One rung after another
Christmas. A suggestion was put forward by one of the gang to have a fancy dress party for our Christmas do. This was given a lot of consideration. The impulsive mood was in the air and the motion was almost passed. Saner minds took over and the costumed ball was binned.
My son’s football team had a fancy dress party last year. The novelty effect made it a success though no one wanted a repeat performance. I have only ever been at one myself (I was a snowman, pretty boring I know). It was that long ago it was a party held by one of my old football teams.
If we did have a dressing-up gig this Christmas I would have made a big effort and went for something special. I would have disguised myself as a window cleaner. The outlay on this costume would be minimal: A couple of chamois’s, a bucket, a sponge, one of those wipe the suds down the window thingy’s and we‘re away. Now I know what you’re thinking. This is a boring outfit. You’re forgetting one thing.
This is where the fun starts. How good would it be to go to a party with a, let’s call it medium to large sized, ladder? The taxi to the event would be an event in itself. Probably have to walk. Then when you get there look at all the mayhem it would cause.
Dancing could be perilous for other dancers when I step onto the dance floor. The swinging ladder would have everyone ducking their heads for safety. The more agile would jump over the moving obstacle. Dancing the slosh with a ladder would wipe out half the village. A good idea would be to put the ladder on the floor and use it for a game of hopscotch. The women would love that. It would make a change from bingo.
Any light bulbs in the establishment that need changing could be fixed right away as there is a ladder at hand. All the men would want to climb the ladder because just as you never walk by a ball without kicking it you never walk past a ladder that is leaning on a wall without climbing it. You’d have a dozen men on it in no time. It would be like the evacuation from Saigon. A woman would quip “How many window cleaners does it take to change a light bulb?”
Be good if there were a Jacob in the room for obvious reasons. Going to the bar for a round of drinks is another adventure. The ladder could be used as a tray and all the pints delicately placed on the rungs. On tenterhooks; I’ve always wanted to write that. Manoeuvring back to our table with the inevitable spillage would evoke pleasant memories of a cackling Stuart Hall.
I would be Lord of the Toilet when it was time to visit the latrine. I’ve got the biggest one in here, I’d say to the ladderless man in the next stall. Drying my hands while trying to hold the steps is one I haven’t worked out yet. I could balance it on my knee and let it hang out the door.
Then the party is over and it’s time to call it a day. The ladder would be handy on the way home. If any of the drunken lads fell down a well help would be at hand. This is not as unusual an occurrence as you might think. I’ve lost count of the amount of men that have fell down a well after a night out. This time there’s no need for lassie. We’ve got ladder instead.