Writing for Fun
March 2018
Mystery? - Jeanette Rothwell
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Rachel as she bent to pick up a bundle of printed sheets which had spewed out of the home printer. ‘Frank has been on the Internet again.’
Since his retirement a few years ago, Rachel’s husband, Frank, had been searching for a hobby to keep him occupied and, in Rachel’s opinion, keep him out from under her feet. Initially he had tried Golf but after a few lessons, with, thankfully, borrowed clubs, he had wrenched his shoulder putting him out of action for a while and the interest waned.
He then looked into keeping chickens. This involved the Internet, a book about it and then looking into the cost of a luxurious detached shed with a run for the chickens. Having then taken into account the cost of the chickens and their feed, in spite of the egg production, Frank had second thoughts. He had spent a lot of time measuring up in the garden and reading all about the diseases the chickens could catch, etc. which led him to put that hobby to one side and look into various crafts.
Origami just ended up as a lot of folded scrap paper; growing vegetables was not instant enough for him; woodwork resulted in a trip to A & E when he forgot to remove his thumb when knocking in a particularly long nail into a promising book case and he then decided to do a bit of bird watching.
This, as usual, involved the internet, a book, a bird table, bird seed and some powerful binoculars. Rachel was quite pleased with this hobby as she thought the bird table looked rather nice in the garden and she enjoyed seeing the birds flock to the feeder every day. This lasted for about a month but Rachel had doubts about Frank’s ability to recognise the various garden birds frequenting the bird table as he was colour blind. His interest began to slow down when he got very excited thinking he had spotted an exotic and rare bird. Rachel took the binoculars and identified it as a common sparrow. Deflated he once again got on to the Internet.
His next venture was into goldfish. More expense. After consulting with the internet yet again, he bought a tank, 6 goldfish, a book, of course, the equipment for keeping the water fresh and at the right temperature, various fishy toys to keep them interested and a good cover to ensure that their pet cat couldn’t get an inquisitive paw into the water. The trouble with goldfish is all they do is swim around and occasionally eat some bits of their fishy food. He tried giving them all names but they were all so alike and not intelligent enough to recognise their individual identities.
The task of keeping the fish alive and fed fell to Rachel and, with a sigh, she added the task to her list of chores, together with keeping the birds fed, watering the vegetable patch, clearing away the sawdust from his woodworking ventures, etc.
Once a month he met with some old pals at the local pub and they persuaded him to join their ukulele group. So the purchase of the said instrument, a music stand and the music to put on it and he was up and running. Initially, he practised the strumming and the various chords and as long as he was in another room when Rachel wanted to watch the Television this was OK.
However, he then became more confident and started to sing with his playing. Ear plugs were not sufficient to block out the sound of Frank’s warbling. Pavarotti he was not. In fact he was closer to being a poor man’s George Formby. This got louder and louder as he gained in confidence and Rachel either had to go out when he was practising or disappear into the garden if the weather was good enough. She had to also hope that the neighbours couldn’t hear him.
His drinking pals also persuaded him to join them on a fishing trip which gave Rachel some peace. During his time away, she took the ukulele, music stand and music and, climbing a high ladder, she shoved the whole lot into the loft. She knew Frank wouldn’t find it there as he hated ladders. She also hated ladders but needs must.
Frank came back tired but elated that he had caught a fish, which he had returned to the river but he had a photograph of his catch which encouraged him. Peace for a few days. Then she noticed he was prowling around the house, looking puzzled. Nervously she asked him what was the matter.
‘I can’t seem to find my ukulele,’ he replied.
‘Perhaps you left it at Mike’s,’ she suggested. He used to go to a Mike’s house where the group would meet.
‘I’ll give him a ring,’ said Frank hopefully.
She went off to do a bit of dusting and when she came back Frank was in the middle of the kitchen scratching his head and doing a good impression of Stan Laurel.
‘It’s a real mystery to me (scratch, scratch) where that ukulele can have gone.’
Some mysteries are best unsolved!