One of my particular friends who visited me to celebrate my impending eld on Saturday rather took to Donna-Da-Lodger's dog.
Stoney (The Dog, not the Friend) is a delightful mastiff. An amiable, if somewhat odorous brute - who is totally hand tame, but has a taste for soft furnishings and is bright enough to remove most obstacles placed on the sofa - thereby allowing him forbidden luxuriation.
As with most large dogs, they tend to have a weak spot - and Stoney's is his ears. He is a sucker for having his ears rubbed. He will snuffle, snort and generally drool on one for a rub of his large velvet ears.
Friend was playing with said ears, when he was seized by a motivated to clean them. They needed doing, and he also felt motivated to comment on their state whilst he and dog frolicked on the quarter deck.
'I'm most concerned for his ears', he said with a worried look.
'Indeed.' I responded, pouring the chilled Sancerre into a large glass which I had inspected for spots, dead insects and other detritus one expects from taking supper Alfresco.
'There is so much wax- seems such a waste of resources - is there any use we can put it to?' He asked.
I pondered the prodigious wax-like effusions and it stuck me.
'We could make particularly disgusting scented candles.'
I have since pondered what to do with a dog-ear scented candle. Other than for the purpose of attracting blue-bottles, I can think of no other practical application.
The only purpose of attracting blue-bottles could be a morbid desire to experiment with maggots - betraying yourself to be desperately unpleasant - or have a liking to catching Tench. Neither pastime of which is suitable for a gentleman of style and panache. (Barbel - maybe, but Tench, never.)
I shall add them to my useless inventions list. I may return to that theme at other points. In my various conversations with my chap-orientated chums, one often dreams up such odd juxtapositions which makes one smile to oneself on the train - and it is high time I recorded them for posterity.