Today I invited
my dad over to have a look at my garage door.
It’s worth
clarifying that he had a reason to come and look at it; it wasn’t just a
cost-free form of entertainment. We didn’t set up two deckchairs, crack open a
couple of cans of lager and sit back to admire the handiwork. The purpose of my dad’s
visit was to work out why it's not closing properly.
Before any
would-be burglars take an interest, there’s nothing inside that's worth
stealing. Unless you’re thinking of staging a play set in the basket of a
hot-air balloon (the set for mine and Glyn’s 2008 Edinburgh Festival show lives inside it). Despite containing nothing of value, I’d still sooner know it was
locked.
The only way to
tell what was wrong was to look at it from the inside, which meant I had to
briefly shut my dad in my garage. I felt like I was holding him hostage: slowly closing
the door while he stood on the other side; frantically turning the handle of his wind-up
torch, so he wasn’t plunged into darkness.
While inside he told me what he could see. The sound of his
disembodied voice was amusing; I felt like I was having a conversation with the building.
In the end he
wasn’t able to fix it - though we think we know what needs to be done. In the
meantime, anyone in the area who fancies a bit of free wicker is welcome to come and help themselves.