I think it was the two tone winklepickers which flummoxed me.
I mean, I have nothing against Exotic Footwear provided I am not expected to totter around in five inch heels
or squeeze my size six feet into skinny ballet pumps. Theresa May can keep her leopard skin kitten heels, too. The question being, are the said leopard skin kitten heels befitting, footwear speaking, for a Prime Minister? I shouldn't worry about answering,
this being a rhetorical question.
Who wears winklepickers these days? In fact, are they still called winklepickers or has someone come up with another,equally appropriate name? I resort to my BFF, aka Google,
who tells me that winklepickers are the shoe of choice for non-conformists, the longer and sharper the toe, the greater the status of the wearer. In case you want to know (and even if you don't - you can skyways skip this bit, if you prefer) winklepickers
take their name from the process of prising that popular seaside snack, winkles, out of their shells with the help of a pin, the sharper and more pointed the better in terms of efficient winkle picking. I do like it when the Daily Blog cones over all educational
every so (not very) often.
A fond and funny memory crosses my mind. My Boy, aged about five, being instructed by his Grandma, Mr B's mother, on the art of winkle picking. Winkle in one hand, pin in the other,
he pauses with a worried frown on his bespectacled face: "Will it - struggle!?" he asks.
But I digress. Which is obviously not a problem, this being the Daily Blog where digression has to be taken for granted.
I do usually manage to get back on track before the end of each day's epistle. Though there's always a first time....
Where was I? Oh, yes the winklepickers. As I said before I have nothing against Exotic
Footwear - I just didn't expect them to be gracing the feet of the landscape gardener who arrived on our doorstep yesterday to provide us with a quote for some turfing work in our front and back gardens. I was so diverted by his footwear, imagining him operating
a rotovator and getting his toes tangled up in its digging mechanism. Or laying turf ("Green side up!) and tripping over his pointy ended shoes every time he had to change direction.
Mr Winklepicker took a
look around our gardens - the new fence, the new driveway - and commented that we had clearly been busy with major improvements. You could see the pound signs whirling round his head as he came out with a stonkingly high quote without even producing a tape
measure. Presumably he (i) decided we could afford it and (ii) didn't want to get his winklepickers dirty, tramping in the mud. Mr B tried out his famous "we are just poor pensioners living on the breadline, having to choose between heating our house or eating
breakfast" line but Mr Winklepicker didn't appear convinced.
I think it's safe to say that we won't be gracing Mr Winklepicker with our custom. It's not so easy, however, to choose between the other landscape
gardeners arriving one after the other to quote for the work. Do we go for Ismail, whose newspaper advert extols the fact that he is "hard-working"? Or Gary who wears a tee-shirt proclaiming that he is an "Awesome Gardener"? Awesome? Hard-working? What a choice.
Both wear sturdy, sensible boots, too, so I can't differentiate between them based on their footwear. Plus Russell is coming round tomorrow. He may be awesome and / or hardworking. Or something else altogether.
B says I need to Talk Turf. I need to discuss the quality of top soil (well, it wouldn't be top, would it, if it were less than top notch?) I should be checking out equipment to be used, particularly whether a rotovator will be involved. Mr B is very keen
on a rotovator bring involved.
Me? I'll settle for an awesome, hardworking type in builder's boots who will provide quality at an excellent price.
Turf War commence..