Solder

It was a typical lazy Sunday afternoon. The children were running about like mini Viking berserkers. Their battle cries loud and piercing.

Throughout the midst of the battle, I heard a knocking at the front door.

I looked up at Mummy bear who was waiting in the wings and reached out a hand. She reached out for it, tapping herself in and leapt into the fray.

I got to the front door and smoothed my clothes down so it didn't look as if I had just been jundered by an enthusiastically romantic Elephant.

On opening the door I was greeted by my older neighbour, The Jim.

Howdy, neighbour!

He boomed at me with the cheer of a man whose children have long since grown up and left home.

Alright, Jim. How are you doing?

I replied with as much cheer as I could muster on a cold Scottish, slightly hungover, Sunday morning.

It was just a quickie...

Said The Jim with a glint in his eye.

We both chuckled as if in some alternate universe it really would be a quickie and we would be frantically playing whack-a-mole with our pork hammers behind the backs of our wives.

Aye, mate. What is it?

I asked.

Can I borrow your soldering iron?

The Jim grinned.

I looked at him in puzzlement and waited for him to elaborate.

Oh don't worry, I've got plenty of solder! Just the iron I need, mines is broken.

I stared at him blankly.

Erm, haha! Right you are!

I made to close the door wondering if the dementias had caught up with him.

The Jim raised a hand as if to block the door.

So can I?

I swung the door back open and stared at him intently. It was a questioning stare. A stare so mighty and piercing that it had broken many a man and the occasional animal.

What are you talking about, Jim?

I said exasperatedly as my stare steadfastly refused to break down his brain shield.

Now it was his turn to look confused.

I just want to borrow your soldering iron? I mean, you DO have a soldering iron, don't you?

He sounded both a little cross and slightly amused at the fact that a man might not own a soldering iron.

I don't have a soldering iron, Jim?

I replied, my face crinkling like the skin on a baked potato that had been left out of the oven too long.

He recoiled slightly as if I had invited him to the ballet.

What?!?

What do you mean, what? I don't have a soldering iron. Why would I need a soldering iron?

I said.

I was beginning to be a bit narked, this was turning into a mammoth doorstep conversation. The Good Lady might need reinforcements at any second. In fact, what if they had beaten her and had already tied her to floor Gulliver style?

You don't have... What the??! You can't be serious? You are kidding me, right? Hahhaha, oh now I get it. You are teasing old Jim! Well, good one, you got me!

He clutched his chest as if he had just been shot and laughed, shaking his head at his own folly.

No seriously, I'm not joking. I don't have a soldering iron.

The Jim narrowed his eyes. All joking wiped from his face.

You... don't have a soldering iron?

He looked as if he was being asked to dip his baldy Weimaraner into a bowl of custard.

Nope, never needed one.

I watched The Jim's face as emotions warred across it. Eventually, it looked like disgust wearing a crown of contempt won.

Right you are.

He stated grimly as if he would be back later to set the house ablaze.

He marched off back to his house. No doubt the insides of which gleamed with once molten metal.

I went back inside. Remarkably it was quite calm.

What did The Jim want?

Asked the Good Lady.

He was asking to borrow a soldering iron. You should have seen his face when I said I didn't have one.

I laughed.

You don't have a soldering iron?

The Good Lady gasped in what sounded like horror.

That's it, I give up.