Muriel had noticed her skirtings getting loose. They were tatty and needed a lick of paint, and if there was anyone motivated to get a lick on her skirtings, it was Muriel. A kind neighbour had helped her to compile a list of things she needed
Muriel had already had a number of tools round her house, and she was determined it would not happen again
The list seemed a little daunting so she went directly to the help desk for advice. The man behind the help desk was very polite, as helpful as the name suggested, and clearly benefitted from a lifetime’s experience as he seemed to Muriel to be about 90. After she had asked a number of questions, and the queue accumulating behind her was starting to develop its own social and economic structures, he eventually suggested that he call someone to walk the store with her, answer questions, and lead her to the right place for each item. He made an indecipherable tannoy announcement and then Muriel was sidelined as he attended to the rest of the queue – which had now established a primitive form of democracy.
Fairly soon an overalled man appeared, introducing himself as “Spark” on account of his electrical expertise, but he assured Muriel he was a good all-rounder
He rubbed his strong, capable hands together with what seemed like glee as Muriel took out her list.
“I’m sorry it’s such a long one” she apologised. Spark smiled “That’s OK; I’ve had to say that myself more than once”
“We’ll start at the top and work down” he continued “Unless you’d prefer the other way. I can work in any direction you like”
He took the list from her.
Spark began to read, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Muriel’s jumper was deliciously tight and clingy, and that she had the sort of ass and thighs which would enable her to hold a ladder steady. Furthermore, if he was UP that ladder, the view down the front of her jumper would most likely had caused him to dive down into it. Health and Safety be damned
“What do you think?” asked Muriel. Spark felt he couldn’t really say exactly what he had been thinking. “Just trying to work out what you need” he eventually said
“I think I know” Muriel said with a cautious little smile, which flickered across her plump cheeks like a sort of fluttery thing, but I’ve never done this sort of thing before so I’ll put myself completely in your hands”
Spark liked that idea. Very much, and he considered it – coincidentally at precisely the same time as Muriel was thinking about his strong capable hands.
Spark took the piece of paper
“First thing you need is some long screws” he said, then after a pause he added “We’ll come to those later”
They walked slowly through the aisles, then Spark reached out to the shelves and pressed a huge tool into Muriel’s hands.
“This is a big wrench” he explained.
“Oh I’m sorry!” exclaimed Muriel “I had no idea this would upset you”
“No. I mean this thing here”
Muriel blushed “It’s very big…and so heavy”
“It’s adjustable too” Spark explained “Just grasp it here and give it a slight turn and it gets bigger”
She tried it. “No, hold it more firmly. Then let your hand slide round this part here. See how it expands?”
Muriel was impressed “So it will go as big as I want?” Spark nodded
After a long moment watching Muriel playing with the wrench (she was better at making it bigger than she was at making it smaller) he looked again at the list.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing. She explained
“I want to put up a windowbox, so I need to drill into the brickwork. I got my neighbour to have a look at my bits but he wasn’t sure if they would do and suggested I come here and ask an expert”
Spark smiled proudly at this description of himself. Indeed he seemed to grow two inches, but without actually getting any taller. Muriel fumbled around in her bag, found her bits and pressed them into Sparky’s hand. He gently blew on them (they were a bit fluffy)examined them closely and pronounced that they were fine for the job in hand.
She smiled
The next item was rubbing oil. Muriel felt obliged to explain that.
“I was given an old oak bench by a friend, and the wood is a bit dried out. I need something that I can rub in all over to bring back its sheen”
Spark explained that rubbing oil was at the other end of the shop. In fact it turned out to be not actually on the shop floor at all, but behind those hanging plastic straps which separate off the storerooms. And it wasn’t even in the main storeroom, but a dark corner.
Muriel found that she was remarkably deft at giving the mighty wrench a firm turn to make it bigger. And she was soon having the fluff on her bits gently blown. Unlike the oak bench she was not at all dried out – quite the reverse, so no oil was needed to lubricate the rubbing.
At the end of the list they got the long screws
And that is how Muriel and Spark reached their prime, cementing (and grouting) their love of DIY
