Ex-Spatula Patronus

It’s been a while, but it’s time to get back into the swing of things with regards to nipping to Halifax and sorting out various bits and bobs at mum’s. Everything is now a whole lot easier now with regards to hanging onto things because they’re grandma’s and she might want them now that she’s not about to want them. Although she didn’t even want half of it when she lived with my parents, claiming most of the stuff didn’t belong to her anyway.

Today’s favourite discovery of anything I have found there for a while is a broken fish slice thing. Which, of course, has been kept. It’s still in the pot of kitchen utensils as though it has a use even though it is a fully-functioning device with a very, very short handle.

And there are two of them.

I had to ask, of course.

It turns out that they broke when my dad threw them onto the floor in disgust after a fried egg slipped off the end of them. I don’t know if it was the same egg with both slices – you’d think not. But that’s what happened. He slammed them into the ground with such force, and associated swearing, that the handles broke off. The handles, as far as I could tell, have not been kept. The business ends, though, are there raring to be used.

I pointed out to mum that we could possible get rid of them, and she did the thing that – to be fair – everyone in our family does. We apply the “it could come in handy” defence. This is the reason I, for example, have a load of SCART leads. When the world turns against the picture clarity of HDMI, I will live like a king. Until them I’m just hoarding SCART leads because they might come in handy. And Ethernet cable. And phone cables. Even some old aerial wires.

So, yes, these broken spatulas are being held onto just in case.

I’m not sure in case of what. In case you want to put your hands dangerously close to the surface of a pan while you retrieve something, maybe? Dad has already shown us that they are not suitable for a fried egg due to their low grip coefficient, I can’t see you’d want to chance it. And not on such a short handle.

“Could we use them in the garden?” asked mum. I could almost hear the desperation in her voice. The garden? How could we… why would we?

Genuinely, the only thing we could use them for is if, tomorrow, mum woke up and there was a swan on her doorstep that had no feet we could attach them to the leg stumps and the swan could live a happy and blissful like with spatulas for feet. It could walk around. It could paddle through the water. It would be great to see them used in such a way.

Except that one of them was slotted, so the swan would just swim in a circle. But still, it’s more than it could do before, with its leg stumps.

Hypothetical amputee swans can be so judgemental when people try to help. I hate that about them.