The chair talks, perhaps disjointedly, often candidly, of achievements, loss, guilt, and guilty pleasures as the craftsman sitting an inviting shoulder away demonstrates his skills.
“May I?” the chair begs.
“I'm not sure if I've picked this idea up from someone else,” the chair admits coyly “or if I invented it myself. What do you think?”
“My wife fell out of bed and I asked a neighbour to help get back her back in but she said we couldn't, she’d broken her hip, so call for an ambulance, and now she's in a care home. Dementia.”
“I put my dog into kennels to be able to get here this weekend. Silly how you miss them, isn't it?”
“Of course I've plenty of room in the house for hobbies: no-one needs the visitors’ room nowadays.”
The chair offers tips, opines disappointingly on the craftsman’s competence, yet always seeks an audience; a listening ear. How many more stories will the chair choose to tell before the craftsman packs for home?
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