falls about in hysterics and then demands that
I work with her in an attempt to recreate the sound.
I usually concur as the distraction this mission provides
for Mrs F is so great that the outstanding issues
that were its cause are resolved as quickly as the
tiniest trifle, which they probably were anyway.
Lots of fruit was flying last night (if Mrs F ever
throws any fruit at you, for god's sake don't throw
it back, ever), but the air is now clear. Very much
so.
If you ever have cause to visit an expensive therapist
of any kind and spot that (to protect the oak paneled
swankiness of their office) they have an adjacent
'fruit room', you'll know where they got the idea.
Caught
06-July-2001
A few concerned readers are worried about me being
caught. Don't worry; I don't really care if I'm
caught, as I'm not doing something wrong. Take the
fridge door, for example. I had to lock it somewhere
(I could hardly take it into the office could I?)
and does the sign mention fridge doors? No. I unlocked
it after a few days and took it home. Admittedly
much to Mrs F's displeasure. It cost me two apples
and a pear last night (see The Fruit Room,
above). I think these latest few items stayed on
because the handyman was absent. He's been under
stress too, his performance under scrutiny from
the public at large each day.
Ah what a coincidence. I wrote the above few paragraphs
on the train this morning (I have to go out tonight).
I was caught.
'What
a sad existence you must lead' said the bearded
man who did the catching.
'It's
nice to have a hobby' retorted your Fencemaster.
And then he (bearded man) went back down the steps
to carry on doing the laundry from the many serviced
flats McGlashans own or run.
I
find many people have two lives. The one they lead,
and the one they would like to lead. Your Fencemaster
is no different in this respect. I don't call it
a sad existence though - just a normal one,
which is fine by me.
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