The Phone Rings...

I received one of those disturbing phone calls this afternoon. You know the sort that start with an unexpected question.

ring ring

Marcus Holt, hello

Dad, where's the key thingy for the drill? (It was The Heir, who returned home yesterday from a couple of months of relly-bashing around the eastern states).

aaarr, what are you doing? (Caught off guard, thinking quickly!)

Drilling holes. (Slightly sarcastic tone, as in, what do you think I'm doing?)

What for? (Getting nervous but trying not to be critical)

I'm putting shelves in my wardrobe (Of course, why didn't I think of that?)

Oh

So do you know where the key is?

No, but I'll be home soon, we can look for it then. (When in doubt, stall)

Quickly pack up and race home before eldest son finds key and gets trigger happy.

Arrive home to discover he has bought timber and shelving already and has a plan. The plan is actually not unreasonable. I blame his Uncle Rex. Clearly over the last couple of weeks he's encouraged The Heir to play with power tools, shoot guns, drive trucks and engage in other manly pursuits. Now The Heir thinks he can do anything! Just enough knowledge to be dangerous!

However, as I said, the plan is not unreasonable so relaxing slightly I commence looking for the lost item which I explain to him is called a chuck key.

Ten minutes of fruitless searching later I pick up the drill and point out the chuck key attached by a rubber thingy!

Why didn't you look here?

Why didn't you? (Hmmm, I'm on dangerous ground here. When in doubt, bluff)

I thought you would have already looked in the most obvious place.

Quickly changing the subject I point out that he requires a masonry bit, not the timber bit he is about to load, although, I suggest to him we drill the timber supports first so that we can more easily position them when drilling into the brickwork.

Ready to go..... the drill won't start. Try a different cord. No good, A third cord, still no go. Looks like my ancient drill, an orange black and decker given to me by my stepfather about twenty years ago has finally bitten the dust. The battery on the cordless drill is flat, and it's not really up to the task anyway.

You can get a pretty cheap drill at Bunnings I suggest, and they're open till 7. (He's keen, he's already bought the materials, may as well encourage him and strike while the iron is hot)

I've already been there twice today. (Ah, the mysterious magnetic attraction of the giant hardware store has begun to weave it's magic upon my eldest son. There's hope for him yet.)

We find a suitable drill with an impressive range of features and an even more impressive price tag and deciding to go halves we head for the checkout.

Suitably armed we begin drilling holes. It has to be said that there is a great deal of fun to be had with power tools. Drilling and cutting and doing blokey stuff with power tools, yeah!

We employ a tape measure, a spirit level, a carpenter's pencil-you know the flat ones-rawl plugs, a hammer and a phillips head screw driver and over the next 45 minutes successfully install three shelves in The Heir's wardrobe. We work well as a team. We share the drilling duties although I let him do most of the screwing in of screws. About half way through the task he casually comments:

It's a bit bigger job than I thought.

But, a job well done, as the pictures attest.

Thanks Dad. No worries mate.

To further cement the father-son bond feel of the evening we go out to the movies later.