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Thursday, 25 March 2010

Demolition Ridley



I type this as I lie on my back, barely able to move. Since 11am this morning, I have been undertaking a fairly grand operation, which I must confess, I am partly regretting right now. At Caskstength Towers, we have an old outhouse/workshop... well, that is perhaps a little grand, shall we say huge shed, which has clearly seen better days.

I was so sick of the sight of it that today, my rage erupted and I grabbed
the 3 nearest tools I could find...

1: A 15lb sledgehammer
2: A Jemmy (crowbar)
3. A petrol chainsaw. (Ok, so I didn't just 'grab this', but nipped to our local tool hire shop, where they lease them on a daily basis)

Demolition of a building is a strangely cathartic process. No matter how methodical you plan to be, no matter how organised your safety plans are, they seem to go out the window with the first swing of a formidable blunt instrument and the satisfying tear of wooden beams, collapsing in twisted agony. A red mist descended over me and within an hour I had pretty much removed the entire innards of the shed, leaving the roof and flimsy walls as my next victims.

Then it started to rain. "No matter" I thought, "I will start to cool down with all this rain falling." (I had been wearing suitable, but rather warm splinter-proof work tweeds)



Oh how wrong could I have been. Foolishly, on my final swing at the front wall, the hammer slipped and I ended up pretty much falling through the sizeable hole I had been creating.

I think I actually heard the most unsatisfying tear of my spine, collapsing in twisted agony. Oh... the irony.

so i'm now laid up on the sofa, unable to do very little except glower at the damn shed and cradle a most medicinal dram.

At times like this, there is only one comforting beast that seems to not only numb the pain, but stir the soul and the galvanise one's resolve to pick up the chainsaw and finish the job...

That comforting beast is a large dram of Ardbeg Airigh Nam Beist.



Each sip appears to restore power to my (pretty puny) muscles. If you're of the same generation as me, or just like old cartoons - this is the character I feel myself turning into...(Perhaps minus the lilac lycra suit)



OH YES!! BY ARDBEG LAW, THE GHOST WHO WALKS, CALLS FORTH THE POWER OF TEN TIGERS !!

RARRRRRRGH!!

Well nearly. I'm now on my feet, pouring another dram... fast approaching full charge and heading for the chainsaw but the 'sensible' Ridley arrives, probably just in the nick of time.




Hmmm. Still raining. Whisky and chainsaws?? I think not.

I think we'll play it by ear, maybe tomorrow. Until then, perhaps a little bit of Hendrix's Rainy Day, Dream Away and another large and supremely drinkable dram of the 'Beist. The shed has been here for about 30 years, i'm sure it can wait another day to die....perhaps like this.... Grrrrrr.