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STORIES  AND EBAY SALES

1     AN OLD LAND ROVER
2     EBAY
3     SELLING AN OLD LAND ROVER  
4     SELLING WHEELS AND TYRES
5     A NEW JOB AT THE FUNERAL PARLOUR
6     SELLING VIDEO CAMERA
7     MY BIRTHDAY TODAY
8     WITCHERY PART ONE
9     SELLING CANVAS HOOD
10   WITCHERY PART TWO
11   SELLING CARAVAN HITCHDRIVE 
12   WITCHERY PART THREE
13   SELLING RATCHET STRAPS  
14   WITCHERY PART FOUR
15   SELLING GOAL POSTS  
16   WITCHERY PART FIVE
17   SELLING A HI VIZ COAT
18   WITCHERY PART SIX

19   SELLING 3 TONNES OF CLAY    
2O  WITCHERY PART SEVEN
21   SELLING A WHEEL CLAMP
22   SHOPPING AND THE HESITANT DOORS
23   SELLING AN OLD PAIR OF BOOTS

24   THE REAL DE VINCI CODE

25   MY GUITAR AND AMP

26   SELLING MOTORBIKE PANNIERS

27   HALLOWEEN

28 SELLING A HIGHWAY CODE

29 ZEN AND THE ART OF  LAND ROVER MAINTENANCE

30  SELLING A CIGARETTE LIGHTER AND A TRIP TO SCOTLAND

31  CHRISTMAS LIGHT RAGE

32  METAMORPHOSIS

33 SELLING AN AMBER BEACON

34 THE UNIVERSE IS A  BIG PLACE

35 SELLING A  BLOW LAMP

36 SELLING BOOTS UPDATE

37 SELLING A  TORCH

38 SELLING A MOTORBIKE JACKET

39 SELLING A POWER JUICER

40 SELLING A HORSE WHIP

41 THE BOAT

42 SELLING LAND ROVER SIDE STEPS

43 SELLING A  TOW / RECOVERY CHAIN

44 SELLING LAND ROVER BULL BARS

45 SELLING THE FOGGYDAVE CARRIER BAG

46 CARAVAN RAGE OR AGINCOURT DEUXIEME PARTIE

 

 

 

STORY 21      SELLING AN S.A.S. WHEEL CLAMP ON EBAY

A tale of motorised wheelchairs, the Co Op, nasal hair and toe clippings

          

PDF File of original Ebay advert

  

Below is a transcript of the description on the original Ebay advert

 

The reason for this sale is as follows

 

This clamp is now surplus to requirements as it was used on my mother in laws mobility scooter. We have at long last managed to put her in a home, and have sold the scooter. The motor biker who bought the scooter does not want the clamp so it is for sale.
You may wonder why a motor biker would buy a mobility scooter.

Well the fact is this was no ordinary scooter. I had replaced the electric motor with a V8 petrol engine, using the racing wheels off an old MG Mini. The exhaust fumes caused a few problems but no more than the fumes coming from Granny the Mega Methane Madam. The sale of the scooter was not as simple as it seems, as I had to first pries it out of my wife’s sweaty grasp.
When we had sent the ma in law packing to the old folks home, my wife normally a picture of health and fitness not one to let a golden opportunity pass, suddenly developed crippleitis. Saying what a good job it was we had not sold the scooter yet as she could now use it, her being so old and crippled that she was unable even to walk to the shops without falling over after each step.
My wife and machines do not make good bed fellows; she has failed her driving test 20 times, some in spectacular fashion. She cannot grasp the concept of mechanics. When asked what drives a car she says the wheels go around, but ask her what drives the wheels and all you get is a blank look. She still has only a vague idea that turning the steering wheel actually turns the wheels to change direction. I am sure that when she turns the wheel she thinks a gremlin under the bonnet is looking at which way her hands are going, and turns the car in that direction. She has no concept that the steering wheel may be joined to the wheels in some form. She still does not know why I put petrol in the car, she knows it makes the car go but hasn’t the faintest idea of how.
She now wanted to be let loose on a 90mph invalid scooter. This was a disaster waiting to happen.
The reason that she became an overnight paraplegic was that people who drove mobility scooters invariably got to the front of the queues, and were given preferential treatment at the Co Op. They also got to sit at the front of social gatherings, like football matches, mud wrestling, etc. There are quite a few scooters in our village, and they can often be seen in convoys of two or three ambling along the pavement on their way to the shops.
On the first available Sunday I took her up to the industrial estate, which was quiet at the weekends, and she tried out the scooter. I must say I was pleasantly surprised. Her throttle and clutch control were very good, with the gear changes very smooth. After about an hour I suggested we go home and started to load the scooter onto the trailer, but my wife insisted that it would be good practice to drive it home herself. I left her slowly moving along the side of the road and drove the two miles back. To my amazement when I arrived my dearest was already there nonchalantly drinking a cup of tea. She said she knew a short cut. The warning bells should have sounded in my head when I looked at the red hot exhaust and steaming tyres on the scooter.
I have spoken before of serendipity or chance. That night on the television they repeated the 1953 classic film starring Marlon Brando. The Wild Ones. A film of motorcycle gangs, and their ability to terrorise and excite a small township. At the end of the film my wife rushed upstairs, rummaging through my old motorcycle gear. I have always had motorbikes and rarely throw old leathers, cutoffs, and other clothing away. She came down looking like a cross between a hells angel and Genghis Khan.
I did not see the scooter for a while as my wife busied herself in the shed cleaning and polishing. She also added what she said were personal touches, which I took to mean furry dice, a few transfers and a tape deck I had spare.

I was awoken one morning a week later to the unmistakable sound of a V8 engine revving up, on looking out of the window I saw what can only be described as a marauding Goth sitting on a beautiful chromed monster. It now had cissy bars on the back with raised finned twin exhausts, curled high handle bars with leather tassels on the ends. It had spiked nuts and chromed skulls. Twin Bates headlights and stainless steel running boards. The engine had been polished to a mirror finish. She then put on ‘Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell tape full volume, and with a mighty V8 roar, wheelied out of the gate and sped off down the street.

She came back an hour later rather disgruntled because “that little Hitler” as she called the security guard at the Co Op would not let her take the scooter into the store, due to the noise and pollution it would cause even after she had explained what a frail old crippled thing she was.

She was now in a dilemma, My weak kneed one had told the guard she was a cripple unable to walk on her poor frail leg. This meant she could not just park the scooter up and walk in as it would show the guard she was faking it. The shopping must be done today as it was the only time when the two for one and nearly out of date yellow sticker offers were on. There was nothing for it but to wait till he was off duty and then do her shopping. This turned out to be a long, long wait as this was his full time job. So my wife sat and seethed, getting angry and muttering about disabled rights and poor old ladies. Then the phone rang for my dearest, it was the disabled lady from the next street who had stopped with her other disabled friends to admire the wife’s scooter. They had witnessed the altercation between her and the guard and had rung to offer their support for her plight, poor crippled thing. My dearest then started whispering to her down the phone obviously hatching a plan of some sort. I have lived with my beloved for long enough to know when trouble is looming. Normally it looms over me in the form of my dearest holding a blunt instrument, her wooden leg, in threatening poses. Today it seemed it was the guards turn as I kept hearing the name Little Hitler spoken in a vehement way. Then she was off muttering something about doing the shopping.

 I next heard the sound of the V8 engine disappearing in the distance.  Being curios and not wishing to miss the fun I got in my Land Rover and sped down to the Co Op, and sauntered in past the guard who was berating a young mother for being in the pickup zone for a few seconds longer than the permitted time. Yes this was a real jobs worth sort of a person. So I waited in the entrance reading the for sale and wanted cards. I did not have long to wait, for in the distance I heard the unmistakable sound of a V8 engine. The noise grew louder as around the corner came my dearest on her scooter. On either side in arrow formations were six other mobility scooters, they charged for the door. The startled guard foolishly put out his arm, hand palm up ordering them to stop. This fell on deaf ears as the gang led by my wife rolled over him and on into the store. The teams work done they peeled off to the side in the best Red Arrows tradition and left my wife charging forward, scooping provisions off the shelf, and finally coming to rest at the check out. Having paid she sped out of the door bowling over the guard who had just staggered to his feet dazed and hurt, causing more bruising and pain.
When she got home my dearest thoroughly fed up with the problems faced by the disabled, parked the scooter in the shed saying she would rather walk. (Lucky she has a choice)
She still keeps a poster of Marlin Brando on the wall to remind her of the day she kicked ass at the Co Op.

Now I wonder if you can think of another use for this wheel clamp, I am sure my usual contributors will find some more novel applications. Remember all you have to do is just let your brain wander  as mine often does.

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18 August Day 2 of sale

Brenda Bucket of Ibstock...Will it fit my Coachman....FD...Brenda where were you thinking of telling him to wear it, he may find it a tad uncomfortable especially when whipping the horses to a frenzied gallop.  I suppose he could wear it on his foot at night to stop his sleep walking or other nocturnal adventures with the domestics.

Well surprise surprise we have a few suggestions from Delores of Soho...............FD.....Delores is there nothing on this earth that you cannot  put to some erotic use? This thing weighs a great deal and to have it dangling from  any part  of the body would be rather painful especially the parts you want to attach it to......Or is that the aim of the exercise?  I must though admit that it does look like something that may have been used in the Inquisition.

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19 August Day 3 of sale

 

My dearest has just found out I am selling the wheel clamp, she has now informed me that she was going to wear a pair of them to the next Nottingham Goose Fair caravan weekend, in the DA fancy dress do.  Wearing the clamps as ear rings with a jockey wheel cover as a headpiece with a feather in it as the shape reminded her of a Robin Hood hat. The assemblage would be completed by wearing a modified awning as a dress  ( well 2 awnings as one would be a tad small) as the last thing she would want to do was to look silly, or even worse a tart.  She would of course be taking her genuine replica long bow (She is one of the few people in Britain with the strength and skill to pull it) although she still has to master the technique of getting the arrow to go where she wants it to but she is getting better.

She now thinks she will wear a pair of hub caps as earrings instead of the clamps with a necklace utilising a couple of  Alco Hitchlocks  with the dangly ball bits. I moan about Delores finding an erotic use for everything, my wife on the other hand seems to turn every thing into a haute couture item. or as she puts it " owt cooter"

 

Talking of "Owt Cooter" and ear rings, last week my dearest hairy one was using one of those mobile phones where to close the phone the face slides over the number pad for compactness and this sliding also ends the call. My love had just finished a call, and, always thinking of the pennies snapped the phone shut very fast. The slider though caught in her copius ear hairs and was jammed solid, I offered to cut the hair and free her but my wife was having none of it. "God did not give you nasal and ear hair just so that you could cut it off, it serves a purpose", she said. ( I suppose in my case I could grow my ear and nasal hair very very long and loop the strands over my bald head tying them in a knot at the top. What a comb over that would be. Bobby Charlton eat your heart out).

We were going to the Leicester races the next day and so that it would not look odd she jammed another phone on the other ear and so had telephone earrings. For a hat she wore a replica of  a red London Telephone kiosk to keep with the communications theme. She did jump though when the kiosk phone rang and a person asked for Whitehall 1212. and kept saying press button A

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I had a message from Brenda Bucket of Ibstock it seems I got hold of the wrong end of the stick…….FD.....Ahh so it’s for your caravan.  Is this the one that is suffering from a slight attack of warpitus? I have been thinking about the problem of owning a banana shaped caravan and would suggest you put it on EBay and as a selling point suggest it may be of benefit to insomniacs as it rocks backwards and forwards in the night breezes so lulling them off to sleep. Or………..The ideas are coming thick and fast………..Sell it as an amphibious caravan as it has the curved shape of a boats hull, and with a small outboard motor on the back it could chug up and down the canal with no problems……..  You could put a mast and sails on it and enter the Americas Cup………Think of the pride you would have sailing over the winning line, Union Jack (Or skull and Crossbones) flying at the masthead. You could get hubby Ray to swab the decks every day, it would make a change from washing the coal……Oh by the way has he stopped practicing that unhygienic habit with the vacuum cleaner?..........You could sail it over to France and save ferry fares, then when you arrive just run it up the beach and drive away. (You would of course have to take the car which you could strap to the top of the van using ratchet straps. There you are you could have bought some off one of my previous auctions see story 13 on my web site) Think of the variety of holidays, sail down the river Seine to Paris and take the roads back to the coast. Just think if Churchill had thought of this in WW2, Dunkirk could have been evacuated in half the time and the D Day landings would have been a cake walk. No jumping out of landing craft up to your neck in water, oh no, just straight onto the beach, sun beds out and put the knotted handkerchief on the head to ward off the sun and midges. As the Germans already occupied the beach there may have been a battle for the sun beds (So what’s new),but I am sure our British grit and fortitude along with our Union Jack shorts and a  six pack of lager would have seen us through and won the day. They could have landed in the middle of the night just armed with towels these they would drape over the sun beds thus avoiding a confrontation.

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20 August Day 4 of sale

 

Fred of Leicester in a telephone call.........

Use it as a giant walnut cracker....Its no good as a wheel clamp to stop thievery. I had one once and fitted it to a wheel I had in the front garden, but when I got up in the morning the clamp and it had gone...........

FD...Sorry to hear about that Fred I did not know you were a caravan owner. Did you get the van back?.......

No it wasn't on a caravan.............

FD...Oh so it was on a trailer?

No it wasn't on a trailer

FD...So what was it on? (Fred is one of those people who need coaxing along when telling you anything, you tend to end up finishing all their sentences).

No it was just on a wheel....The wheel wasn't on anything like that.

FD..So lets get this straight...You put a wheel clamp on a wheel that was not on anything but just laying in your front garden?

No it was on the head of Mr Grimpole a garden gnome. There was a spate  of  garden gnome nicking a few years back It was him I was trying to keep, I just thought if the thieves saw a wheel with a wheel clamp on they would think that the wheel could not be moved off the gnome.

FD...So as well as the wheel and clamp you lost Mr Grimpole the garden gnome? How sad.

He sent me a  postcard last year from Skegness saying he was enjoying his freedom and Mrs Grimpole and the kids were enjoying the beach, and people like me should be locked up for keeping little people like him prisoners all their lives. That's the last I heard. Although I have recently been getting literature from a group calling themselves EGG  (Emancipation of Garden Gnomes.) Asking for donations for their SAG (Save a Gnome) foundation

FD...So alls well that ends well then?........................................ ( or has it ended??????)

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21  August Day 5 of sale

 

Talking of ear hair

 

Do you have to?

 

Yes not enough is written about this much maligned subject. They are real, they are long, and they are in your face..........Well on the side of your head

.

But surely some subject should be taboo you will be writing about nasal hair next.

 

Ahhh yes I do sometimes wax lyrical about ear hair ( get it ..wax...ears...errrrr) but I think these things should be talked about, they are after all real and in some cases very scary. For one as follicley challenged as I am you come to cherish what little bit of hair you have. Each strand is a thing of wonder and beauty. Who knows when a young maiden may fall desperately in love with me, but because I am spoken for she cannot have me so may want a keepsake. Twenty years ago I would have given her a lock of hair from my head. Now I can give her a bunch of nasal and ear hair to remember me by.

 

That is so beautiful but say you had alopecia? (Total hair loss)

 

Then it would be nail clippings or better still tummy button fluff........... That's more personal.

 

No that's more disgusting

 

No its not I. could go out and buy her a key ring or a picture of a Woolly Mammoth to remember me by but if they accept nail clippings or tummy button fluff that's a test of real love, and remember nail clippings are not just for Christmas they are for life. (Not like puppies).

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In my wife’s case she has so much excess ear and nasal hair she can actually braid it into small pony tails, that is unless she is going through one of her split personality phases and takes on the persona of a Rastafarian. She then braids them into dreadlocks and we have to suffer her unending Bob Marley impressions, Rasta talk and her impression of a steel band played on the old copper water butt. The good thing is she doesn't "do" Ganga as her Tibetan Yak dung tobacco has far stronger hallucinogenic properties.

It could be worse she sometimes becomes Long John Silver, doesn’t wash or shave for weeks, and we have an unending round of sea shanties,  "oooaaar Jim Lads",  lots of "avast there you landlubbers", and "shiver me timbers" The house becomes a ship with walls becoming bulk heads, the kitchen a galley and the loo the heads. We are also subjected to a diet of ships biscuit complete with weevils and salted pork. But the worst part, other than the not washing or shaving is THE JOKE. My wife does not have a sense of humour, but one joke, THE JOKE is the only one that makes her chuckle   .......... slightly.............well a sort of grunt...............ok just a slight rise of the upper lip............ok ok just a twitch of her moustache.

Two years ago I told her this joke, its from the Goon Show and is very simple..................

 

Captain "Stand by to repel boarders"

Sailor "How do you repel boarders"

Captain "Stop changing the bed linen"

 

Amusing you might say when heard once but my wife repeats it over and over again like some mantra. And also insists on telling it at all the functions we attend. When it does not illicit the required guffaw my wife nudges them in the ribs saying "get it, bed linen, stop changing, priceless".  With my wife not knowing her own strength this nudge normally cracks a few ribs. Word soon got around so to avoid injury everybody laughs when she tells it, some even go into hysterics, this makes the wife think that the joke is wonderful and must be recited at every opportunity.

 

It could be even worse sometimes we have an amalgam of all her personalities from The French onion seller with hooped tee shirt, beret and a 2ft waxed moustache. Through Long John Silver, Bob Marley, Elvis, Ghengis Khan, etc etc etc, to the Viking marauder complete with a cow horn hat and flowing beard. It is like living with one of those quick change artists, you don't know who is coming through the door next or whether it will be frogs legs or Viking stew for tea

 

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22  August Day 6 of sale

 

Talking of nasal hair.

Oh No

It could be worse I could talk of frogs legs and Viking stew

Oh Ok then.

 

Indeed talking of nasal hair AND long bows. Last year my little Robin (Hairy Arms) Hood had a really painful experience. She was in a Long Bow archery competition and not doing very well. After 16 arrows she had yet to get one within 3 feet of the bull. Whilst drawing back the bow and aiming you bring the string back to your nose, sight down the arrow and let go. This was her last shot, and so she drew the string back but as she was about to let go her nasal hairs got caught in the arrow feathers, when she let go of the string one can only guess at the pain she suffered as all her nasal hair was plucked out in one bunch, but as she was in a bow contest she suffered in silence, although it did make her eyes water. On the upside the extra tuft of hair on the arrow made it go straight into the bull’s eye winning her the match. Now as a good luck charm at each competition she plucks a nasal hair and attaches it to the feathers of each arrow. Her aim is still quite appalling and the arrows seem to go anywhere but into the target, one or two find the bull and she considers this justifies the pain and watering eyes.

She is thinking of selling them on Ebay as a good luck charm. (I have seen more bizarre items for sale)

 

I am off for a few days caravanning at The Black Country Waterways Festival. In Wolverhampton but should be back on Sunday night to add a story or two.

Regards FD

 

 

 

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25 August Day 9 of sale

 

Hi there....Just back from the Festival, a very wet and muddy affair but enjoyable. As I wrote earlier my wife has various split personalities. and this weekend it was a mixture of 'Long John Silver',  'Eyvind the Smelly' a Viking marauder, and Captain Horatio Nelson. She was perfectly normal (well as normal as my wife can, be which isn't very), until we went on a narrow boat trip with a party of school children. I am sure my wife inhabits a different world than the rest of us, a sort of Walter Mitty existence based on all the characters she has seen on the television and cinemas. It would not be so bad if she chose an individual character each time but no, she is normally an amalgam of three or four, as in this case, sometimes they all share the same theme ie Sailors, Cowboys, Gangsters etc. Normally though they are complete opposites, like when a few months ago she was John Wayne and Peiroit, two unlikely bed fellows. I am sure John Wayne did not have a waxed mustache  and monocle as I am sure Peiriot did not go around saying "Get down off your horse and drink your milk".

But this is a story for another time as I have to get off to work.

 

Oh before I go

Someone has asked what is the problem with Brenda Buckets caravan………...FD..As far as I can understand it about a year ago the caravan started to bend up at the ends. I personally think the wood that was used for the floor had aspirations to be a boat or a rocking chair.  We tend to think of trees and forests as being alive and of having a soul. Why should it be any different when the tree is cut into planks? It still has its individuality and a choice as to what its destiny will be…………..This is not as far fetched as you may think. How many times have you bought a self assembly book case from Ikea, only for it to turn out when assembled to look more like a coffin? Why did those wooden shelves you put on the wall collapse for no reason, just as the wife had put her priceless ornaments on them?  Could all this be because the wood wanted to be something else, that all through its life from a small sapling to a giant Redwood it nurtured dreams of being carved into some beautiful statue or a piece of Chippendale furniture, but no it ended up as being  a cheap B&Q  shelving unit. Why do you think its hard to hold chopsticks, it seems so easy. Ah, using chopsticks should be easy but its the wood they are made of that is being awkward.

 

The item was won by a very nice gentleman named Richard who lives locally in Aylestone. He is also a discerning caravan owner who owns a Bailey Ranger 550/6 ( Unlike Brenda Bucket who owns a warped Coachman).

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