The Belfast Chimney Sweep Always Knocks Twice!

They say clothes maketh the man, and this bloke negotiating the corner at the top of the street and dandering towards our parked up van certainly had the credentials to fulfil that statement.

How to describe it succinctly would be to say that if said negotiation of the street corner had involved haggling in a Bazaar this gentleman would have ended up paying more than was originally asked for.




And then the reason came into view, the tied bundle of chimney rods and brush carried at an angle so obtuse from his person as not to soil his shiny suit and give anyone normal a permanent affliction and an opportunity to claim DLA.
The Bro glanced up and went back to reading The Daily Mirror and "Andy Capp", but to me this human endeavour portrayed front and slightly right of my view had all the signs of a misadventure in the making.

 

The "Sweep"  halted at a terraced house just yards from us inserted his key and negotiated his parcel through the entrance hall like a source of contamination so thoroughly preoccupied with his impending task as to be oblivious to our presence.
 

Some minutes passed in pleasant fulfilment as we continued to munch on our elevenses when the "Sweep" regaled now in a very clean if not new boiler suit emerged to surreptitiously scan the street before crossing at pace to the house opposite. 
His about turn and heavenwards gaze confirmed what I was seeing, that the chimney brush had yet to emerge from the Pot. Crossing back to his abode the front door closed and further minutes lapsed before the boiler suit parade and inspection was repeated with the same result.

A poke in the ribs is not the best way to get someones attention especially when he's bigger than you, but the "Sweep" had now performed his manoeuvres half a dozen times to no avail and I could sense things coming to fruition so the Bro had to be alerted.

Sure enough the absent Chimney Brush poked its Daisy like head into the morning sky and  continued to grow in length from the Pot.
Its own weight forced it to curve and we watched mesmerised and knowing that Fate had a hand in the outcome.

The fickle fingered brush knocked on the "Sweep's" door and immediately halted inanimately waiting the required response.
Within moments, the front door opened and the swaying brush head greeted our "Sweep" who retreated abruptly followed almost immediately by the brush and rods being pulled back upwards.

I'm certain it gave us a little wave before disappearing forever.

Our "Sweep" friend never reappeared to witness our convulsions, the tears were tripping us!