Before I regale you all with a series of wittily written travel stories from my trip to Tassie, I thought I’d begin with something of a cautionary tale.
The House of Pilsner is a fairly low maintenance affair with just a couple of goldfish to be cared for and the daily newspaper and mail to be collected. As we would be away for ten days we were happy a neighbour to look after things for us.
As it happened, the recently Sydney-relocated family of Dr Lager was to be back in Melbourne for the Easter break and a conference for Dr Lager so it was convenient for them to stay here and kill two birds with one stone. We needed a house-sitter and they needed a place to stay. A simple problem simply fixed. Or so you’d think.
Many of my readers may be familiar with the complex and intricate methods employed in order to make a house both secure and, at the same time, accessible to those with a valid purpose for entering. You and I know them as – DOORS – and they are reasonably straightforward in their operation. They very often consist of just TWO primary features. A KEY and a DOOR HANDLE.
We called home to see how the Lagers were settling in on the second day to find that , well, without putting too fine a point on it, they hadn’t ‘got there’ yet. That is to say they HAD ‘got there’ the night before (as planned) but couldn’t GET IN (as planned).
You see – and here’s where the tricky bit comes in – one of the Lagers (promised I wouldn’t identify to protect the guilty – but here’s a subtle clue; Oestrogen) WAS able to get the key into the lock. WAS able to turn key in lock. WAS also able to turn handle. WAS NOT able to perform both activities simultaneously. Remained on wrong side of threshold. Stayed at Mother-in-Laws place for the night instead.
I have since installed large cat-flap type arrangement in case they visit again.
Cheers,
Prof Pilsner
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5 comments:
That's what happens when you grow to over six foot tall, the elevator doesn't go all the to the top?
Now, without giving away exactly who was responsible for the 'lock out', one of the Lagers is a LOT shorter than six foot. Not saying who, just, you know, one is MUCH, MUCH shorter.
PP
*ahem*...well, yunno...um...
*clears throat*
All I can say is that the MUCH, MUCH shorter one could be part of a rare sub-set of people who perform basic life tasks better AFTER consumption of a beer or two.
She was far too sober to grapple with an unfamiliar lock!
Sounds like the shorter one should have been alerted to the presence of Fat Yak in the Pilsner Fridge.
That may have been the incentive required to negotiate said door.
I can't believe I've been implicated in this. Do I need to clear myself or will my better (subjective) half come clean?
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