It was Christmas time with a twist at Donald and Damien’s house last year. Damien’s parents had decreed this would be a year for belt-tightening and that the only presents that were to be exchanged had to be home made. This announcement was made in the hope that any presents would be more meaningful and personal, but this news was met with polar opposite responses.
When Donald heard this his eyes twinkled, he rubbed his hands together vigorously and his stubble-lined chin broke into an enormous grin. For Damien however, a devout convert to conspicuous consumption, this news was like a dagger to the heart. He was more than happy to spend his way out of anything, and the thought of a) having to think about what to make, and b) how the hell he was going to make it, filled him with dread. Worse still, his parents had insisted that he was to make nothing for them, and had to concentrate all his efforts on a present for his dear uncle.
Donald was first out of the trap, the very next day he was off out to get ‘materials’ for Damien’s present. Damien, meanwhile, hadn’t got a clue and, worse still, his dexterity with tools was also questionable. Any attempt he had made in the past to mend anything always ended up with said item being even more broken, and Damien’s stock answer to that was just to go and buy a replacement, upgraded if possible, of course.
As with any teenager in trouble, Damien’s first port of call was the Internet, but an initial search for ‘Handmadepresentsforoldgits.com’ brought a blank, as did the next two hours of fruitless wandering through the web. Just as he was about to give up, Damien’s eyes caught site of a pipe rack, and a plan started to formulate. He printed off the picture and began to muse. Three of or four bits of wood nailed together, how hard could that be?
Well, for Damien, measuring, cutting and fixing things presented a whole new challenge that frankly he really couldn’t be ar5ed to do. But the layout of the pipe rack reminded him of old village stocks, and that stirred the beginnings of a cunning plan…
Firstly, the idea of making it out of wood was ditched in favour of a much more modern material. A call to a friend doing an engineering apprenticeship followed by an emailed picture resulted in the making of a knockdown pipe rack fashioned in aircraft grade alloy that was held together by a locking mechanism. Having handed over an exorbitant sum to his friend, Damien then spent two furtive days in the garage hammering and banging in an attempt to convince anyone listening that he was ‘making’ Donald’s present. In an effort to make this seem more convincing, his hammering and banging was adding a patina and artisan appearance to the pipe rack that would certainly help to make it look ‘hand-made’
Pleased with the results, Damien added one final thing to his creation and smiled to himself as he carefully wrapped it up. Come Christmas morning, present exchange took place after breakfast. Damien went first and ceremoniously handed over the article he had lovingly created for his dear uncle. Damien gleefully pounced on the parcel and had it unwrapped in an instant, holding it up for inspection and both he and Damien’s parents looked slightly bemused by the article in front of them.
Damien took the pipe rack off Donald and unclipped a bar on the front. He then collected up Donald’s collection of three pipes, gingerly holding the chewed and bitten stems between two fingers, and sat them in the rack. As he was doing this he explained that he had made the rack out of metal to prevent the pipes being left lying around while still hot or worse still alight. Donald looked sheepish at this point, as Damien’s parents nodded and looked around the room at the various round scorch marks on several polished surfaces.
Damien clipped back the bar on the front of the rack and snapped on a small padlock ‘to keep things secure’ he told the family as he handed it back to Donald. The old boy waggled the pipes around, shook the rack and even turned it upside down. The only thing that came loose was some brown spittle which dripped onto the beige carpet, much to Damien’s mum’s disgust as she went to get a cloth from the kitchen.
Having confirmed that the pipes were indeed very secure in their new home, Donald asked Damien for the keys. The youngster looked blank and started to ceremoniously pat his pockets in an attempt to locate the missing items.’ Sorry uncle’ he said, trying hard to suppress a grin ‘I don’t know where they are’
Donald’s brow furrowed even more than usual ‘Them’s me favourite pipes’ he said. ‘Only one thing to do now then, I s’pose’ he continued. Damien’s family were hoping the answer was for the old boy to give up smoking those stinking old pipes. But Donald fished around in his pocket and seconds later a brand new pipe was jammed in his mouth.
‘Got this from an old mate in Germany, it’s a proper Meerschaum yer know, will take a few pipefuls to burn it in, so I’ll get goin’ as soon as young ‘un opens his present’
That statement didn’t fill the family with deep joy, and after a short discussion it was agreed that Damien would ‘find’ the lost key to release the old pipes which would be retired, and Donald swore he would use the new pipe rack to save the furniture from further ‘hot pipe’ assault.
That done, a smiling Donald handed Damien a shoe box tied up with brown hairy string. Damien untied the granny knot holding it together, gingerly lifted up the lid, and pulled back some tissue paper. He was then confronted with, well; he really wasn’t sure what he was seeing. It apparently consisted of a 12/0 halibut hook, to which was wrapped a length of dubious brownish, greyish, moth-eaten furry material that may, or may not, have originally come from some unfortunate animal.
A bulge at the front had two mismatched black buttons sewn on in an attempt to represent eyes. Damien gingerly lifted the ‘thing’; out of its wrapping, holding it at arm’s length for fear of catching something. Further investigation revealed four straggly bits of ancient leather bootlace hanging down, presumably representing legs and a further six to seven inches of said bootlace whipped onto the bend of the hook as a tail.
To say it resembled something a cat dragged in would be unfair to any self-respecting cat. Any such cat would arch its back and spit at the very sight of such an unnatural abomination, let alone be brave enough to go anywhere near it And then there was the smell, gently wafting up from the box. It was a mixture reminiscent of wet dog mixed with charity shop clothes rail combined with a soupcon of mothball – enchanting.
Damien just stared open-mouthed at this creation, while Donald was beaming, ‘Just what you need laddie, something a bit different to tempt those big pike’ Damien woke up from the assault on his senses that his ‘present’ was giving him, and asked his uncle to explain just what the hell ‘it’ was, or indeed what ‘it’ was supposed to be.
‘It’s an imitation water rat, laddie; them big girls just can’t resist ‘em. We can pop down the lake tomorrow and give it a whirl. The last part of that statement appealed to Damien, whirling the creation round his head in order to propel it as far away from him as possible, over a cliff preferably…
And you can read the second part here on FM next week!
