I seem to be starting my own mini-archive and I’m blaming my father for it. Well perhaps I shouldn’t be using the word blame, I actually love how interested my father gets in things from the past, but the issue is that I seem to take this love to another level and now I seem to be using the archivist skills from one year at my university archive to put together my own personal one.
Do you remember the spoon? No? Well here:
If you give it a click it will take you to the relevant ramble about my childhood obsession with digging. [I thought I was an archaeologist so read that as digging with intent. I wasn’t just digging some random hole, despite what the results may look like these days.]
Anyway, I’ve gone off topic just as I always do, time to get back to the inspiration for this specific post. [Originally I was going to write about St. Swinthun’s Day and things my Grandad says but then I found out that St. Swithun’s is tomorrow… oh well. Blog post topic for tomorrow sorted I suppose. Fudge it, I went off on a tangent again. Meh. You’re used to it I suppose. By the way, have you heard the joke “I wish I was your derivate so I could lie tangent to your curves? … For all the none mathsey people out there, yeah, I don’t really get it either but my sister claims it’s funny and she’s mathsey so it must be… I’ll leave off the maths jokes.]
So for those of you wondering what the rusted hunk of metal in the second photo is, it’s a pocket watch that my father found in a gateway at some point today. We’re assuming that some poor farm worker a while back dropped it and didn’t realise his mistake, but of course that assumption could be completely wrong. It’s not hallmarked, it was full of soil, and most of the mechanism seems to have rusted away. What’s left behind is this:
That’s right readers, I’m doing show and tell because I have no drive to write anything creative at all. N…O…T…H…I…N…G! Hmmm… Do I sound weirder than normal? Ha! When is normal ever applicable in my world. Moving on.
So apart from a few vague assumptions about the watch’s owner we don’t know very much at all. Father claims silver inlay, Mother claims tin, I claim World War Two [once again, refer back to the spoon post], Father thinks older. Any guesses? [If you’re a writer you could even use this as a prompt, just stick in a pingback so I can see what you come up with.]
There is a ‘Made In’ stamp on one piece of what quickly became a “oh crap this is falling apart in my hands, well fudge it all if it wants to let it, where are my soft bristle paintbrushes?” However the end of the location is rusted over. Once again: any guesses?
The most likely reality is that it is a pocket watch with absolutely no worth and a history I will never discover. However that didn’t stop me ordering acid-free tissue paper so that I can pack in away properly and preserve it in order to bring forth on random occasions to people who may or may not have any real interest in what my father found in a field. But that is eccentricity for the future and right now I’m focussing on current eccentricity because that is exhausting enough.
For those of you still reading I hope you take the time to leave me a comment with what and where you think this watch is/came from/was involved with. [Don’t ask about the last one. A pocket watch can be a vital implement within… things.]
Hey, next month I may crack out the musket balls from one of my Grandfather’s field. [They too now live in my room. Shush! I’m not obsessed….
Yet.] Yay random finds! Have a haiku:
Where or where is it?
I swear I had it just now.
I’ll just blame the cow.