My Grandfather Bert was a collector. He had a thing for the works of man. No matter what it was if someone had bothered to create it and construct it Bert felt obliged to not only recognise it but also honour it in the way he saw fit.
This was usually in the form of mounting whatever it was and placing it in his front yard to show his neighbours.
We called his place the home for lost things. So much of the stuff he had standing around looking important was beyond description in terms of understanding what it actually was.
But Bert never let use stand in the way of his tribute. When asked what it might be used for he’d say: ‘It’s a wigwam for a goose’s bridle.’ And that would be it, no other explanation required. Everyone would nod and go about their business wondering what craziness they’d see the next week.