An Unwanted Gift

The new year arrives, hastily wrapped in cheap paper, like a Secret Santa gift bought without thought on a garage forecourt. Naturally, I put on a show of polite curiosity, feeling its weight and raising it to my ear as I give it a slight shake. It’s heavy for its size and sounds like voices raised in dark rooms. The thing is, I already have a cupboard full of years, including some of the best there have ever been, but the quality’s dropped off and, as my dad and my granddad always said, they don’t make them like they used to. I’m the first to admit I’m a miserable old sod, but when I strip off the paper and look at it in all its disappointing glory – it’s already been broken in transit, there are vital parts missing, neither batteries nor instructions are included, and of course there’s no receipt to take it back – my eyes are drawn to little details which remind me of the best bits of earlier years, and intriguing features that could do anything at all. It’s warm to the touch, and I think those voices might be singing. Don’t get me wrong: it’s not what I would have asked for, and it’s pretty much trashed already, but with a bit of help, maybe I can make something of it. Can you give me a hand?

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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor

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