‘Gate-gate’
Since the 1970s’ political scandal that started in a bugged hotel room and ended with a sobbing president, the suffix ‘gate’ has been applied to a broad variety of words to describe incidents that have captured the public’s imagination. On the frothier end of the scale, there was ‘Egg-gate’ when a rejected violinist stormed the final of Britain’s Got Talent and lobbed half a dozen at the panel of judges (and why not?) and ‘Portrait-gate’, when rather explicit nude paintings of the then Irish Taoiseach were briefly displayed in Dublin as a protest by disgruntled artists. It was never actually explained whether the images were truelife renditions or poetic licence.
Recently, our household has added its own word to the lexicon: ‘Gate-gate’. It is a tale of love, loss and garden gates. At the bottom of the garden is a shabby lump of wood that hides an area of hard core where, when it’s not occupied by a skip, we occasionally park the car. The lump of wood is an eyesore, not least for the neighbours who have recently spent a fortune building a sun terrace in order to look at the sea, only to have their view ruined by this piece of flotsam.
But like most things, I found the answer to our prayers on eBay: one pair of solid oak, handmade driveway doors, for a starting price of 99p. As all eBay fans know, this was clearly a ‘come on’; an insane figure used to generate a bidding frenzy. But there are bargains to be had: can I refer readers to my delightful 1960s New World cooker?
Last Monday, with seven hours to go, the highest bid had reached £215 – about 10% of their real value. True, they were weighty and in Newark, but they were clearly a bargain. Unfortunately, the crucial final hour of the auction coincided with an appointment with my hairdresser. Should I stay and live with the grey? Or go, and hand over to someone else? There was only Mark available. Sports section in hand, he waved me off , promising to ‘pay attention’. As soon as I was draped in the black cloak of ‘hair world’ I knew it had been a mistake, a feeling confirmed by every other woman in the salon.
By the time the conditioner had been applied to my ends it was all over bar the sobbing. My email box pinged with the dreaded loser message: ‘Sorry, better luck next time.’ But as Richard Nixon would happily tell him – there is no next time.
Next week: Paint or paper?
Recently, our household has added its own word to the lexicon: ‘Gate-gate’. It is a tale of love, loss and garden gates. At the bottom of the garden is a shabby lump of wood that hides an area of hard core where, when it’s not occupied by a skip, we occasionally park the car. The lump of wood is an eyesore, not least for the neighbours who have recently spent a fortune building a sun terrace in order to look at the sea, only to have their view ruined by this piece of flotsam.
But like most things, I found the answer to our prayers on eBay: one pair of solid oak, handmade driveway doors, for a starting price of 99p. As all eBay fans know, this was clearly a ‘come on’; an insane figure used to generate a bidding frenzy. But there are bargains to be had: can I refer readers to my delightful 1960s New World cooker?
Last Monday, with seven hours to go, the highest bid had reached £215 – about 10% of their real value. True, they were weighty and in Newark, but they were clearly a bargain. Unfortunately, the crucial final hour of the auction coincided with an appointment with my hairdresser. Should I stay and live with the grey? Or go, and hand over to someone else? There was only Mark available. Sports section in hand, he waved me off , promising to ‘pay attention’. As soon as I was draped in the black cloak of ‘hair world’ I knew it had been a mistake, a feeling confirmed by every other woman in the salon.
By the time the conditioner had been applied to my ends it was all over bar the sobbing. My email box pinged with the dreaded loser message: ‘Sorry, better luck next time.’ But as Richard Nixon would happily tell him – there is no next time.
Next week: Paint or paper?