Monday, July 11, 2011

My Cadbury’s Ball Is Broken

To a certain degree I am my own jailor.

Due to certain job parameters that I must fulfil I carry about me more ironmongery than Harold Steptoe. I am literally weighed down with keys. I am a prime candidate for curvature of the spine and a dowager’s hump.

I shouldn’t need so many keys because one of those in my possession in supposed to be a master key (one key to rule them all) but this is a conceit. It isn’t really a master key. It opens most but not all. There are facilities and security add-ons to the building suite that require their own especial keys. And that’s before you take into account building changes and random acts of locksmithery that have further seen the suite of keys that I haul about with me augmented to the point where I am carrying the combined weight of the Mir Space Station and Anne Widdecombe around with me at all times.

This is hard on the ol’ trouser pockets.

Every woman I meet thinks I am pleased to see them but really I’m just prepared to open a few doors.

I reckon I’ve gone through more trouser pockets then the Artful Dodger. In fact, I no longer have pockets. I have express elevators straight down to my shoes.

I dread to think what all this ironmongery is doing to my thighs. I’m amazed I am not black and blue at the very least or regularly splinted up in a hospital bed. Because any key-ring that I carry about with me tends to be obliterated within 6 months.

I had a Lego brick key-ring once. A perfect little red 2x4 Lego brick that could have been used within any building project and not looked out of place.

It is now a sorry sight indeed. It’s crisp corners have been bashed and rounded down. It’s perky little studs have been flattened and worn smooth; the “Lego” moniker utterly obliterated by the violent action of clashing keys. It looks like it has been half melted in a furnace.

I always knew my thighs were hot stuff.

The loss of this key-ring grieves me. But worse, much worse than this is the loss of my Cadbury’s Ball key-ring.

I say ball but actually it was a little silver and purple representation of the globe that span round inside a metal ring (not on the correct astronomical axis I have to say). I bought it at Cadbury World last year and was a much treasured possession (as indeed are all balls that I keep in my trouser pockets). It was doubly treasured because Karen and I took the kids back to Cadbury World a month or so ago and found that Cadbury’s are no longer marketing these little spinning globe key-rings.

I had something that one day could well have been a collector’s item.

More fool me then for allying it with the keys of Beelzebub. ‘Cos they’ve done for it good and proper. The rod on which it span like a spit roast (steady there, people) has been bent out of line. The globe no longer spins. This is the day the world stood still.

My keys have claimed another victim.

And this worries me. Because my keys spend the entire working day swinging about very close to another treasured possession of mine. A possession of a personal biological nature. A master key that I was born with and that has given me a good deal of pleasure over the years.

I really don’t want this to be the day that the earth never moved again.

I think it might be time to invest in a key chain.

Or at the very least stage a massive break-out.

P.S. I’m talking about abandoning the prison regime, not freeing my beloved master key from its trousery confines. Just in case you were wondering.



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31 comments:

Rol said...

Please don't ever refer to your Master Key again, that image is going to stay with me for the rest of the day... and it's NOT pleasant.

Steve said...

Oh come on, Rol, I bet you've got a door somewhere that you'd like me to unlock...

Rol said...

Telegram for Steve...

Please. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Stop.

Trish @ Mum's Gone to... said...

I don't think it's the keys as such which are to blame - methinks you are a pocket jangler. Men always fidget in their crotch area therefore I summise added friction is the cause. Keep your hands on your desk out of harm's way.

Steve said...

Rol: would you like me to poke you on Facebook instead?

Trish: "fidget", "jangle"?!? I'll have you know these are deadly essential tactical manoeuvres!!

Tenon_Saw said...

I promise to stop moaning about my own small collection of keys even though they have done few various jacket pockets.

Steve said...

Tenon_Saw: isn't it strange how keys usually represent freedom and yet when you have to carry them around all day they come to mean the exact opposite?

the fly in the web said...

Well that P.S, took the shine off my day....

Martin Lower said...

I like the concept of 'random acts of locksmithery'. It conjures up thoughts of people going around changing locks in the middle of the night, just to have a laugh when the bemused key holders arrive the next morning!
Nobody expects the Random Locksmiths...

Steve said...

The fly in the web: *sniff* Me and my trousers know where we're not wanted...

Martin: I'd love to have that as the occupation on my Passport... Random Locksmith. I wonder how many places I'd be denied access to? Possibly only Florida Keys.

Boom tish!

Sorry.

English Rider said...

Maybe it's due to the proximity of San Francisco but I think you should get a tool belt and learn the words, and moves, to YMCA a la Village People.

Steve said...

English Rider: what do you mean; learn the words and moves? I've had them off by heart for years.

Mark said...

Bloke where I worked used to wear his keys on the outside of his trousers - hanging from a sort of dog clip. He was known as 'lock-up', but not being that bright he never got the joke.

Me, I lose my keys about twice a day, ut haven't yet resorted to one of those whistling devices.

Gorilla Bananas said...

Your master key must be getting an inferiority complex because it'll never match cold steel for hardness. You ought to wear a sporran and put the keys in them. The jingling noises from your crotch would give the girls in the typing pool some entertainment.

Steve said...

Mark: I had a dog clip once. But my keys broke that too. Seriously. Feisty little buggers my keys are.

Gorilla Bananas: I can already hear the jokey calls of "Donald, where's yer troosers...?"

Nana Go-Go said...

Depends on what size sporran you wear. Anything smaller than a Berghaus rucksack wouldn`t attract that much attention. Hope you find your missing ball soon.

Steve said...

Nana Go-Go: to be honest I'd need something the size of a Vango Icarus 6 man tent...

Bish Bosh Bash said...

Just a random thought Steve …Have you ever got that big ol master chubb key of yours ‘stuck in a lock’ so to speak?

Cos if you have, then maybe you’re suffering from Sexsomnia and you don’t even know it yet?!

Might wanna think about giving it a good squirt with the old ‘3 in 1’ oily juice before you nod off in future. Could get you into a lot more grief than you think one day. Specially if it’s cold and frosty. Eeeeuwe (!)

Like I said…just a random thought mate.

Vicky said...

I have just realised that I have the spare set of housekeys on my key ring so if I lose my keys I am in deep crap LOL

Steve said...

Bish Bosh Bash: to be honest I tend to avoid Chubb locks as they're much too capacious to be any fun. Give me a nice tight Yale anyday.

I can't believe I've just typed that.

Vicky: hmm... yes, there appears to be a flaw in your thinking...!

Being Me said...

All very well and good to get advice here, Stevo, but what, pray tell, do I write down here on my Activity sheet?
Every woman I meet thinks I am pleased to see them but really I’m just prepared to open a few doors.

This, along with the vision of you doing a Village People number, and half the comments here have just made for a very interesting read-out for the Cardio people when they read my heartrate monitor ECG I'm currently strapped to, I'm sure.

Wonder if they'll recommend I stop reading your blog :o Heaven forfend!

Steve said...

Being Me: I will have a serious attack of the guilts if I have in any way queered your results. Genuinely. I wish you'd given me some warning... I'd've uploaded some whale music or some harp music or something. Hope all goes well. Keeping my fingers (and my keys) crossed.

Being Me said...

Stop it! You did it again! ;-P

Steve said...

Being Me: gosh darn it! That's yet another similarity I have with Britney Spears...

Nota Bene said...

Suggest you hang your master key from your belt. It's the only way.

Steve said...

Nota Bene: I could loop it through; it's certainly long enough.

Haider Ali Mussadaq said...

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Steve said...

Haider Ali Mussadaq: whoa, dude! You're a real random locksmith!

About Last Weekend said...

Steptoe - haven't thought of him in years, the crusty old b. who had knackered old horses out the back and some wavy-haired son in the front. That was part of my heritage growing up in New Zealand as were the nuns who jangled huge chains of keys too.

Steve said...

About Last Weekend: hmm... just wondering how I can bring nuns into my master key metaphor... there must be a way!

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