The turn of the skew

The Stanley 289, is like a 78, above above, that’s been working out but wanted instant results and succumbed to the whining persuasive voice of a dealer and tried some steroids, but something went wrong, very wrong.
“Look at my leg, look at it, you never said that would happen.”
“Yes mate, I must admit, it does look a bit thin.”
“Thin? Thin? Damn right it’s a bit thin, you’re going to pay for this, come here....”

Dealer sprints off, lifting his knees very high as he runs.

The withered leg of the 289 is the single arm fence, the rest of the plane is great, but just because the fence rod is thicker doesn’t negate the fact that it is singular. I have an ominous feeling that my sister-in-law may be singular soon, it’s just something that Mrs Stimp said on the phone to one of her friends about sister-in-law and a trial separation, I’ve probably got it wrong and she was talking about trying out a new bra.

On so many Saturday evenings Mrs Stimp and a group of her friends gather in the kitchen, while the younger Stimp and I cower in his room (the furthest room from the kitchen) playing X-box games and trying to drown out the shrill, wine-fuelled screams of mirth from below with a selection of his favourite music. This is almost as painful. Although there’s usually only about four of them, from a distance it sounds like the complete coven has arrived, desperation for coffee gets me after an hour or so and I have to prepare myself to run the gauntlet of humiliation.

To make a cup of instant coffee takes about three minutes, and virtually every time that’s a quick group-type unenthusiastic greeting from them all, followed by two minutes and fifty seconds of innuendo and what can only be described as women’s personal things, just as if I wasn‘t standing there willing desperately for the kettle to boil. I don’t think that it’s done for my benefit, they just can’t bring themselves for even a few minutes to have a normal conversation, and would do this regardless of whether I was there or not, which leads me to believe that this sort of thing is all they ever talk about.  

Now and again the forces of female sociability combine to provide a perfect storm where Miss Stimp, fourteen, has some friends to stay for a sleep-over at the same time, then there is very little option but to abandon younger Stimp to his fate and join the villagers at “The Decapitated Stranger” for a drink or two.

There really wasn’t any reason for the 289 to have a withered leg, I know Stanley’s 78 has only one fence arm but plenty of their other planes have two, and not forgetting that WS and Woden followed later by Record all went bi-armal on their versions of the 78. There is just something more reassuring about having two fence arms, especially when you consider the work that a 289 was made for with it’s bulk and a cutter nearly 2” across. It’s not exactly the first thing Elizabeth Siddal would have reached for when putting a rebate on the back of a frame, “Milly babe, this planing has worn me out, I’m going to lie in the bath with me long dress on for a while.“
“Okay darling, I’ll bring my sketch pad”
“Do you have to?”
“Might as well”

Here is the WS, Woden and later Record variations on a theme, note they have a total of six arms between them. Lets not get side-tracked with date issues -like these were all made when the 289 was defunct-the thing is Stanley could have if they’d wanted to.

 

The wooden equivalent to the 289 is possibly called a moving fillester or sometimes a moving filletster or sometimes a moving fillister and sometimes something entirely different, maybe a moving cauliflower, designed to cut a rebate along the edge whether with or across the grain. Note the skewdness of the cutter and the spur, all welcome sights and even some boxing, lovely. One of these has three screws securing the repaired fence; count them ghost of Stanley, not just one arm, but three screws. I’ve never been out with someone with even a broken arm, but if you have and they were quite amorous, feel free to put an anecdote here, in your own mind. Try to crow-bar in the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune if you can.