This week, my family gained a taste of local fame. Our fans were unseen and unheard, but they made their presence known in mysterious ways.
As with most of life’s intrigue, the drama began in the dullest possible fashion – the fitting of a new bathroom. Our house was a hive of banging, crashing and heading to the neighbours for some peace (or running water). Since the old bathroom was to be more or less gutted, our plumber arranged for a skip to be delivered. Hoisted into our lives from the back of a lorry, this chipped yellow dustbin sat proudly on our driveway, in confrontation of our cars, which had to edge apologetically around. Viewing this radiant monstrosity as a local eyesore, we had not anticipated the surge in popularity that it would bring.
At 7am on Sunday morning, my Dad was startled to see a van of travellers swiftly pulling up outside the house and proceeding to rummage furiously through the skip. It was during this ‘flying visit’ that the old sink and other metallic parts found a new home.
Walking back from town one afternoon, I bumped into a cantankerous neighbour hurrying in the opposite direction around the corner by our house. His eyes met mine and betrayed an expression of guilt and bashfulness. “Oh good,” I thought, “he’s finally gained some remorse for ‘Fencegate’.” This debacle happened a few years ago, when we ended up footing two-thirds of the bill on repairs to their fence. The fallout severed an already tenuous amiability. However, I then remembered this neighbour’s interest in DIY and realised he may too have been paying the skip a ‘social call.’
Other visitors came throughout the week as word travelled about the ‘treasure chest’ outside our home. Mum left a pair of old deckchairs there, which were picked up by someone presumably optimistic about the November forecast. Most bizarrely of all, a pair of men’s trousers suddenly appeared amongst the debris. Mum was joking about this to the plumber when he began to blush with embarrassment. “I ripped them while working, so I thought I’d just leave them there,” he explained. She didn’t have the nerve to ask what he’d driven home wearing.
Eventually, the skip was transported away. We returned home to find a gaping chasm on our drive where a surprising gift to the community had once stood. In some ways, we missed it. The comings and goings of the contents had provided a great source of amusement.
Should I move to another town and find myself in need of acquaintances, I would not hesitate to hire a skip. Within days, I’d shift from lonely outcast to the centre of the social hub. I would open the door to my rummagers and introduce myself with the offer of a cup of tea. “In truth,” I’d say “aren’t we all scavenging for something? Be it shower fittings or friendship.”
The new bathroom is lovely and the plumbers did a sterling job. However, I’ll always look back on the old one fondly, as I wonder where all the parts ended up.
