Shit My Dad Kept

You know when there’s bad weather, and you see a news report about the weather – because the weather becomes news as well as weather – and they say “Do not travel unless absolutely necessary,” do you ever wonder who the people who travel when they don’t need to actually are?

Hello everybody, my names is Jake.

So I went over to mum’s today. I tried to chicken out of it at seven this morning, but mum assured me that the skies were blue in Halifax. So I struck out for the great metropolis of my birth.

It wasn’t fricking blue skies when I got there.

I had things to do prior to seeing mum, and it’s safe to say in the time I took to carry out these side quests I became what I like to call PWT.




I got to mum’s, though, and it wasn’t all bad as she’d lit a fire which was roaring away, and had a coat hanger on standby to whisk away my jacket and let it dry. And she looked at me and went “awww, your t-shirt’s all wet.” Which it was. Any t-shirt not covered by jacket was PWT. But a bit of time in front of the fire would be fine. I’d be dry in no time.

I had occasion to go to the loo – the cold wind having cut very much to the quick on my bladder.

And it’s safe to say that I didn’t have to worry too much about my t-shirt being wet. Because when you looked at it, my t-shirt had made a valiant effort to stop my trousers getting wet, and they in turn had made a similarly valiant effort to stop my undies getting wet.

All those had failed.

But due to the cold, I hadn’t even realised that I was basically as wet as I would have been if I had jumped into a swimming pool immediately after leaving the house.

Absolutely pissed wet through.

And when your mum’s in the house you have to draw the line at taking all your clothes off and sitting in front of the fire wrapped in a blanket. It’s generally frowned upon.

So instead I took myself off into the garage and busied myself sorting stuff out in there.

It was bloody cold in that garage.

The absolute perfect place for someone who is, basically, wearing wet clothes to be. Bear Grylls would be appalled. I should have had all my clothes off and rubbed myself down with snow, or something, to warm up. Instead I was trying to work out why dad had a pot of about 17 toothbrushes – all too filthy to use for cleaning anything – tucked away on the shelf of a unit.

Next to a box containing a lot of frying pans without handles.

And thirty-six candles (nowhere near as funny as four) – in case of a power cut – placed at the back end of a garage that is hard enough to traverse in the light, let alone the artificial darkness of an electrical failure.

And an old radio alarm clock that rattled and had yellowed with age.

And a box of assorted metal things including what appeared to be a perfectly good cheese knife.

All of which are the tip of a very cluttered iceberg that, for reasons no-one really knows, we’ve been putting off sorting out for a year or so…

Who knows what else we’ll find.

After all, dad once found something that used to be a hedgehog…