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frying-pan that catches fire, that nail you stepped on that went right
through your foot, that hammer you smashed your thumb with.’
    ‘That
was your hammer,’ said Norman. ‘I’ve been meaning to give it back.’
    ‘What
about the Second World War?’ asked Uncle Brian. ‘All those lovely cast-iron
railings, melted down and made into tanks. And after the war, what industry uses
more recycled metal than any other?’
    ‘The
motor industry?’ said Norman.
    ‘The
motor industry. And what have we got now?’
    Norman
shrugged. ‘Motor cars?’
    ‘Road
rage!’ cried my uncle, with triumph in his voice. ‘Cars
smashing into each other and people going off their nuts. The metal’s to blame.
The contaminated metal. I’ll bet that if you traced back the history of any
single car, at some time a bit of it was part of a weapon. Or something
similar. And why is it that your watch only runs slow when you’ve got an
important appointment?’
    ‘Because
I forgot to wind it, I think.’
    ‘You
think, but you don’t know. When I said that the metal became contaminated, that
is exactly what I meant. I am convinced that bad luck is a virus. You
can catch it.’
    ‘I
thought you said it was frequencies and resonances.
    ‘I was
just warming you up. It’s a virus, that’s what it is.’
    ‘And
you catch it off metal?’
    ‘Off
contaminated metal, yes. Let’s take gold, for instance. Not much gold has ever
been used for making weapons. It’s mostly been used for jewellery. And
jewellery makes people happy. Gold is associated with prosperity and good luck.’
    ‘It’s
certainly considered good luck to own lots of gold.’
    ‘There
you are then.’
    Norman
made a thoughtful, if poorly illuminated face. ‘So what exactly are you
doing, cowering in the dark here, Brian?’
    ‘I’m not cowering. I am conducting a scientific experiment. And when I have
conducted it and proved it conclusively, I have no doubt that I will be awarded
the Nobel prize, for my services to mankind.’
    ‘I see,’
said Norman, who didn’t.
    ‘You
don’t,’ said my uncle, who did.
    ‘All
right, I don’t.’
    ‘Consider
this,’ Uncle Brian gestured all-encompassingly, though Norman didn’t see him, ‘as
an isolation ward, or a convalescence room. I am ridding myself of the bad luck
virus by avoiding all contact with metal. Here in my DMZ I wear nothing
that has ever come into contact with metal and I eat only hand-picked
vegetables from my allotment which I eat raw.
    ‘Why
only vegetables?’
    ‘Because
cattle and chickens are slaughtered with metal instruments, you can imagine the
intense contamination of those.’
    ‘Yeah,’
said Norman. ‘I can. But why raw veggies?’
    ‘Well,
I could hardly cook them in a metal saucepan, could I?’
    ‘I
suppose not.’
    ‘And
anyway I couldn’t spare the rain water.’
    ‘Rain
water?’
    ‘That’s
all that I drink or wash with. Tap water comes out of metal pipes.’
    ‘And
metal taps.’
    ‘And
metal taps, right. I’ve fashioned a crude wooden bowl that catches rain water.
But it hasn’t rained much lately, so I’m a bit thirsty.’
    ‘And
smelly,’ said Norman. ‘No offence meant, once again.’
    ‘None
taken, once again. But it will all be worth it. I am crossing new frontiers of
science. Imagine the human potential of a man who acts under his own volition,
utterly unaffected by either good luck or bad.’
    ‘But
surely such a man would have no luck at all, which would be the same as having
only bad luck.’
    ‘To the
unscientific mind all things are unscientific,’ said my uncle. ‘Now bugger off,
Norman, I’ve much that needs doing.’
    And
Norman buggered off once more.
     
    The laws of nature
    Norman pondered greatly
over what my uncle had said. Certainly the digestion of metal had never brought
much luck to the Crombie clan. Norman wondered whether he should give up his
own hobby, that of sword swallowing, or at least restrict himself to bicycle
pumps for a while.