Denis Kilcommons
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The Power Of A Manchester Screwdriver

4/12/2019

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​DO-it-yourself has sometimes been a necessity but never an enthusiasm that led me to fill the garage with a work bench and an array of electronic tools. My old chum, the late Fred Wood, knowing of my shortcomings with anything complicated, once gave me what he said was a Manchester screwdriver: it was a mallet. I found it a boon in simplifying jobs around the house. Sadly it has gone missing since our move.
In our new house there are still improvements to be made. I have a list in my head that I will nurture until they fade into memory.
There are, of course, some domestic jobs I am happy to relinquish to my wife Maria, on the grounds that she knows how to operate a washing machine and I don't. She remains in control of the oven even though, when we had a new one installed two months ago, she complained it was taking ages to cook anything, until she realised she had miss-interpreted the dials and attempted to roast a joint on steam clean.
My pal Jimmy, on the other hand, displays an open policy of equal rights, which he explained when we met at the bar the other day and he was without his wife.
“Where's Julie?”
“
She's at home, she had a few jobs to do. She's finished the tiling and now she's working on the roof.”
Arthur looked at him askance: “You've left her working on the roof?”
“Well, she's nearly finished. She enjoys it.”
“Arthur, “ I said. “Jimmy is a Scouser. He's having you on.”
At least, I think he was.
Mind you, it would be handy if Maria could do a bit of ladder work now and again, what with my bad back. But on the whole, I think we have the balance of shared responsibilities about right. Take duvets, for instance.
It was her decision to guide me into Honest Freddy's and point out they were selling “hotel quality duvet sets” at a bargain price. And a lovely quality they are, too.
The trouble came at home when I retired to my office. An hour later, I discovered Maria downstairs in the living room struggling to shove a floppy duvet inside a new cover. I had to step over the thing to get to the kitchen to make my coffee.
Half an hour later, she had dragged it upstairs and into the bedroom and I was unable to further ignore her grunts and curses. I wandered through to say how nice it looked. It didn't.
“I can't get the lumps out,” she said. I gave a manly sigh and took over. Cover to corner, shake and smooth. It remained lumpy. Together we beat it into submission. Combined operations sometimes work. Until we got into bed that night.
Instead of buttons to seal it, the cover had a large overlap like an envelope, which was face down at the wrong end of the bed. Our feet went straight into the envelope, which could have spelt disaster if either of us got up swiftly during the night. We slept warily and realignment took place the next morning. These chores are, after all, sent to try us if we can't ignore them.
After my shower, I found Maria inspecting the full length mirror we had bought from the Hospice shop, which was still leaning against a wall.
“You could hang it there,” she said.
“I'll do it as soon as I can find my Manchester screwdriver,” I said. “Unless you want to ask Julie to come round to help you do it.”






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The Big Sleep

4/5/2019

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​ASSISTING a suicide is a criminal offence. But 84% of Brits polled supported terminally ill people having the right to die. The Royal College of Physicians is neutral on an issue which provokes strong responses from those in favour and against.
Sarah Wootton of Dignity In Dying said: “In these divided times there is a cause that unites the majority – a more compassionate law for dying people.”
Alistair Thompson of Care Not Killing said: “There is no safe system of euthanasia or assisted dying anywhere in the world.”
Others have views based on religious beliefs as well as compassion.
I envy our last and very beloved dog Lucky, a black Labrador cross, upon whom Maria and I doted. When she was literally on her last legs and unable to stand, a vet came to our home and gave her an injection as she lay on the rug in front of the fire. She passed away quietly, with dignity and with the two of us by her side.
As I get older, I have my own views on death and, while I know you cannot compare ending a dog's life with that of ending a human life, I do wish there was an easier solution to the endgame that awaits us all.
Raymond Chandler's private eye Philip Marlowe named it the Big Sleep and, when I nod off for the last time, I will regret leaving life behind but hope to accept the inevitable in the manner of close chum Alex Kersey-Brown. He faced a year-long death sentence from cancer with equanimity, wit and the courage he had displayed throughout his life. What I fear more is losing my marbles. I have had friends who shuffled off this mortal coil not knowing who they were.
My wife's grandmother Mary, a staunch Catholic, would pray for those close to her to have an easy death which, at the time, I thought strange but now understand completely. Her own wasn't too bad.
The widow of Blackpool businessman Diamond Tony Colaluca, Mary had been a character who drank whisky and smoked King Edward cigars most of her life, until a doctor advised her to cut down. She switched to cheroots.
In her final weeks, infirm and at an advanced age, she continued taking her daily intake of whisky through a Tommee Tippee, although she had given up on the cheroots.
I confided my own concern to my eldest daughter and said: “If I start going daft, get me some pills.” To which she tartly replied: “How will we know?”
So, no help there, then. I'll just keep my fingers crossed and hope for an easy death.







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This Time Next Blue Moon I'll Be A Millionaire

4/1/2019

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ONCE in a blue moon, I buy a lottery ticket on the grounds that I might have a similar chance of becoming a millionaire. So, after seeing an advert for a new game from the National Lottery, I logged onto the website to discover what might make this more appealing than the rest and found there are now games on which to waste your money six nights a week.
The UK Lottery started in 1994 and was once a week on Saturday. A Wednesday draw was introduced in 1997. Thunderball and Lotto Extra were added in 1999 and 2000. Lotto Hot Picks, Daily Play and online games followed, along with the scratch-cards people buy at store till points.
Euromillions was added in 2004 and is now drawn on Tuesday and Friday. With this wide choice of games, do we really need Set For Life, which is played Monday and Thursday? If you win, you get £10,000 a month for 30 years. This totals £15.6 million.
Odds of winning first prize in the Euro Lottery are 139 million to one; UK Lotto is 45 million to one; Set For Life is 15 million to one, which makes it sound attractive until you take into account your age. I am highly unlikely to last another 30 years and even those in their prime have to consider illness or being knocked down by a number 19 bus.
Whichever you pick, the chances of winning are still as likely as a blue moon.




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