“A gift? For me? Go on, what is it then?”
“Well, Sire, t’is an intricate set of small tubular pieces of metal, spun in an intricate web of fibre, with a teensy hammer in the middle.”
“I see... what does it do, exactly?”
“You attach it to the outside of your castle Sire, and when the wind doth blow, Sire, the hammer strikes the tubes, issuing forth a jingling noise!”
“Won’t that annoy the neighbours?”
“Ah.... Dammit....”
I don’t want to get a reputation for being a ranty blogger, who complains about random stuff all the time in a tiresome fashion, but the problem with that is simple: I have already got that reputation, and I DO complain about stuff a lot. Hey ho – Sometimes you just have to go with what you’re good at.
Unfortunately, there isn’t much demand for people with an intricate knowledge of the pop charts circa 1984, so I’ve got to blog instead.
Today, I am having a go at those demonic devices, Wind Chimes. These metallic monstrosities (or sometimes timber terrors) seem to be purchased by people who think they make a pretty noise. This is sometimes true (if you spend enough), but generally you get some atonal tube-fest that’s sufficiently off key to irritate all but the most tone-deaf in society. And even some of them too.
Still, the purchaser brings the device home, and after spending considerable amounts of time untangling it, installs it somewhere entirely inappropriate, where you can’t help but brush against it, or the slightest breeze has them calling the police to report a burglar outside their home.
“But Jenwis – If that even is your real name (which I strongly suspect it isn’t)” I hear you cry, “surely that’s just fine. The proud owner of the chimey thing can do what they want with it”. “Ah-ha!” I say, before wandering off into a lengthy discourse on the merits of Norwegian pop as I got distracted.
Some time later I remember what we were talking about and follow up with “Yes, but it’s the effect they have on others that’s the problem!” only to find you’ve already left.
Confused yet? Yes, me too. Anyway, the owner of the wind chimes sits inside their home, rarely hearing the tinkly noise, except maybe on a windy night, once the TV has been turned off.
Meanwhile, the person next door is closer to the tubes of doom than the owner. Maybe their living room backs on to them, or they’re in a tree close to their bedroom. Every time the wind blows, terrifying noises emanate, like someone falling downstairs with a glockenspiel on an irregular basis – and we all hate that, don’t we?
And it doesn’t stop at night. Oh no. You’re just drifting off to sleep and the wind picks up. Suddenly, a tiny, demented Mike Oldfield is wreaking havoc nearby again. And there’s no snooze button either.
Let’s stamp out this appalling assault on our lives! Ban wind chimes today – email your MP. They love this sort of thing, don’t they?
Yes, you’re right – I was affected by this as a child. Someone has to make a stand! Right, I’ll see you soon. So far I’ve offended Audi and Range Rover drivers and wind chime owners. It’s going jolly well. TTFN.
This post first appeared on the North West Evening Mail's website earlier today, as part of theor Big Blogger contest, which I have foolishly entered. If you likes this post, would you mind awfully clicking here to view it on their site? That way, if I get enough hits, I'll get through to the next round. That involves public votes. I'm scared now.)
(Through the letterbox this week, the remastered version of Queen's "News Of The World". Epic!)
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