Strangely, that door-handle reminds me of my father!
For a skilled workman (a machine-tool fitter), I rarely met a man who was more useless at practical things. I slept in the attic as a kid, and underneath the stairs was a closet, which was used as both a wardrobe and store cupboard. The door knob was similar to that one, though a little plainer, and one of the ends was missing, which caused the handle to come off in your hand. My parents had lived there a couple of years when I was born, and throughout my entire childhood, my mother would tell me that my father intended to fix the closet door. He worked in a large factory, so it would have been easy enough for him to pick up a nut to fit on the back, and there were two hardware stores across the road from our house. Heck, a lazy person could have fixed it with an elastic band! As I grew older, I would offer to fix it, but my mother would always tell me it was my dad's job. Even when I started work myself, the offer was declined. They sold the house 40 years later, and he never did fix the knob on the closet door
