The Grandad Offload

I love my grandad to bits. He doesn’t make it easy – he’s stubborn, fixated on the past, and tells the same stories over and over. But still, he’s always been there for me, and I will do the same for him. My gran passed away two years ago, and in that time, he’s started going though all the stuff in his house and tried to downsize things a bit. The main things he has tried to give away are photographs. He’s given me hundreds of old photographs, and the best ones are framed and up on the wall. Other pics are just random pics, of relatives I’ve never met or long-forgotten. A particular fave of mine is a black and white picture of four people in a shop, with a helpful handwritten note on the back usefully proclaiming “All these people are deceased”. Future historians will appreciate that one.

But that’s not the point of this post. No, this is about some of the other esoteric crap he’s foisted off on me, that I foolishly accept because it’s just easier than trying to reject them (which my father and brothers seem to manage easily enough). So let’s look at some of the recent pickings.


Or as I like to call it, the masochist’s teething ring.

I mean, what even…

You hold this thing like a knuckle duster, then roughly roll this back and forth over any sore muscles or something and it’ll help soothe them. Apparently. My grandad gave it me because he thought it would help the stiffness in my hands, which is actually caused by dry skin. It’s also manky as hell and the roller defies cleaning.


This is terrifying.

I’m never going to even attempt this.

You ever wanted to comb your hair, and cut it at the same time? Well this is the medieval torture implement for you! Frankly I don’t trust this gadget one bit, and I’m not shucking it through my luscious locks, I can tell you.

This looks like a recipe for pain, to be honest.


Time to tackle allergies by shoving cheap red Light Emitting Diodes up your nostrils.

Absolutely perfect for long bus journeys.

Like, Lloyd’s Pharmacy is a fairly big and reputable company, but I don’t buy this for a second. I presume it works not because of the light, but because with your nose blocked the allergens can’t get up there.

The lights look pretty, I guess.
In action. No allergies here!


I’m not going to put on the red light.

Proper Star Trek shit now.

The photon stimulator is the very impressive sounding name for what appears to be a red light bulb on a white handle.

Definitely a red light bulb.

The packaging of this particular bit of tat is the best part of it. It’s got that delightful janky English translation feel to it, with fractured grammar amongst its multifarious options… Still, all the marketing bumpf doesn’t convince it’ll do much good.

So that’s a snapshot of some grandad-supplied tat. If anyone wants any of it drop me a line quickly, or it’ll be dumped faster than a Dicaprio girlfriend hitting their twenties.

3 thoughts on “The Grandad Offload

  1. Lloydspharmacy, one word.

    Enjoyed reading this, I’m helping my grandparents move soon and they’re refusing to get rid of anything, although I’ve very recently convinced my grandad to let me take a footstool with a missing leg to oxfam. Unfortunately, on the way it ended up in the local rubbish tip.


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