- by Owen Morton
All right. I was sitting here at the computer, wondering what I should write about for this evening�s website article, and I was thinking about successful articles in the past. I don�t actually know how I can define a successful article - it�s certainly not in terms of how much money they make, since I make nothing off this website (I�m doing it for free, for you, so be grateful), so it�s probably more in terms of how little time it wastes. Therefore, I suppose by those standards, a successful article would be the one that takes the least time to write.
Anyway, I�m not entirely sure how relevant this little discussion is, considering the fact that one of the few things I don�t have statistics about is how long it took me to write various articles, so I can�t really tell how successful any articles are, by those standards, anyway. What I�m trying to say is that for some reason - when thinking about past successful articles - I thought of that article I wrote nearly three years ago about Sylvanian Families. I vaguely recalled that I started that article by stating that I didn�t have any particular axe to grind about the subject.
And this - as some of you will probably have guessed by the rather vibrantly coloured title up there - has led me to write an article about grinding axes. I was thinking how strange an expression it is. I�d wager that more than fifty percent of the people who use the expression �grinding an axe� don�t actually have any idea what it means. I certainly don�t. I suppose if I thought about it, I�d theorise that it�s got something to do with making an axe sharp by grinding it, though why that should be related in any way to harping on at someone about something, I really don�t know.
Unfortunately, I�ve now got little else to write about grinding axes, which would probably - if I were to stop here - make this one of the shortest articles ever to grace this website. Sadly for you poor fools who are stuck reading this, I�m not going to do that. I�m going to tell you a little story about an axe which is not in any way true, but I�m pretending it is, because it makes me seem dead hard.
Last week, I was walking down the street in Nottingham, the fair city in which I am currently residing, when I suddenly noticed a shop which I�d never seen before. It was on St James Street, next to that well nice fish and chips shop (note to Trev: is this advertising good enough to earn my promised �5m?), and it�s called The Great Big Axe Shop. (Note from Trev: no, it is not. Try harder.)
So I went into The Great Big Axe Shop, conveniently located next to that delightful establishment, the well nice fish and chips shop (note to Trev: how�s that?), thinking how useful it was that The Great Big Axe Shop was next to the well nice fish and chips shop, so I could look at axes till my heart was content, then go and have some well nice fish and chips without having to go any distance at all! (Note from Trev: getting better! Keep this up and you�ll have that �4m in no time!)
I have to confess to the fact that I had some curiosity as to whether The Great Big Axe Shop was a place that sold great big axes, or was a great big shop selling normal sized axes. (Note to Trev: I thought we said �5m.) It is one of those rather curious statements that can be interpreted in more than one way, you see. I suppose another meaning could be that it�s a really, really good axe shop, though in all fairness that possibility didn�t actually occur to me at the time. (Note from Trev: no, we definitely said �3m.)
So in I went to The Great Big Axe Shop and I found a really big axe, suggesting to me that the preferred interpretation of the shop�s name was in fact that it was a shop that sold really big axes. (Note to Trev: I am convinced we said �5m. Check your records again, please.) The axe was so big it was actually too heavy for me to pick up, though NOT because I�m a weakling or anything - I�m definitely not that, it�s just that the axe was really, really big and heavy. (Note from Trev: I�ve checked, and discovered that we actually said �2m.)
Well, I�ve always been fairly partial to axes. Call me strange if you like, but I just suddenly realised right there and then that I simply HAD to have this axe. It was as simple as that. (Note to Trev: you are a filthy rotten stinking lying cheating ratbag, and I would like to abandon this advertising contract, please.) I bent down and tried with all my might to lift the axe, but I couldn�t. I just couldn�t! I simply couldn�t lift it, and I didn�t understand why not. (Note from Trev: no, please, I need that advertising. Tell you what, I�ll double the money I promised you. I�ll pay you �1m for it. Okay?)
Then, a sales assistant wandered by, and informed me that the axe I was trying to lift was made of stone, and had only been intended for display purposes. (Note to Trev: no, that is not okay. Get stuffed.) He showed me to where the real axes were. It took about sixteen hours to get there, and I realised that the second interpretation of the shop�s name - that it was a very big shop selling axes - was true after all. (Note from Trev: fine. Leave. Just like all the others did. You�ll regret it. Just like the others did�)
Finally, however, the sales assistant brought me to a display cabinet, with a magnificent golden, jewel-encrusted axe inside it. He told me that it was the axe that King Wayne the Profane had used to cut out his brain, and quoted me a mere �42m for it. (Note to Trev: I don�t respond well to threats. Get out of my life and stay out. I don�t like you.) Well, naturally, I was transfixed. Such a beautiful specimen of axery, and at such a low price! I had to have the axe, but I didn�t have the cash on me. (Note from Trev: well, I don�t like you either. You�re a horrible person and I fully intend to kill you.)
I explained the situation to the sales assistant, and he was very nice and understanding, and he told me I could have the axe now, so long as I absolutely promised to come back later and pay for it. (Note to Trev: get lost, you silly little man. I�ve seen albatrosses that look more dangerous than you.) Well, of course, I promised, and the sales assistant gave me the axe. I was very pleased with it, and I went straight round to the well nice fish and chips shop next door, and I used the axe to kill the owner, because he was wilfully and persistently annoying. (Note from Trev: aaaaaarrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!)
And that is the end of my story. After that, I put the axe on the ground. Thus I had ground my axe.