Copper or Wool?

Wedding Anniversary Number 7 is fast approaching and, as usual, I am on the look-out for a gift for Andy that links to the appropriate symbolic representation.

In desperation, I consult Mrs Pumphrey.

'Well, 'she says, 'the seventh wedding anniversary is either copper or wool.'
'Or aubergine,' says Mrs Slocombe, who has the hearing skills of a radar.
'Aubergine?' I say. 'Are you sure?'
'Absolutely,' says Mrs Slocombe. 'There's a rhyme...

Seven years wed,
Copper can be cool,
And not as hot as
The other option wool.
But if you want to be
Top of the scene,
Then seven's celebrated best
With a big fat aubergine.'

'You do talk a load of rubbish,' snorts Mrs Pumphrey.
'It's true!' says Mrs Slocombe. 'You ask my Granny. She'll tell you.'
'Is this the Granny with the hereditary insanity genes?' I say.
'Possibly,' says Mrs Slocombe. 'She did wear some pretty flamboyant trousers sometimes.'

'So, 'says Mrs Pumphrey, 'back to copper and wool.'
'Brillo pad!' says Mrs Slocombe. 'You could combine both ideas in one - cheap and practical. Add an aubergine and I think you can safely say no-one in the world has given their husband such an unusual anniversary gift.'
'Do you think?' I say.
'Or,' says Mrs Slocombe, 'you could present him with a pair of golden fleas!'
'A golden fleece,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'And there was only one of it. Not a pair.'
'You're right,' says Mrs Slocombe. 'Something to do with Jason the Astronaut, wasn't it? Bought it from Argos?'
'If you like,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Ooooh, look! What's that? Is it a magic butterfly?' and she points her wing towards the far end of the garden.
'Where? Where?' shouts Mrs Slocombe, and goes chasing off in pursuit of the magic butterfly because, yes, she is that gullible.

'Thank goodness,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Now we can get down to some proper thinking. How about a sheep?'
'Where am I am going to keep a sheep?' I say, looking around our crammed to capacity back garden.
'Good point,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'What about a copper kettle? Or some Duracell batteries? With the copper-coloured tops?'
'I'm not being inspired,' I say.
'Scarf?' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Jumper? Tank top? Blanket? Throw? Socks? Knitted tea cosy? Knitted egg cosy?'
'Nope, nope, nope and nope,' I say.
'Knitted bobble hat?'
'Knitted nothing,' I say firmly.

'There are no magic butterflies at the bottom of the garden,' says Mrs Slocombe, returning from her temporary diversion looking a little cross. 'How about some copper piping? I can get some cheap for you, if you know what I mean?' and she taps the side of her beak.

I am beginning to lose hope. I sidle away as the hens start an argument about whether they could contruct a full-sized knitted police officer within a month.

I think that I am going to have to be far more cunning than a chicken to come up with something original for this anniversary.