My grandad used to always say “When one door shuts, another one opens” … I remember him as a lovely bloke, but a terrible cabinet maker.
The above a gag I’ve just shamelessly stolen from late great entertainer Tommy Cooper. The quip feeling a fitting way to launch this writing group narrative; the suggested topic for the ensembles prose ‘A piece of furniture’.
Although no doubt one of his funny fictional asides without any basis in fact, part of me likes to think this revelation of Tommy’s grandad’s questionable carpentry skills were true. The forebear’s woodwork competency, like his grandson’s (deliberately) slapstick conjury skills as inept as they were comedically auric.
In his defence, though, Cooper senior’s less than glowing skills with saw, nail and lathe would still be infinitely better than my creative efforts with lumber. My last dubious project ensuring I would not embark on anything as challenging as building a cabinet from wood… Or, coming to think of it, any other raw material.
Other than small trinkets during school woodwork lessons, and flat pack assembly, the only timber construction task I have embarked upon was five years ago when making a small garden table to house herb pots. The raw material for this enterprise acquired from reclaimed fencing panels.
The result was adequate, I suppose. Although, courtesy of its past life as fencing, the horticultural lectern had feathered edges. Consequently, giving the impression I had quirkily included a collar and epaulets within the table design.
Of course, I had not gone to that level of architectural idiosyncrasy… If truth be told, though, I did briefly contemplate adding pockets and turnups to the table legs. A short-lived notion which mercifully died upon returning to Earth from a planet called Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen.
Despite the quirky appearance of that small piece of garden ‘furniture’, I was reasonably proud of my inaugural dabble into table construction. Even the fact I augmented its eccentricity by screwing the piece to an outside bay window wall did not diminish my, perhaps misguided, sense of pride at the achievement.
Footnote – It was necessary to secure the herb pot table to the bay window wall to stop it unceremoniously tippling over. A consequence of not possessing enough timber to add a third or fourth leg to the stand.
Leaving my marital home a few short months after undertaking that slapdash piece of carpentry in 2019, I have absolutely no idea if GJ Strachan’s carpentry handiwork has stood the test of time and remains proudly standing with its two legs intact.
I suspect, though, irrespective of the table’s current condition, I’ll not be receiving a call anytime soon to assist Alan Titchmarsh’s team with a revamp on his garden SOS TV show.
As I’m not divorced, still only estranged from my wife, I have no idea if she’d wants to keep the table adorning collar and epaulets. Be that now, or as part of some future annulment settlement.
After all, as 19th century poet Alfred Lord Tennyson taught in his poem Memoriam:27, “It is better to have loved and lost than be lumbered with substandard lumber.”… Or, something like that anyhow.
As my estranged spouse remains in the house it is attached to, if she decrees I should take this lumber legacy, I’d have to unbolt it from the bay window.
With the construction only having two legs anyhow, I don’t think she would want it sawn in half to share with her errant former hubby … After all, with possession of a biped piece of furniture being embarrassing enough; who the hell would want the ignominy of owning a table with only ONE leg?!
If I had to put money only the sturdiness and endurance of my timber assembly, yours truly would wager it probably ‘gave up the ghost’ before the herbs had even produced their first year’s yield.
Unsurprisingly enough, as contact with my ex has been limited since summer 2019, the topic of herb table welfare hasn’t raised its rickety wooden head. Consequently, the state of the furniture’s legs, top, collar or the side hooks I added retrospectively remain an enigma.
The metallic hooks added a week or so after the original construction, following their discovery at the bottom of my toolbox. Their revelation leading to an absurd notion of “They’ll come in handy!”
In hindsight, I’ve no real idea why I though attaching them to the side of the low table would be so beneficial going forward. After all, they were too low, and the piece was not sturdy enough to support the weight of a hanging basket… Or, indeed, anything much heavier than a pair of secateurs.
During the few months I lived at the marital home after constructing the herb lectern, if truth be told, all I found those hooks useful for was snagging my legs when undertaking a daily watering regime.
Subsequent impact injuries from these episodes creating physical scars, which I took with me from the home with much deeper ingrained mental scars borne from my failed marriage.
That piece of furniture holds no great significant within my existential tapestry, per se. However, I’ll remember I constructed it at a time where my decisions became a catalyst towards a healthier/greater peace of mind.
After reading out this narrative to my fellow group writers, one of the bunch was moved to ask what caused the break-up of my 30 year marriage… I assured him it wasn’t my substandard carpentry skills… Well, not that I’m aware of anyhow!!
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