...I wouldn't bang it in the morning, for I'd be charging about looking for the bugger, as the shoplifting stamp sprite would have hidden it up in some ludicrous place I'd never think to look for it in.
You know what it's like - having found the hammer, you then need the screwdriver, which was RIGHT THERE a minute ago, and you can't find it under the stairs cos the thieving gobshite has nabbed the torch an' all.
And you find the torch behind the sofa! So searchy, searchy, bangs head on shelving, bookcases, walls and ceiling, And you find the screwdriver in the plantpot by the sink.
Of course, all the detachable heads are now nowhere near the shaft (oo-er missus!), so Bash! Crash! Wallop! Huzzah! The heads are under a pile old boots and candelabras (thank god it weren't a chupacabra)! So, you get on with the task!
Shit in a basket. Now you need a bloody Allen Key! Upturn! Delve! Strewn Cushion! Aha! In a mug at the back of a cupboard is an Allen Key!
Which is too small for the hexagonal pain in the arse fitting.
Plunder! High! Low! Cast aside! AHA! Behind the bookcase is the right size Allen Key! And there's another one in the cutlery drawer! And so...
...bugger. Now we need a pair of pliers! Hah - fooled the gnome, for they're in the toolbox, for they were there earlier! What the... gone! Gah!
Shuffle! Peruse! Flop on sofa and gaze randomly at a point in the room in the hope that fate might just alight the eyes upon pliers. No such luck. More shuffle about - aha! Lurking in the old junk mail is the pliers!
Almost there... oh fukkit. now we need a sodding ratchett with the right size head. Now I know I ain't got one of them. What - now I need a bungee to batten down the boot of the car? Will an adaptor plug for a synthesizer do?
And you're half way through and it's time for bed, and there's parts of dismantled apparatus everywhere and you're tired and knackered* and you've missed the movie you wanted to watch.
And tonight, as I type this, I glance down - on the floor by the pewter chair is the pliers... teeth open and angled towards me tootsies. Like it has crept away from the dismemberment of the bed and skuling along the carpet like silvery beastie intent on savaging it's poor user to death.
Wait a minute...
Silvery plier type thingy... moving from room to room on it's own... no moving parts - just chompy teeth...
Yikes - I'm being stalked by that Terminator 2 liquid metal bloke disguised as a handymans tool!!
Fnarr Fnarr!
* AND YOU CAN'T FECKING SPELL COZ A BLOODY FOX WAS MAKING A RACKET CHASING CATS ABOUT THE FRONT GARDEN AT 2 IN THE MORNING RASING AN UNHOLY DIN TO WAKE THE DEAD.
WELL, IT WOKED ME UP!
