Shameless Plug

Calm is restored, there is order in the chaos at last.

If only the current troubles in the wider world could be resolved so simply.

I have been anxious and stressed about this particular thing.

Every time I have passed through my garage (integral) or when it has been necessary to retrieve something from the plastic tool storage box I have been reminded of my act of betrayal.

I cannot actually recall why I did it.

One reason may be that my collection of tools is very old. Some I have purchased for a particular domestic exploit. Others I have acquired by roundabout means or where contractors have left them behind.

They all have a common factor and that is they connect to the power supply at the socket by a wired up plug.

This may sound a bit strange but not so when you consider that more modern and current appliances have a moulded, fitted plug that cannot be tampered with.

I was taught at an early age how to wire up a traditional plug.

This was in days of black and red sheathing ( usually without an earth connection) and latterly in blue and brown, possibly with a green and yellow wrapped earthing. It is a fiddly thing to do requiring some dexterity and nimble hands and often complicated by the need to strip back the plastic cover to get enough copper wire to make a contact in the terminal.

Over time, when it has been necessary to throw away something with a wired up plug I have always taken it off either by carefully dismantling the screws or just cutting through the flex. They have become important and valued things to wick away in the tool box in readiness for future use.

However, some time ago I found that my stock of loose plugs had been depleted and I needed one to replace one damaged in use attached to a much loved radio.

I scoured the house for a donor appliance, thinking that the least used example could be plundered.

Not being a great exponent of DIY many of my smaller power tools have lain dormant for long periods and with changing fads and fashions domestic appliances have become redundant and so I compiled a shortlist of potential candidates.

These included a wallpaper steamer (living in a 1970's house I do not have any papered walls), coffee grinder (I just cannot be bothered to grind whole beans), old juicer (it is cheaper and easier to just buy boxed fruit juice) and an antique Black and Decker drill with hammer action setting (a bit scary to use).

The latter was inherited from my late father in law, George, himself a patiently skilled and clever craftsman.

I was privileged to be asked to look after it by my wife's family although was, from the start, a bit overawed by the responsibility of it all. Soon after being entrusted to my custody I mislaid the special key required to fit the various sized drill bits. This was unfortunate as for the previous forty or so years it had always been tied to the power cable by hessian string. This rendered it unuseable until the missing implement was eventually tracked down in the far recesses of the garage .

My wife often recounted fond childhood memories of using the drill. In those days of little Health and Safety guidance she would regularly and wholly unsupervised use it to make holes in the garden shed, bits of old wood and any expanses of masonry that happened to attract her attention.

I dare not let on that I had lost the ability to use the drill by my carelessness and opted for delaying tactics if she wanted anything doing around the house that would involve its multi-functions.

So, it seemed to me reasonable to remove the plug from the redundant tool and appropriate it to the radio.

Minus its loyal plug the drill was confined to the tool box and gradually sank down, as though in quicksand, to the lower reaches.

Perhaps this was to be expected of a good tool, embarassed by losing its purpose.

I did not come across a replacement surplus plug until just yesterday when my Mother in Law's gigantic boxed television was scrapped in favour of a flat screen version.

I thought immediately of the old Black and Decker and retrieved it from amongst the small screws, fixings and wood shavings that had formed its nest or resting place for some years.

It was a joyful act to prepare the plug for reconnection although such was the age of the wires to the drill that I was having trouble recalling where the black and red wires went respectively. After a bit of trial and error and a few false starts the drill burst into life with the merest squeeze on the handle mounted switch. It was as though brand new and keen to get to work.

Above the raucous grating staccato hammer action setting I was convinced that I could hear the voice of George. I like to think that he was expressing approval of my restoration of his faithful drill although he would more likely be critical of my reckless and totally disrespectful use of it.