I’ve noticed that people are doing strange things in their garages.
Not that I’m spying. Or perving. Just observing from a respectful distance.
It seems there’s been a shift in where we do things. Maybe homes have become too small. Cars are being left outside to make better use of space.
A bunch of lads down the road seem to be having fun whenever I drive past. Sometimes singing. Usually with a guitar. They laugh lots. Such is the Islander way.
Head up a few streets, and you’ll find a double garage that’s become a makeshift dance studio. Lots of girls dressed in national uniform. A mini Bollywood in suburbia.
Smiling parents line the walls. It’s never too noisy. Just enough for the dancers to hear the beat.
There’s another gang not far away. This gathering is a boys-only affair. They drive souped-up cars, which usually sit on surrounding front lawns.
Inside, there’s lots of fun stuff. A giant pool table, and a dart board, and other Big Boys Toys.
I noticed their collection one evening, heading home after some generous hospitality from my local publican. Admittedly, I was a little confused, but I swear there was a decent card game going on.
It was duly noted, that I didn’t receive an invitation.
Sadly, there is no such frivolity going on in my garage. No happy tunes, or toe-tapping, or sporting contests. Because the Garage Full sign is up.
Yes, it’s a double garage, but there’s only room for one vehicle. Just. Officially, I’m advised that it has become an Additional Storage Area.
I’m sure there’s a conveyor belt somewhere in the house, silently shifting mountains of stuff that, like a father’s favourite song, can be out of style within minutes.
Think I’m exaggerating? How’s this for a list of useless crap, that remains on a Protected Items list..
Doll house. Hula hoop. Santa poles. Unfashionable CD stacker. Faulty cat carrier. Broken table. Rug with small but definite dog wee stain. Hose with holes. Suitcase with no handle. Oh, and about 100 plastic bags of unwanted and unnecessary paperwork.
Fancy having all that rubbish, sharing the same space as my priceless bag of surf club medals from the Seventies, and those very important coaching notes I’ve kept since our premiership days.
As you can see, there’s a definite mix of highly significant memorabilia, and utter garbage. All on the one floor.
There’s been talk of a garage sale. I’ll believe it when I see it. The women of the house just hate to let anything go.
If you’re heading out our way, with a song in your heart or a dance that won’t wait, don’t come to our garage. There’s simply no room. You’ll be looked after up the road.
Keep an eye out for cool garage parties in your own neighborhood. You might be surprised what the locals are getting up to. And if you happen to find a card game, see if you can get me an invite.