Wayne for Ed. (Was: Life of a wheelbarrow}
Michael Fanner
I already had an 'old' wheelbarrow but we were digging footings for the
front extension (or was it the rear) and in those days there was,
sometimes, the odd willing helper so rather than have a willing helper
standing idly by I bought another barrow so that any passing willing
helper could wheel dirt away from the trench that I was digging.
Phew!
Time passed and the extensions (front *and* back) were finished. We 'did'
the garden pretty well from scratch and quite suddenly two wheelbarrows
seemed quite ostentatious. So I gave one away.
Father's wheelbarrow had more rust holes than bodywork so I donated the
'old' wheelbarrow to the 'parents garden' project, and everyone was happy.
My 'new' wheelbarrow certainly was, a cushy life ahead, now that all the
construction work was done, and most of it's green paint still intact.
So, fast forward to the 21st century and as most of you know by now, a
conservatory was added to the Fanner home, and of course this involved
digging footings, pouring concrete, barrowing bricks etc. In short the
idyllic life of Wayne the Wheelbarrow was thrown out of kilter.
Wayne didn't object. Incidentally I was going to call him Harriet but I
discovered quite by accident that he was a he. So Wayne.
Like I say, Wayne didn't object, he got stuck in with the rest of us and
soon (not that soon, you understand) the conservatory was done and we all
relaxed with a large glass of wine. Except for Wayne, he's teetotal.
Well time and tide wait for no man, and soon enough it was time to tackle
the garden, which had become nothing so much as a builders yard during the
conservatory construction. Again Wayne waded in with all the vigour which
we'd come to expect, but we didn't realise that Wayne had been weakened by
the passage of time. Wayne suffered a double hernia.
One day whilst wheeling supplies around to the back (where the garden is)
I noticed a rubbing noise from Wayne's front. Close inspection revealed
that his tyre had split on two places and his inner tube was bulging from
these places in a most alarming manner. But he didn't complain. Wayne
never complained.
Apart from a sort of a 'zuzzing' noise when his bulge rubbed on the
hardened concrete on the underside of the barrow, or the uneven lurch as
his bulge hit the ground, you'd have been hard pushed to realise anything
was wrong. Shame on me for letting him carry on like that.
Yesterday morning I had cause to visit the local tyre depot. A puncure on
the van was getting just too bloody annoying so I though I'd take time out
from my hectic schedule and get it repaired. Whilst there I enquired about
a new tyre for Wayne.
"Ten quid mate". Shaun doesn't actually talk like that but, y'know, poetic
licence and all that. "Plus it might need a tube."
Well I love Wayne to bits but thirteen pounds sterling on a barrow that
only cost eighteen back in 87 (or 8) and had a hole in the bottom where I
hit it too hard with a spade once, seemed a few quid too far. We would
continue with the 'zuzzing' and the jolting.
From Fareham Tyre and Exhaust (and minor vehicle service centre) we
hightailed over to Wicks to purchase 120 buff paviers and some sharp sand.
Whilst there I was seduced by the sight of a number of shiny new black
wheelbarrows for the princely sum of nineteen of our English pounds. Who
could turn down an offer like that. Thirteen quid for a new tyre and tube
after which I'd still have a very rusty barrow with a hole where I hit it
too hard with a spade once, or nineteen quid for a virgin barrow.
Untouched by anything stronger than the hands of the people who unloaded
it off the truck.
OK, I'm a heel, I bought one.
Home we went. We unloaded the barrow, we loaded the barrow with buff
paviers and sharp sand and wheeled it around the back. Wayne said nowt.
Not even the slightest 'zuzz'. Now I can be an insensitive soul at times
but I swear I never noticed his distress.
Anyway 120 buff paviers and four bags of sharp sand, plus one of building
sand, were soon deposited out back and the fair Wendy and I retired to the
conservatory for tea and jam doughnuts.
Again, you can call me insensitive but I never thought a thing about it as
I parked the new shiny barrow right alongside somewhat sad looking Wayne.
What I did notice however was the bang that sounded like a rifle shot that
shook us out of our 'tea and doughnut' relaxation.
"What the..." Wendy cried. I leapt outside expecting to find half the US
cavalry aiming over the garden fence, only to find....
Wayne's bulging inner tube had given out, finally and irrevocably. He
stood there, one bag of sand still aboard, tyre completely flat. Did he
know? I rather think he did. I still use him for mixing muck in but he's
an absolute pig to move around with his flat tyre. I shall be glad to see
the back of him.
A nice comfortable builders skip awaits Wayne when I have no more muck to
mix. After that it will be just me and Harriet.
Nineteen quid. I think she was worthit. <lololol>
--
Mick.