Fork, you say?
So, Uncle B has a birthday coming up, and the only thing he could think he wanted was…a really good fork?
Yes, I am QUITE sure I didn’t mis-hear him.
We made the rounds of the local garden centers (or gardne centres, if you prefer), but nothing impressed. Finally, we were standing, staring at the forks in a local hardware shop (dear twelve-year-old me: you are not going to beLIEVE…) when a little man sidled up and whispered these aren’t the forks you’re looking for.
All the modern ones, he told us, are rubbish. The stainless steel ones are made in China and brittle. The British ones aren’t finished right. What we really needed to do, he said, was check out the refurbished tools at this one particular local antique store, for whom he happens to refurbish tools.
So we did that.
Hoo! I cannot tell you how lovely these old things were. Are. We bought a fork and a spade. Heavy. Wickedly sharp. Great slabs of oak handles polished by who knows how many man hours of human hands, doing work. For about what we would have paid for modern rubbish.
Oh. Yeah. I was going to post about the Obama team’s inability to find Colorado on the map, but my max graphic size isn’t enough to do funny state names justice. Also, I couldn’t think of any.