The Grataerial

 

It was weeks since our aerial got blown off the roof

And the telly’d been knackered since then

I promise… I’ll fix it… mi father said

He just din’t promise us when

 

I’ll fix it he promised

When it’d been down a week

It’s the vertical hold

It just needs a tweak

 

I’ll get mi screwdriver

And stick it in here

And wiggle the screw

Till the picture comes clear

 

Then he got his screwdriver

And stuck it in there

And wiggled the screw

But it din’t become clear

 

He got his screwdriver

And stuck it down t’hole

And wiggled the screw

That said vertical hold

But it din’t fix the picture

It started to scroll

 

It scrolled up and down

From bottom to top

Then he touched his screwdriver

On two terminals….. pop

 

Bloody hell…. He said

A valve has blown now

I can fix it he promised

But he din’t promise how

 

I can fix it he promised

Just gi’ me a week

I’ll replace all the valves

Then just gi’ ‘em a tweak

 

Now mi mother weren’t technically minded

But she did have a brain in her head

And the problem was glaringly obvious

So she looked at mi father and said

 

I think that tha knows what the problem is here

And… it’s not down to t’telly its sen  

The aerial got blown off the roof… two weeks back

And the picture’s been knackered since then

 

I think that tha knows what the problem is here

And there’s no call for no further proof

Tha’ll ‘ave t’ get thi ladders out

And get thi sen up on the roof

 

Now…I’m not calling mi father a coward or owt

But he favoured terrestrial pursuits 

And the thought of going up on the ladder

Had him quaking in his boots

 

He was a hopeless acrophobic

With vertigo right from the start

And the thought of going up on a ladder

Struck fear… right into his heart

 

So he wracked his brain

To think of a way

To avoid going up

On the ladder that day

 

Indoor aerials were a new thing back then

And cost money… that we never had

But if anybody could cobble one up

I’d have to say … that was mi dad

 

You could tell that the cogs were turning

And lightbulbs flashed over his head

As ideas formed in his tiny brain

Then he turned to mi mother and said

 

Fetch us two forks from the kitchen

And bring us the cheese grater too

And length of coaxial cable

Let’s see just what I can do

 

And that’s how he invented the grataerial

It filled his heart with pride

To you and me… it was just a cheese grater

With two forks sticking out from the side

 

But no…. this was the great grataerial

The solution to all of our woes

One of Dad’s daft inventions

One more of his goofy gizmos

 

He said to our mam… I’ve cracked it this time

I think that I’m onto a winner

But mi mam’s chief concern was the two forks he’d used

She needed ‘em back for our dinner

 

He plugged the grataerial into the telly

And to all our surprises… it worked

Except that the image was doubled

That’s just a ghost... mi dad smirked

 

Then he moved the grataerial through fifteen degrees

To line up with Emley Moor’s Mast

And the pictures converged to one image

Which was clear, and steady, and fast

 

EURIKA… he shouted…. I’ve fixed it

We can now settle down to our viewin’s

And I think I’ll patent mi new invention

This bloody grataerial doins

 

Then we all piled into the room

Seven kids… plus mi dad and mi mam

Sat on the floor, and the chairs, and their arms

Like an M62 traffic jam

 

And therein laid the problem

Because we had all sat too near

And we’d interfered wi’ t’signal

Causing t’ghosts to reappear

 

Sit bloody still… said mi father

Moving t’grataerial back five degrees

Now all stay put… and none of yus move

Mother… stop shekkin’ yur knees

 

Then we sat there like frozen statues

All of us… except for our Nelly

Who started to fidget… cos she needed a wee

But din’t dare… because of the telly

 

Sit bloody still… said mi father

Will you all sit still… for God’s sake

Tha’ll have t’ hold it in till the adverts

Then we can all tek a break

 

Just then… a spark flew out of the fire

And landed on our Trevor’s belly

And he jumped up… because it was burning him

So the ghosts reappeared on the telly

 

Sit bloody still said mi father

It’s just a spark, and tha’s not alight

So there’s no need for you to go hoppin’ about

All of you… sit bloody tight

 

So we sat there… like council workmen

Not moving, not even to fart

Not a twitch, nor a scratch, nor a shudder

As we waited for t’movie t’ start

 

The on/off button on our telly was knackered

And had a matchstick, holding it in

Which chose this very moment

To fly across the room… with a ping

 

The matchstick hit mi father

On the end of his snoz with a thwack

As the on/off button relieved its sen

And the telly-screen turned back to black

 

Don’t worry about that… said mi dad

I’ll fix it…Just gi’ me week

I’ll get mi screwdriver… and stick it down there

And then I’ll just give it a tweak