David Weaver
gone but not forgotten
‘The Equinox’
David Weaver ©
Being a man steeped in the world of old time democracy Ticker, rather than immediately sentencing me to stand in the corner until my face assumed the shape of a wedge of cheese, gave me the opportunity to think about it overnight and return the following day with the correct answer no matter how pathetic the attempt.
Coming from an intellectual family, of repute, I went home armed with the knowledge that all would be well for in my humble home was the untapped knowledge of pure scholarship, just waiting to be released on to an unsuspecting world.
Granny said The Equinox was a thick bandage, with oodles of goo on it, which was heated up to boiling point and then slapped onto an aggressive carbuncle to draw out the puss. The louder the victim screamed, in agony, the more good it was supposed to be doing them.
Granddad laughed fit to burst, at this stupidity, and said it was a type of wild bird seed they used to catch the Yellow Bellied Sap Sucker, a well known wren that flew backwards to keep the dust out of its eyes and was now becoming almost extinct due to the lack of sandy desert surrounding Aston Park.
Mum said this was a load of old cods-wallop because it was a well known fact that the real Equinox was a German delicacy served up during the cold weather. Its main ingredient consisted of offal, and beans, with as many herbs as could be found to take away the terrible taste of garlic.
Dad said they were all wrong, and should have known better. He said it was, without a shadow of doubt, whale vomit that had been washed up on the best beaches around Scunthorpe. It was worth a fortune, to anyone finding it, because it was used in the manufacture of the finest French perfumes purchased only by very wealthy film stars and the spoiled wives of politicians.
‘The Equinox’/ Weaver 2
My brother Charley, who knows everything, said we were all wrong and instead of confusing the issue suggested we check out the dictionary. I found this the most ridiculous suggestion of all because if you
can’t spell a word there’s no way you’ll find it in the dictionary, and none of us knew what the first three letters were anyway.
The dictionary was replaced, due to an uneven floor, back under the table leg where it belonged and we sat around deep in thought to think up our next concerted plan of attack.
‘I know,’ said my father, ‘I’ll go and ask Taffy Jones, he now spends all his spare time in the pub sharing his hard earned knowledge with anyone one who wants to listen, but he used to be a teacher so he’ll know for sure. He took off like a thirsty man from a Siberian salt factory, and returned a few hours later looking lost and bewildered.
‘Well,’ we asked expectantly, ‘what’s the real story?’
Dad sadly shook his head, ‘He’s losing his marbles, gone quite mad in his old age.’
‘Why what happened?’ I asked, disappointed.
He slumped into his chair like a half empty bag of coal, ‘Well, all he said was , ‘The Equinox’ is the time when the sun crosses the plane of the earth’s equator, making night and day all over the earth of equal time.”
‘He’s gone off his rocker, for sure, and should be locked up before he does someone a mischief.’
End
