Some people have rather derided the 044c for it’s plastic handle, completely overlooking it’s cellulose acetate open-form modernity and it‘s actual raison d’etra. Record cited the excessive amount of casting failures with the integral enclosed handle design of the 044, they also stated that with the new design there was now no limit to users hand-size. Whether the devastating outbreak of Sheffield Bigmitt in the mild winter of 1968 clouded their judgement on this, is impossible to say for certain, so many years later. However, the accolades heaped on the 044c by the Design Council can‘t be easily dismissed, someone must have thought it was cutting-edge technology. I wonder if any judge on that council ever adjusted the depth stop; I doubt it.
Putting that plastic expander issue to one side, and the knurled screws that hold everything in place, the rest of it, though quite roughly finished compared to the 044, is robust enough and does do what it was intended to. Should you ever find yourself in need of a French-sized groove you could do a lot worse than consider the 044c. I think someone was going to make a modern version of this plane, but I may be wrong or perhaps it never happened.
Pete-mate did ask me not to tell anyone, presumably he meant Mrs Stimp, he didn‘t mention the internet, about his Sharon-related confession. As if I would. I told him that its as if it had never happened. It did happen though and I have thought about it since in an ambivalent way, on one hand I’m disgusted with what he is doing behind my sister-in-law‘s back, and if pressed I may go as far as to say the swine, the unspeakable swine. On the other hand, he’s just a man, like any other, who is confronted with the rejection of one woman and his feelings for another. I envy Pete-mate his ability to not analyse everything from at least four different angles, it’s so simple for him. As simple as, that Sharon has apparently got one hell of a posterior, in not so many words. He is, as always, just saying what we would all be thinking.
I’ve been researching this whole casual attitude to infidelity thing and have found there’s nothing new in it at all, there is some evidence of it possibly happening several years ago. It comes from the journals of the prolific diarist Sir Thomas Houghton. This, from an entry dated 25 th July 1757.
(The first part of which was indecipherable because, for some reason ,the pages were stuck together on the original manuscript.)
..and as I was overwhelmed by the bestial crescendo I bellowed “God… save… King… Geoooorge” as is my habit, this brought Lady Houghton hastening from her chamber familiar as she is with my customs. Leaving scant time to tuck my old bowed psaltery away before she appeared at the library door. Mrs Harford much flushed as a love-apple through the exertions of her rather boisterous fandango sought the concealment of her kerchief. Lady Houghton was thankfully without suspection of our scrim-jiggling and I was much overcome with relief and sent Mary for pickles giving her 4d.
Lady Houghton and her companion played at cards til eleven, but as Mrs Harford bade us goodnight I was unable, due to my over-zealous worship at the altar of the pickle, to contain the expulsion of a series of thunderous ventings as I ascended the stairs. Both Lady Houghton and Mrs Harford took to giggling like farthingtarts and vigorously fanning of the hall in a much exaggerated manner, my countenance was most dangerously reddened and Doctor Franklyn was summoned forthwith to bleed me.
Andalucían triple meter folk-dance aficionado Sir Thomas Houghton; coarse certainly, yet touchingly sensitive.
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