Good old Amazon, my very butch macho tiny axe arrived today. Bags of kindling are ridiculously expensive so I thought I should have a go at some home production. The roof men had to replace a large section of bargeboards last week and they cut up the old one into sections. Although a bit big to go in the wood burner, if I can chop them up they should make enough kindling for a month or two. Now that is recycling, burning down the roof to keep warm. That's got to have saved at least one Penguin, maybe just a wee Puffin.
My Grandfather had a proper woodshed on the farm with a proper butch macho massive axe which always terrified me. I couldn't see how one was expected to flail it about above your head and then manage to bring it down on a specific spot which wasn't your ankle. I always feared I would chop off part or all of one or both feet if I attempted it.
So I'm playing safe with this pretty little orange number with cosy rubber handle and safety cage. Should the fact it is orange worry me? Doesn't that mean danger? Although it is the handle that looks dangerous in that case not the blade.
The man from Amazon normally leaves things on the doorstep these days, some of them won't even come that close, I can't blame them I suppose, they have a lot of strange things to deliver to a lot of strange people. Sometimes they throw things from a distance, but an axe?
Today however was different. A loud knock on the door, even though we have a bell, Wi-Fi I should add, also from Amazon, what a waste, knocking when we have full Wi-Fi. There are about thirty catchy tunes, the doorbell not the man from Amazon, at least I haven't heard him whistle yet. But all the tunes are horrendously irritating vaguely Chinesey renderings of famous tunes you almost recognise, but not quite, so we opted for the good old "Ding Dong", again, wasted when you knock. Even a Chinesey "Ding Dong" still sounds like a "Ding Dong" after all.
That ubiquitous "Ding Dong" by the way is called the Westminster Chime after the massive clock on top of the massive tower in London Westminster. Big Ben, which is the bell inside, not the clock or the tower. The tower is the Elizabeth tower. But only the first two notes not all the rest of the bonging. If it did the whole thing every time anyone came to the door, the whole world would come to a standstill, we'd never get any work done. Two notes will definitely do.
But I digress,
So I answer the door to see the Amazon man in close up, first time ever. He even has hair in his nostrils, who knew? He's not local of course, not even to this side of Europe, but very polite as well as hirsute (love that word) and he wants my passport or driving license. Which is a bit of a shock. This is because he has a note on his little ipaddy thing telling him I might be 12 and about to get a deadly weapon into my little mits.
Now I would love to think I still look anything like 12 or even 52 for that matter but still, rules is rules, so I fetch my driving license which has a microscopic photo of me on it taken 10 years ago when it looks like I was severely sunburned. I think I will just give him a quick flash, so to speak, but oh no, this guy is really serious, I have to hold it out arms outstretched while he leans toward it in a sort of swan neck move so most of him can remain mostly as far away as possible from me, so we briefly look like a pair of courting water fowl, during which time he proceeds to tap into his little ipaddy thing my whole license number.
I am sort of impressed really that everyone is being this careful, about my pretty little wee tiny orange axe, so now I am probably on some list at MI5 or Interpol or at least the CIA. We'll see what happens next time I try to enter the old US of A. I just know that man in the sunshades, indoors, on even a grey day, will be thinking now where is he hiding that pretty little wee tiny orange axe?