This morning yours truly woke to the sound of clanking ladders emanating from the bottom of our cul-de-sac. Not being inquisitive enough to poke my head through my bedroom curtains and look, I’ve no idea which company the perpetrators of the racket represented, or indeed what task they were undertaking.
Hearing two male voices, though, it appear the noise was a joint effort. Unless, of course, it was one man who natters to himself in different (what sounded like) Lancastrian accents…… Although, I suspect that probably isn’t/wasn’t the source.
At one point, while I laid in bed attempting to wake fully, I did ponder that perhaps the north west English accents outside were being produced by 1970’s/80’s comedy double act Little & Large. They did sound very similar to the duo and, like a Syd and Eddie audience, there wasn’t much laughter abound. On reflection, though, I’d guess that was also unlikely to be the source of the noise that woke me.
I then mulled over whether the Lancastrian voices were those of another northern comedy duo, the Chuckle Brothers, who’s slapstick sketches oft include haphazard manoeuvring of ladders, accompanied by their catchphrase “From me…. To You.” Similarly to my other idiotic theories, that was hastily discarded as the cacophony’s root cause as I remembered the Chuckle Brothers are not only Yorkshire men, but one of them sadly passed away last year.
Ladders and long cumbersome items such as planks of wood have long been the props for comedy sketches. One of lauded late comedian Eric Sykes’ most celebrated pieces of visual whimsy was called The Plank. In fact Sykes’ slapstick scenes were more than merely a sketch, moreover a whole movie of lumber lunacy from the Lancastrian’s pen.
For generations stage/TV/movie audiences have been enamoured with the buffoonery and awkwardness of the poorly co-ordinated individual. Along with the consequential chaos and collateral damage resultant from their cloddishness.
Later, after dressing, on opening the bedroom curtains I was a tad disheartened to see no evidence the earlier manoeuvring of ladders had subsequently resulted in pandemonium outside.
In a rare fit of schadenfreude, I felt almost disappointed this morning’s clanking, which’d been so audible it’d woken me from my slumber, hadn’t at the very least resulted in a glazier’s presence to replacing a clumsily damaged conservatory window. Or had a neighbour stood in the garden wondering how their prized hydrangea flower heads had been decapitated.
I felt cheated. After all, I’d been woken by these noisy ladder carriers and not even to got the sadistic pleasure of seeing a Chuckle Brothers-esque scene of carnage in it’s aftermath. Instead, only witnessing a visual canvas of rain sodden gardens and cars, along with a neighbourhood cat which in it’s drenched state looked very sorry for himself…… I’m sure if Eric Sykes is looking down on me he’d subscribe to my sentiments of disappointment.
On taking my place at the kitchen table for breakfast my mother pointed out that the strong overnight winds had ripped out the parasol from the the patio table. Consequently ripping out the supporting plank of timber from the centre of the table…… Fixing that no doubt karma’s punishment for my earlier rare fit of schadenfreude.
Be careful what you wish for!!