“Knock! Knock!” came from the lounge door. “I need a cigarette now!” roared a voice on the other side it. “Please see the other staff, I’m having a break!” I shouted back. “I’m going to discharge myself!” Turning on the T.V. set, I found an interesting quiz programme about identifying strange antiques. Somebody was asked about a piece of ornate pottery, and after toying with it for a few moments, the contestant said: “Would I drink from it?” “You might do” said the questioner ”but it’s a spittoon.” Another contestant said that they liked a beautifully carved Victorian commode, but they “wouldn’t know what to do with it”, and somebody with piggy eyes brought in a painting to sell which had been in the family since 1760, because he wanted to “have a good night out” with the cash. Indeed, most of the sellers wanted to transform their family heirlooms into either “Disneyworld” or “a cruise”, apart from those with a very well developed sense of history, conscience and family honour who just wanted their Grandma’s necklace “to go to a good home”. It reminded me of one of my colleagues who had the same perspective on Grandma herself (“she needs to go to a new home where experts can properly appreciate her”). “What do you for a living?” the next contestant was asked. “I’m a stoodent” came the reply. “Oh, right. Studying which subject?” “English.” “Really?” “Oh, aye. I’m doing me Masters, like.” (silence).
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