Back on the chainsaw gang

Like a knife through butter . . .

After The Boss’s early experiences, the subject of chainsaws was not raised again until he happened to spot someone on a TV programme, using one in the Brazilian rainforest. Alarmingly, trees were falling like skittles. For a change, the BBC had helpfully managed not to conceal the brand name of the chainsaw and I saw The Boss surreptitiously make a note of it. Well, he replied, when I bravely mentioned the ‘c’ word, if such a chainsaw could tackle trees like that, it wouldn’t flinch at mere almond and wild olive, would it?

Our trusty friend Google found us the details of the company’s sales agent on Mallorca and we set off for the island’s largest and most confusing industrial estate, clutching our battered map of Palma.

Frankly, it wasn’t really my kind of retail outlet, but The Boss was in his element as he headed for the chainsaw section. I, meanwhile, was mesmerised by a large wooden bear which stood in a corner of the store: it had been fashioned from a tree trunk using only a chainsaw. Now that was impressive. I began to imagine our field, full of interesting wood sculptures . . .

Who needs GQ?

Meanwhile, The Boss had narrowed down his search, with the help of a young man who looked as though he’d never wielded a chainsaw in his life. In spite of that, he knew his stuff and recognised his potential customer as someone who likes to mull over any purchase decisions. We came home, not with a chainsaw, but the manufacturer’s catalogue of products. What man needs a subscription to GQ magazine, with one of these tomes to hand?

The Boss spent several happy evenings browsing through the 234 pages, marvelling at what was available. Quite a lot of the stuff seemed to have little to do with sawing down trees or carving your own Barney the Bear. Anyone for a Stihl-branded  mug, keyring, model truck, football, picnic rug, or trendy sunglasses?  There was even a kiddie-sized toy version, for the boy – or girl, let’s not be sexist – who wants to look like Daddy.

What really matters is that the chainsaw he came home from Palma with a few days later has, so far, worked like a dream, starting first time every time (I hope I haven’t jinxed that now!). Anytime now, I’m sure he’ll be carving me that life-sized donkey for the field . . .

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