Daft Old Duffer returns. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
Many of us have got stored away somewhere – in the knife drawer perhaps, or under the sink – a chewed-up bit of metal or plastic that rightfully belongs in the rubbish but which we keep because just now and then a job crops up for which it is handy.
Such has become my role in life
When I retired I lost most of the markers that singled me out as an individual just that little bit different to everybody else. No longer engineer, manager, family provider, I became instead a somewhat boring old duffer who hangs about, occasionally getting in the way, for no obvious reason.
Yet just now and again someone finds me useful.
Hair’s looking at you
I have been blessed with a head that despite my advanced age, continues to sprout a thick growth of hair. A growth I have chopped back only after I become aware I can’t hear or see so well.
Which clearly delighted the new lass at the hairdressers, who immediately became so engrossed in clipping and combing the tangled thicket that she even began whistling that whistle traditionally common to all those who spend their spare time brushing and curry-combing horses.
Plainly she saw me as some patient, grey old steed, well past its best, but still in need of loving care.
Getting to the root of the problem
Something similar happened when a large lump of filling fell out of one of my teeth.
So little actual tooth was left showing above the gumline, I naturally assumed extraction was the only solution. But to my surprise the dentist insisted she could save it.
I found myself, laid fully on my back, mouth agape, whilst the dentist, seated above my head, ground – very gently – and filled and tamped down and dried, and filled again, and shaped and dried and filled once more.
Whistle while you work
And all the while hummed quietly to herself a contented little tune.
In exact imitation of all craftsmen skilfully constructing some piece of near-art.
For her, clearly, I had become a kind of handy mobile workbench complete with built- in work holder.
But the best is yet to come.
Heart throb
The heart specialist who recently summoned me to explain myself, having confirmed I was still alive, asked me to come in again so his students could listen to my chest
Apparently my wheezy old pump was emitting some quite unusual yet attractive noises.
So, there remains the occasional reason to fish me out of the tool box. The occasional reason not to ignore my existence.
I’m quite flattered, really.
