Roger Moroney: Locked down and locked up

Handcuffs were fun ... until the key snapped off in the lock. Photo / File

OPINION

Now where was I?

Oh yes, I was in what some term a "situation".

There were uniforms afoot and there was a large red machine parked across the driveway.
It was not a Ferrari, unfortunately.

But allow me to digress briefly before I throw myself at your critical mercy, I've taken a break.

A break brought about by that now tiresome molecular machine called a Corona ... the Virus model.

I decided to quietly walk away from the 35-odd years of journalism and into the world of weeding, painting, worming cats ... whatever.

It is called retirement ... I am a pensioner.

Good heavens.

But one must keep treading the boards so here we go.

And so, what was I doing with a set of handcuffs which I had firmly affixed to the wrists of a young lady?

Gosh, now there's a good question.

It was back in lockdown time.

A time when no more than 10 people were allowed to be put in handcuffs at a private address ... although there were 13 of us there when the fire brigade arrived.

Well ... where do I start?

I will start at the moment the shabby key used to lock and unlock the shabby handcuffs I had found in my late brother's garage (why he had them I've no idea) snapped upon being inserted to undo them.

I had jokingly affixed them to the wrists of my dear 11-year-old granddaughter (who now bears the nickname 'Cuffy') as a laugh.

The other grandkids were about and I said "let's have some fun" and so we handcuffed Cuffy and led her into the living room where older forms reclined and I said something like "she's going to the lock-up for farting loudly in the hall".

Oh, we chuckled, until I put the key in and it snapped off.

Cuffy was ... cuffed.

I did not panic but I became edgy and confused because I had no idea what to do and Cuffy was starting to become slightly distressed.

Who wouldn't be?

Roger Moroney

Your arms are clamped behind your back ... inoperable.

A toilet journey is out of the question ... as is nose-picking.

Thankfully, one of the adultery present (is that the right term?) was my Aussie son-in-law and he was quickly on the phone to the emergency services.

The fire service, as they had better bolt cutters than me and far better dress sense.

"It's going to be okay Cuffy," Dazz said.

"They're on their way."

Now I kind of figured they'd send someone round in a van or whatever but when I wandered out to the gate to hail them in I saw a great big fire engine coming down the road.

The kids thought it was pretty cool ... as did the curious neighbours, who must have wondered what the hell was going on.

"Let's go round the back yeah?" one of the fine crew suggested, noticing there was a youngster handcuffed beside me.

So out came the great clippers and grinder thing with one of the other kids happily stepping in to hold the garden hose for spark-soaking duty.

The best line of the day came from the curious lady firefighter who quietly asked Cuffy "why did the man put handcuffs on you?"

She explained it was all just the usual fun and madness we pursue in this family at times and that granddad sometimes did "silly" things.

The fire crew smiled and nodded.

"We get called to some odd situations at times."

So there it was, and I'll lock the story up for now, but not without taking my hat off to the fine firefighting family.

Superb people.

So yep, now she is 'Cuffy and I am 'clueless and keyless dopey old drongo'.

Hey, I earned it.

* Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist and observer of the slightly off-centre.