Brother the Younger and I are going into business together. We are going to set up The Great Mangle Tour of Britain.
Mangle enthusiasts (and who doesn't love a mangle?) can travel the country, mangle to mangle. Simple as that. Why hadn't we thought of it before? How has it not been done before?
Coach trips will run throughout the tourist season, taking in Beamish, Kirkhaarle (where there is a beautiful specimen within a cosy cafe), Robert Burns' House (which has the added charm of chattering old ladies, eager to inform), and the piece de resistance of Arran Heritage Museum.
I would be most grateful for suggestions of any other mangle-centred locations, especially in the south, as this is a decidedly northern-based venture at present.
As a sideline to this business, I am going to produce souvenirs. Based on mangles. Obviously. Tea towels, fridge magnets and mugs will bear such legends as 'You can wring my bedsheets anytime' and 'Can you handle my mangle?'. These will be targeted towards those mangle-loving dirty weekenders, of which, I am reliably informed, there is a rather large market.
I may also manufacture some mini working models of mangles. Pocket-sized so that you are never caught short without a mangle. They will come in multiple colours, and will surely appeal to the young manglophile, those still new to the growing national obsession and who will be receptive to the dinky dynamism of these nifty collectables.
Me and Brother the Younger will split the profit 70/30.
Is it just me or is the word mangle beginning to lose all sense and meaning...?