Patterns

As an eighteen year old, Johnny was given the sack from his job as a farm labourer in Bridlington. Why?  Because apart from his catastrophic release of hundreds of chickens into the countryside, the farmer was further exasperated by Johnny's artistic approach to ploughing furrows. No doubt the ensuing patterns were interesting and perhaps even beautiful, but definitely not practical or economic.

This fascination with pattern would appear to be genetic, because younger brother Phil did not impress the Dowager Lady Ingleby either, with his creative use of the lawnmower, when he was handyman at Ripley Castle (for a brief period) in the seventies.  She preferred the traditional checker board look.

Patterns cropped up by chance, when I showed Johnny the result of my recent encounter with a Molotov cigarette lighter.  Result?  Eyelashes resembling a geriatric nail brush and blistered eyelid - ouch!  'I did that once,' said Johnny. 'It was in the days of matches - I liked to strike a match and make a pattern on the striking board.'  (Well one does, doesn't one?)

He continued, 'I had lines on the board, but needed to make a spot.  I did this by twirling the match head against the board and it would burn a dark spot.  On this occasion, I twirled away, the end became incandescent, exploded and embedded itself in my cheek!'

Which it would, wouldn't it?