My Secret Fetish

The title of this blog entry is purposefully misleading but accurate nonetheless.  The plumbers came this morning to sort out our leaky toilet in the seldom used downstairs bathroom.  It transpired that it wasn’t the toilet at all but a broken pipe leading to the bath.  Some plastic pipes had been used to make a repair at some point in the past (it must be at least twelve years ago because that’s when we bought the second cottage and knocked-through) and they have corroded, or cracked, or whatever plastic does when it deteriorates.

When the plumbers started rooting around through the access panel they discovered a puddle of stagnant water, a lot of rubble and muck and what looks like a bundle of rose stems.  An odd place for somebody to place roses but upon further investigation they also found a very interesting object wrapped up in an old Charles & Diana commemorative dishcloth; a small wooden fetish complete with a detachable spear.

I collect African artifacts so I am no stranger to some of the tribal art that finds its way over here.  This particular piece is about six inches tall and pierced all over with rusty nails.  It seems to be a man; a warrior of some kind.  There is a small bulge on his stomach in to which a small shell has been embedded.  I don’t think it is a fertility symbol, I think it is more likely to be some kind of guardian against evil spirits or a protection fetish.  If any of you know anything about these things please enlighten me further as I would love to know more.

Another weird thing happened today… I discovered two hundred quid in my purse that wasn’t there yesterday!  I wracked my brain in an attempt to recall who might have given the cash to me but there is no immediate explanation.  Geoff didn’t put it there and we haven’t had any other visitors since I last used my purse on Saturday evening.  It is a complete puzzle, albeit a rather pleasant one.  Maybe I will keep finding money in my purse, like a character in a fairy story?  Maybe my bathroom fetish is actually magical and will bring us great prosperity?  Or perhaps the cashpoint machine in Manchester spat out fifty pound notes instead of twenties?  Do cashpoint machines contain fifty pound notes?

My son Jack called me this afternoon to say he has been reading my blog.  I was worried that he might be annoyed with me for mentioning his up-coming civil union, especially as somebody commented that it is just an excuse for ‘poofters to play at being married’.  But Jack seemed unperturbed by the comment and advised me not to fire-back when I get negative input like that.  I wish I was as level-headed as my kids; they seem to have inherited Geoff’s common-sense and none of my hot-headed volatility.