Blog 54 o… “May the Force…”

The ‘Hubby’ is very laid back when it comes to some things; like for example a broken fence doesn’t need repairing straight away it’s not bothering anyone, a leaking tap needs to drip,drip for at least two years before it’s an emergency despite the water meter, a broken cupboard door can be propped up with a stick, a draughty window can be sealed temporarily [4 years so far…]with masking tape and a missing cupboard handle doesn’t pose a problem as you can pull the cupboard door open with your toes…I could go on but I think you get the picture. The boys have inherited this gene also from their father…a P.E. kit only needs packing 5 minutes before setting off for school, a trip permission slip only needs to be signed when detention for not returning it is looming and the toys on the floor only need putting away when you can no longer see the floor.

The 3 men in my life have no sense of urgency in their life and least of all when it comes to me…

They have long stopped running to my assistance when they hear a scream, a thud, bang or crash. They are used to me falling down the stairs, slipping off a ladder and hanging onto the light fitting [seriously it did happen I was trying to change a bulb and as I lent forwards the ladder went in another direction leaving me perched precariously on the top step as the ladder fell against the wall…my only option was to hold onto the light fitting despite the flecks of plaster falling…shouting for help…]They no longer respond to cries of; “Quick get a glass it’s a massive spider,” or “Help me there’s a wasp in the shower curtain,” [that was intended for the ‘Hubby’ not the children…I did maintain some dignity !]

The three of them do not even flinch when I ask for help whilst doing the ant dance…hopping on one foot to stamp them out; unsuccessfully! There is no rush to free me from the tangle that was once the clean washing as it trips me and traps me and sends me flying into the bushes.

They know eventually I will sort myself out.

So it came as no surprise when one sunny evening I needed their help…don’t get me wrong they heard me they just thought ‘mother has found another spider’ and they would help me during the adverts on the T.V…

I had been sitting in the conservatory trying to read for as long as I could without getting up to put the light on…it’s a problem these days as it takes so long to get comfortable that once I am, I am reluctant to move for a while! It had been a gloriously hot day and all the windows were thrown wide open to let what little breath of air there was to circulate through the house. It became too dark to read and the rest of the house was in darkness except for the light from the movie the 3 ‘males’ were watching in the family room. I decided to go upstairs and get ready for bed. As I approached the second landing I had a sense of being watched; that I was not alone. I froze at the thought that there was someone standing on the top landing in the dark…everyone else was downstairs, I knew I was being stupid…then in the darkness I saw 2 bright eyes staring at me almost face to face. A sudden movement, my scream and the eyes disappeared.

Yes I did scream and no there was no immediate response to my distress call…like all heroines in a scary movie I followed the moving shadow into the dark room without putting the lights on…and there I was confronted by the biggest, blackest, angry cat you had ever seen. It just hissed and bared its teeth ignoring me as I hissed back and bared my teeth!

“Get out!” I screamed at it…not sure if it understood those words at all…but it had got in so it must be able to leave the same way.

The windows in ‘Cutie-pie’s’ bedroom were wide open and the cat must have jumped onto the garage roof and climbed up and hey presto he was in! He just sat there curled up on the window sill daring me to come forward…daring me to defend my ‘Cutie-pie’s’ bedroom from this intrusion.

I screeched, I hissed, I almost barked at it but it was challenging me…right matey you’re on…I looked around the room…what the hell was I looking for? Something to wave at it and help it safely through the window and on its way. Grappling around in the dark my hand landed on the ‘Cutie-pie’s’ light-sabre. As I grabbed it and flicked it towards the cat the light sabre pinged into action…it made a swooshing, vibrating noise and then it lit up.

The fat cat sat up on its hunches and spat at me. He was no match for my 'Luke Sky Walker' moves as I swayed from side to side menacingly…hang on he was…he was 'Darth Vader' re-incarnate…I swooshed the light-sabre from a safe distance and he pounced onto the bed waving his front paws as if to grab the light from me. Vroom Vroom the light-sabre swished in the air and the light changed from red to green.

The fat cat sat on the bed and stared, his eyes glowing in the dark.

Calmly he jumped back onto the window sill…I lunged forward to threaten him…

“Get out!” I bellowed.

With a swish of his tail and a flick of his paw he jumped onto the garage roof and his head popped back up through the window…he watched as I did a little dance swaying the light-sabre from side to side and shouted the theme tune to ‘Star Wars’ as I jumped forward to shut the window with a parting shot of “Friggin cat…take that!” and with another zoom zoom I grabbed the handle only to see two startled neighbours out on a peaceful summer’s night stroll looking up at me…er no not at me; but beckoning “Blackie” to be careful…to get away from that woman… to come down off the roof before he falls...

I stood in the darkness, I clicked the light-sabre shut and turned victorious to see three heads and 3 pairs of eyes glistening in the dark…

“Good God what has been going on?...” asked the 'Hubby'.

“You see dad I said it wasn’t a spider…” replied the 'Intelligent-one'.

“Hey dad…’The Force is strong with this one’…”

Thank you ‘Cutie-pie’, the best compliment a son can pay his mother…

Footnote…no animals were harmed during this episode.

Blog 54 p… coming soon…next Wednesday

Copyright © GML 2012

Blog 54n...P.S.

Blog 54n...P.S....

Well I chickened out and didn't  go to the police station...instead I emailed our local community bobby so that I'd have time to get organised here in case I was held for questioning! I also emailed the local councillor and explained what happened and what I saw... both emails were replied to with similar statements; putting my mind to rest...

apparently the organisation that owns the land where the statues had been are in the process of planning to do some extensive road works and the statues were in the way...so for their safety they had been removed but paperwork and the usual bureaucracy had caused a delay in the information getting to the council. Of course someone reported it to the newspaper before the information had filtered through!

I am soooo relieved; although I have to say it did all look pretty shifty to me...so watch this space I'll keep you informed as and when [or if] the Vikings return.

[A little of my trust is restored!]

Have a wonderful day wherever you are...catch the next blog tomorrow.

Blog 54n...The Missing Statues

Blog 54n...The Missing Statues...

My mother brought us up to always be honest no matter how hard it was. She always told us we could trust some people some of the time but not all of the people all of the time. She was right to try and instill these values in us and I do try to instill as many values as I can into the ‘Intelligent-one’ and the ‘Cutey-pie’ in preparation for the big world. But sometimes I wonder what kind of people there are walking side by side of us along the way…

I once knew a young female Vicar who was brilliant in every sense of the matter and the way she talked to young people and old sometimes took my breath away and made me think long and hard about life. She once said something quite profound but also what I thought was strange for a Vicar:

“Look in the mirror…you see the face staring back at you? That’s the only face you can trust. Everyone else can let you down.”

It made me worry that if I couldn’t trust myself then who could I trust?

In teaching I worked as hard as I could and if there was a chance of promotion I steeled myself ready and took the plunge. Time and time again I trusted management when they said things like;

“You’re in line this time round, trust me I’ll put a good word in for you;”

 or; “The interview is only a formality you’ll get the job...

 ...Trust me, produce this scheme of work… take the football practice…volunteer to do the Dance Festival...join the Parent Teacher Association... job’s as good as yours.”

Fool that I am I followed what I thought was sound advice, I did what I thought was expected of me and trusted that someone would see that I was capable of doing the job I applied for.

When I was told that it was a close shave, that the panel really liked me but the successful candidate was younger, more competent with today’s systems, confident with computing…blah blah blah…I realised that perhaps the only person I could trust to get me the promotion was me!

When my first ever true boyfriend told me that he loved me I trusted him to always be there for me…well he was, but he was also there for half a dozen others as well and when a Taekwondo partner [er yes I did do that sport…and I did get the green belt!!] told me to close my eyes and trust him he’d catch me I did…and of course I fell flat on my back because he had whipped the legs from under me and forgot to catch me! [I’ve since forgiven him as I was in love with him and eventually married him…yes my ‘Hubby’ is a black belt in Taekwondo!]

I have always been as honest as my mother would expect me to be and except for the occasional little lie for the benefit of someone’s happiness, this has been the case for the best part of 40 or so years!

It took me a long time to discover that telling the truth when a friend asks if she suits the colour of a dress or make up is not what they wanted to hear: eventually after losing many friends whilst growing up I began to learn how to smile and say something stupid like; “What a difference that shade makes.” Or agree that indeed their new boyfriend was trendy or better looking than the last one. Sometimes being honest meant being quiet or extremely tactful in the hope that they didn’t really want my opinion anyway.

I also learnt that in teaching telling 100% truth to a distraught parent that their child is an absolute nightmare is of no benefit to anyone…least of all to the child who would be punished for their behaviour; so I developed a different way of telling the truth; less brutal and more constructive: giving parents hope and the pupil a chance!

But is all this honesty and being trusting a good thing or plain stupid?

Read on and decide for yourself…

I live in a community that is slowly being surrounded by developments in the name of progress and quite often you can leave the house one day and have beautiful trees wafting in the wind and return at night to have just the bark pieces wafting in your face. For the most part when we are informed of plans that would have a detrimental effect on our community and lives we get the opportunity to disagree. But just lately without any warning several standard sized trees and bushes had been cut away, despite the fact that they had originally been planted to protect us from the noise and the pollution of the local motorway slip road [which was built after the houses]

Over a period of days these trees disappeared and I suppose we all became a bit complacent when we saw even more workmen in their yellow vests digging away.

Now for the past 14 years there have been a set of stone farm gate posts that were carved into the shape of Saxons complete with the conical shaped hat. These stone figures have stood proud and gradually became a landmark: everyone used them for directions:

“Turn left by the Vikings…go straight past the Vikings…or…if you drive past the Vikings you’ve gone too far…”

At Christmas a neighbour would brave the cold and dark and dress them in white beards and red hats…much to the surprise and enjoyment of the younger generation.

Sometimes people would hang birthday messages on them. They became a respected part of the community and would become an Historical part of the landscape…or so we all thought.

One afternoon in March ‘Bridezilla’ and I were returning from an unsuccessful shopping trip. She was grumpy because she has given up smoking and I was grumpy because I’ve given up chocolate [in a last ditch attempt to reduce my waistline in time for the wedding…I can dream…]neither of us were particularly happy as we approached the  roundabout on the way home and saw a lorry with a crane and three workmen digging away at the Vikings.

“What the hell is going on now?” I shouted.

“No need to shout at me.”

“Here, go round again I want to see clearly…”

“For crying out loud I want to get home…”

She did drive round again, she also listened to me moaning and cursing and swearing about all these changes.[‘Bridezilla’ just thinks it’s my age that makes me grumpy; it is… but it’s also the lack of sleep, the hot flushes, the lack of chocolate and the niggling pain…I’ve very little patience these days]

So even though we had just parked up and she needed some cake ‘Bridezilla’ kindly agreed to drive me back to see what was happening. What on earth was I thinking? Anyway, we parked in the nearby lay-by and trudged across the newly cut grass verge and approached these three men who suddenly looked a lot bigger than they did when I was sitting in the ‘Bridezilla’s’ jeep…

“Er excuse me, can you tell me why you are digging up the statues?

“They’re going into retirement…” chirps the smallest of the three.

“Why?” Blabs me.

“The motorway exit is going to be extended…they’ll be in the way.”

“Where are you taking them?” I persisted.

“Oh locally, to the Council’s yard…” the big man smirked and the red head controlling the crane laughed as I said…

“Can the community please have them for the Nature Park?”

“You’ll have to ask the Council…” and they all beamed.

We walked away feeling a little silly and by the time I got home I was fuming. Humph! Extending the motorway! So I emailed a Councillor who very quickly emailed back that there were no plans for an extension. Something did not add up.

What has all this to do with honesty and trusting? Read on…

I was happy that the statues were safe and that as a community we could request to have them on the park. I was also happy enough that there was no extension planned and we just needed to be vigilant to make sure that no one snuck in an extra lane whilst everyone was out! Life goes on and 4 weeks later I was talking to a neighbour…the very one who used to decorate the statues. During our discussion he mentioned the loss of the statues and how sad it was to see them go. I recounted the fact that we could have them for the community if it was decided not to replace them on the roundabout. He was slightly confused and suggested I read the local paper; he kindly emailed the link this morning. What I saw brought tears to my eyes and made me feel furious.

The article I read was detailing how the statues were stolen and that the police were looking for any leads!

Any leads? Hell fire I was not only standing talking to the thieves whilst they were digging the statues out of the ground but I thanked them [through gritted teeth] for answering my questions. STOLEN! Who on earth would do that?

So now I am off to give my evidence to the police in an effort that just maybe they can be tracked down…I think they’ll be surprised to hear that the thieves did not come in the middle of the night but in broad daylight surrounded by traffic!

Which leads me to the question…

Is all this being honest and trusting a good thing or am I plain stupid…I trusted what the workmen said…they laughed at my belief in their lies…I'm going to be honest when informing the police of what I saw...will my honesty be rewarded by being arrested for hampering the police's efforts to track the statues?

What do you think?

One thing you can be sure of is that you can trust me when I say…

                    …it’s a good thing I’m not in charge of Stonehenge then isn’t it?...

 

Blog 54 o...coming soon...Next Wednesday...
Copyright© GML 2012

Blog 54 m...08.05am...

 

 Blog 54 m...08.05am...

This morning at 5 minutes after 8 I was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee listening to the rain falling gently. I was intrigued to see the way the birds flew quickly in and out of the nesting boxes…we have two fully occupied by the great tit and the blue tit families. As they darted back and forth with food for their young the blackbird was washing herself in the overflowing bird bath and another little bird was at the far end of the garden where it floods the most and ‘he’ was splashing about in the puddle. It was peaceful. I was feeling quite calm after having a reasonable few hours of sleep from round about 11.30pm to almost 4 o’clock am; which is quite a treat for me these days. So the usual grogginess wasn’t there to spoil the morning routine for everyone else and as they all left to start their day I sat down with my coffee. Do you know how wonderful that sounds? In fact do you know how wonderful it felt to be able to do that?

I wonder how many people get the chance these days to take five minutes to themselves: just five minutes out of the stress of the working day whether you are working at home or in an office or anywhere really: how precious our days are and how few the chances are to take in the day in all its beauty. So this morning I got the chance to do just that and I didn’t want to waste a moment.

We have had a lot of rain just lately but we need it, we have water butts to keep full so as to survive the imposed water hosepipe ban…which actually doesn’t affect us as we don’t have a hose pipe as we are on a water meter and the thing whirrs round so fast just when I’m filling the kettle that the thought of watering our little back yard fills me with dread. We need the rain I know and I’m not complaining but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it just rained at night and then the days were fresh and sunny? Not too hot, just warm enough to throw the windows open and stroll about without coats instead of dashing about under umbrellas.

I have fabulous photographs of the ‘Intelligent-one’ and the ‘Cutie-pie’ splashing about in the puddles in the garden…they have Mr. Men wellingtons on, Tele-tubby raincoats and they are dancing with Bob the Builder umbrellas in their hands and they were singing and laughing: I must say at this point that they were both only little ones at the time! The garden was completely flooded due to the ‘Hubby’ having sealed the block paving with some magical potion that was guaranteed to stop the weeds from growing ever again. However, all it stopped was the rain from soaking into the ground in between the block work meaning that we had to don our wellingtons and brush the rainwater in to the drain…including the plastic duck one of the children had floated in the middle and yelled that we had a duck in the garden… all much to the amusement of our wonderful neighbours who heckled us from their upstairs window! 

Hence the reason why the yard is deep in water today after so much rainfall. The wind makes tiny ripples on the water surface and here and there little air bubbles appear. It’s not good for the worms or insects but the birds love it.

Whilst reflecting on a what a nice way to start the day I thought about what ‘Hubby’ would be doing at this time of the morning. Well, he would have dropped the ‘Cutie-pie’ off at school, sat in a traffic jam for a while and then finally got to work and would now be answering phone calls and dealing with deliveries. At the same time the ‘Intelligent-one’ would be sitting on his college coach, ear pieces in and listening to ‘The Wanted’ or ‘The Killers’ or some other top notch band whilst looking at Facebook or texting…I’m sure the art of conversation is slipping away from the younger generation! Meanwhile the ‘Cutie-pie’ will be sitting in the school dinner hall revising his Mathematics …er no not really, he will be in the hall but only because they serve hot chocolate and bagels to the early pupils! What about the ‘Bridezilla’? Ah well at this ungodly hour she would normally be choosing her outfit, putting on her make up or making her bed. She is very good actually at always leaving her bed made and her room tidy. [I trained her well…seem to have failed in that department where the boys are concerned!]I said ‘normally’ because this week she is on holiday and has left in the early hours in order to put a second coat of white paint on her bannister railing…ah the pleasures and the excitement of a new home…still can’t persuade her to take her washing with her to be whirring in her new washing machine whilst they decorate though.

My mind wandered off as to what would I have normally been doing at this time in the early years when I was working? Well believe it or not I would have been in school for half and hour or more already and would have put the kettle on, made a coffee, gone to my classroom and my day would have already begun…lifting chairs off desks, setting out books, sharpening pencils, writing the day and date and spellings on the board…yes I’m from the old school days when we used blackboards and chalk and there wasn’t an electronic whiteboard to be seen… added finishing touches to a display, sorted the reading corner out…forever these books have been the bane of my life why no one can replace a book where they got it from has always bugged me…it happens at home too! There would always be something to do before the children arrived and if I wasn’t on playground duty or cloakroom duty or supporting a heart broken child or angry parent then there would be a chance of a second coffee with a few minutes to spare before the bell rang…oh yes that’s something else that’s on the scrapheap!

When the boys were little at this time of the morning I was sitting in the traffic on the way back from dropping them off at the child minder in order to get to work…my head full of shopping lists and to do lists…after having been up for hours during which time I had filled the washer, hung out the clean washing weather permitting, made the beds, checked all the packed lunches were in bags and not still in the fridge…yes that does happen and yes also sometimes I forgot to put the sandwich filler in the sandwich…I would also have dumped the breakfast pots in the sink and drawn back all the curtains to give the impression that I was an organised mum…thank goodness no one could see the mess on the floor of abandoned toys and newspapers or the towels or the socks…STOP! My mind needs to stop wandering that far back, it’s too hectic to remember…I need to think of calm things like for example when I was on maternity leave with the ‘Cutie-pie.’ Ah yes, this time of the day with him was magical. He was such a happy chappy first thing and so cuddly that it was hard to put him down. I would be snuggling him under my chin…well not quite he was rather a large baby but you get the picture…and he was all warm in his fluffy baby-suit. By 08.05am there was just the two of us and he was ready for his next feed. [The ‘Intelligent-one' used to still go to his child-minder that I used when I was working other wise I’d lose his place...the ‘Cutie-pie’ would eventually join him at the end of the maternity leave.] I’d still be in my pyjamas as well and we would snuggle up on my bed propped up with pillows and start the day together …and once his little tummy was full of milk he would dose, his beautiful eyes closed and his long eyelashes gently flickering as he drifted into his sleep and I would set his bottle down, kiss his sweet smelling forehead and lie him next to me...then I'd drink a coffee and snooze next to him. Ah yes now those were the days!

08.05am was totally different for the ‘Intelligent–one’ when he was little; I had a shorter maternity leave and as I’ve said before the mother-in-law used to arrive very early to do her child minding duties: she had the pleasure of giving him his first bottle of the day. But when he started school and I was still at home with ‘Cutie-pie’ I had the opportunity to take him to school. Due to the traffic near us and the fact that I needed to get to the other side of town we needed to set off early and then we would sit in the car outside his school. The ‘Cutie-pie’ would still be in his pyjamas under his blue quilted snuggle suit but was quite happy to sit in his rear car seat with his teddy and his blanket. Sometimes we dashed out of the house so fast I don’t think I had the chance to comb my hair and I did become attached to a woolly hat and pull on fleece. I suppose I was one step away from being the kind of mother who drove children to school still wearing their nightwear! [The mothers that is!] The three of us would sit come rain or sunshine in the car and go through spellings, times-tables and the reading book as we were the first to arrive and didn't want to stand in the playground like three stranded beings. We used to play ‘I spy with my little eye…’ it was a great way to help the ‘Intelligent–one’ with his spellings. One morning I named the object I had ‘spied’ as beginning with the sound sh …now at this point neither of us had ever guessed that the ‘Cutie-pie’ was ever taking any notice…suddenly a little voice from the back of the car chirped up ‘shit…’ What on earth? Who had taught him that word? Of course at the age of 5 the ‘Intelligent-one’ was not to foresee the consequences of telling me that when daddy drives he uses the sh word if someone stops suddenly at the traffic lights or parks in his spot…mmm it was obvious daddy needed a talking to. Didn’t he know that all children pick up all words but only repeat the ones you don’t want to hear and at a time when you definitely do not want to hear them. Luckily there was only the ‘Intelligent-one’ and myself to hear this profanity…ah well at least I suppose it was great to know that the ‘Cutie-pie’ was aware of his sounds and letters from an early age!   

Well by the time I had finished reminiscing I was ready for another coffee and my next round of pain killers. So I decided to sit in the conservatory where I’d get a better view of the birds and their daily routine. Which actually was a suggestion from one of the other sufferers at the Pain Management Group: he said that when the pain was really bad it was a good idea to take some time out, get a drink and sit and look out of the window in an effort to take your mind off the pain. To a point he was right.
Looking out at the garden, I wondered if this was how my mother had started her day once all four children had gone to school? I know when I was at college if I ever came home early I would find her sitting in the breakfast room with a china cup and saucer, a small plate with a fried egg ‘butty’ and she would be gazing out of the window watching her birds on their feeding table. So she definitely stopped and had her quiet moment. I also wondered what would my father be doing at this time of his day? He’s always been an early riser and has only just retired from his day job at the ripe old age of 84! Somehow I think he’ll be sitting with a boiled egg, brown bread toast, pot of tea and his newspaper whilst the soft sounds of his radio play away in the back ground…I can presume all this as this is how he started his Saturdays and Sundays when we were all still living at home and I doubt he’d change his routine now…just extend it to week days.

I also wondered what would my mother-in-law be doing at this time of the day? Do you know I haven’t a clue. I’ve known her for nearly 30 years and I haven’t any idea what she does. Maybe she will be sitting at her table with a paper and a cup of tea? I cannot imagine her watching the birds or listening to the radio. I’m actually thinking now how hard it must be to get up in a quiet house, sit alone at the table in the quiet, spend all day in the quiet and go back to bed in the quiet. With this chilling thought a pang of guilt gripped me and so I decided to give her a ring.

“What’s wrong? Who’s died?”

“No one, I just thought I’d say hello…”

“At this time of the day? I was just sorting my flower baskets out, they were looking forlorn with all this rain…”

“That’s good, I was just wondering what you were up to.”

“Good god, there’s no peace, you’re as bad her next door, always wanting to know where I’m going…”

Ah well, at least I know that she’s not lonely or moping ; and I could hear her T.V. in the background so she wasn't in silence either. So I returned to my coffee and my chair by the window.

This definitely was a lovely way to start today but wait what was that I saw out of the corner of my eye? I sat perfectly still…on no…tiny little black flecks on the window sill…tiny little black moving flecks…those bloody ants are back and guess where the ant powder is? 

Yes… in the shed at the other side of the pond that was once my garden…best get my wellies on then…

...good job I don’t have to be anywhere else then isn’t it…

 

 Blog 54 n...coming soon...next Wednesday...
Copyright ©GML2012

Blog 54 l...Conversations...

Blog54 l...

Does this ever happen to you? You are having a conversation about one thing and then it switches to another topic and then another topic and before you know where you are the original topic of conversation is lost in amongst everything else that is being discussed?

I have a cousin, who is a few years younger than me and is more like a friend, who visits and we talk non stop about a thousand things all at once and we move from one topic to another and back again. Over the years we have  almost refined it to perfection whereby no matter what distractions, interruptions or mishaps occur whilst we indulge in coffee, Earl Grey tea and home made cakes [her cakes that is, I’m afraid mine rarely turn out how they should and when they do even all cries of “Don’t eat the cake I’ve got visitors…” fall on deaf ears!] we continue our conversations right to the end. We start off slowly and talk in circles, smoothly changing the topics and covering everything from childbirth to weight loss or weight gain to house moving to education to health issues to decision making. We discuss more than a week’s worth of ladies’ magazines and in greater depth sometimes. As the day progresses we talk faster and try hard to resist the temptation to interrupt one another for fear of not finishing what we want to say. But always, well nearly always, we get back to the unfinished conversations that we had started off the day with after we had said our hellos and put the kettle on, several hours earlier!   

Or does this ever happen to you? A conversation can trigger a memory which takes over the whole conversation all together. This was the case for me and the ‘Hubby’ this past week.

Even though we are in the same house and indeed the same rooms for the best part of our time together, we rarely get the opportunity to just sit and talk; uninterrupted; peacefully listening to one another.

We used to sit at the breakfast bar and chat comfortably with a glass of wine, a glass of lager and a dish of crisps. Nowadays the house is busy with the sound of computers as the boys do their homework, the sound of quotations floating through the air as the ‘Intelligent One’ revises his Literature, the sound of “bloody hell that’s how it works!” as the ’Cutie-pie’ solves a Mathematical problem and the sound of music above the whirring of the hairdryer as the ‘Bridezilla’ performs her beauty regime. Not a night passes without the phone ringing or texting occurring. The noise of the television is mostly a background to the rest of the house and our routines.

So it was a pleasant trip to the polling station at the local school that gave us a few snatched moments of peace and conversation.

I have no idea what we were originally talking about but I suddenly got the fit of giggles as a memory of going to vote many years ago came flooding back to me. It was something I hadn’t thought about for years. ‘Hubby’ patiently listened as I recounted going voting with my sister, which I suppose was not as funny to him as it was to me, I suppose you needed to be there to see the funny side of it.

My big sister and I lived together in a grotty bedsitter on the outskirts of the City of Liverpool. We were both teaching and both disorganised when it came to anything outside of the classroom. So it came about one night after tea that we realised we had not voted. We set off with every good intention of placing our most important vote. We decided that as we had not lived in the bed sitter for long then we needed to go to where we had been living previously in order to be in the right polling station. As it was cold and raining we popped into the local for a swift half of lager, or two. Then we needed a local paper to see who we were voting for. Then we had to wait a good 20 minutes for the train which would take us on the 15 minute journey to our old place. 5 stops along the line and we were there. Alighting the train giggling we decided to set off in the direction that we thought we used to live in, but soon realised we were on the wrong road and doubled back to the station and started again. Then we came to what had been the regular pub and my sister couldn’t resist popping in to see if there was anyone we knew by the bar. After a couple more lagers we set off again with the intention of arriving at the local school which would be the polling station. Or to be truthful what should have been the polling station. Don’t they always use schools? This school was locked up and in total darkness. Slightly confused and most definitely lost my big sister admitted that she thought the school she had voted in the previous year was this one…however it could be a different one. So, a bit deflated we set off down the next street, along a few others, past the shopping centre and along the main road towards another school that she remembered. Then we saw the sign ‘Polling Station’ and a few people going into what looked like the Library. By this time it was very dark, we were cold and extremely giggly and there was no one about when we entered this building. The people we had seen were in the process of folding tables and moving boxes.

“We’ve come to vote.”

“Where’ve you come from?”

“Preston originally…”

“You can’t vote here.”

“Because we’re from Preston? That’s a bit off.”

“You can’t vote here…”

 “We may be woolly backs but we live in this area now.”

“You still can’t vote here…”

“Because we’re not Liverpudlian?”

“No, because we’re shut!”

Well of course ‘Hubby’ did understand totally what I was laughing about as he knew my big sister and knew what we could both be like together.

Naturally this recount led to another conversation about living in Liverpool; it also triggered the memory of another occasion when my sister and I were living together…patiently the ‘Hubby’ listened to this one sided conversation as I began…

You see the bedsitter was dreadful, cold, damp and cost a fortune in ten penny pieces and fifty pence pieces in the meter just to try to take the edge off the chill in the room. Heating the bath water was a nightmare as not only was it expensive but we had to stand guard to make sure that other tenants didn’t jump into the bathroom before us. A lot of the time it was warmer to get into bed and sit in the dark and watch television [A black and white one at that!] When the winter came we did everything we could to try to keep warm…and sane!

We each ate a school dinner, which usually involved a dinner duty but it was worth it as it was hot and cheap, we both stayed as late at our schools as we could in order to complete marking and planning in the warmth and light of the buildings. Then we met up at the bus station and walked to our grotty bedsit which was on the top floor of a Victorian terrace; it resembled a building out of the Dracula movies more than a building where you’d want to be.

Then one Thursday night we decided that enough was enough; we were struggling all week and then coming home to our parent’s house at the weekend. We deserved something good after working so hard. We deserved a treat. So, Thursday was to be our treat night.

In the village within walking distance of the bus station there was a row of shops and nestled in amongst these shops there was a tiny vegetarian restaurant. Just perfect for me as I was going through my vegetarian stage whereby no meat crossed my lips except after a few too many drinks on a Saturday night when I would happily succumb to the odd beef burger from the burger stand or the occasional vindaloo.

So it was decided that we would treat ourselves to the warmth of this eatery and gaily sat down to view the menu. It was a fabulous place. The dishes of the day were written in chalk on a huge blackboard. We were greeted by a young man who looked more like a drop out from the sixties due to his long hair and ear piercings as well as rows of home made bracelets. He was a friendly chap very keen to enthuse about the freshness of his vegetables. We ordered bowls of hot, home made soup and crusty bread and we washed it all down with schooners of sweet sherry [An old trick from years ago; drink a few sherries and the warmth glows within!] We sat at the table laughing and talking and discussing lessons. We were warm and happy and looking forward to the weekend ahead.

Each Thursday night we ventured cold and hungry into this restaurant and sat at the same table. We worked our way through the menu. The food just got better and better and with each trip the prices seemed to be cheaper and the portions larger. There were special offers and the deserts were meals in themselves! The staff were always happy to see us and the young manager always brought our first sherries to the table and stopped to speak, just general chit chat about the weather and shopping in the area. It was a great place to be. It was warm, friendly, cheaper than shopping and cooking in our bedsit and we could sit at the table and over a pot of coffee we would fill in report forms or pupil reading assessment grades without being disturbed: whilst making the most of the free lighting. One or two regulars would come in, nod, say good evening and sit further down the room. We arrived cold and hungry at the same time every Thursday and we left, warm and fed at the same time every Thursday night.

The months passed and we were facing the long summer holiday after which we would not be staying in that bed sitter. We decided that for our final Thursday evening we would like to treat the manager to a drink as a way of saying thank you but he refused to join us, thanking us profusely but he understood that we needed to work in peace. We enjoyed a fabulous meal, deserts and coffee followed by a celebratory glass of sherry. Before we left we both visited the toilets and on coming out we were chatting about how beautiful and clean they always were with fresh towels and sweet smelling soap and hand cream. The manager looked up at us and there was a look of relief on his face. We stood at the long, hand polished wooden bar to pay our bill and explained that this was our last visit as we were relocating…to which he commented; “We hope you will recommend us…” well naturally we replied that of course we would, our friends would love this place but unfortunately it was too far from home for them for a night out… looking puzzled he then added “Will we be getting your report soon?” We had no idea what he was talking about. I chipped in that the reports he had seen me drafting were for school and confidential. A look of horror crossed his face…he muttered “School…?”

'Yes,' I replied, and explained that we were both school teachers and that we came to his restaurant for the warmth but then the food and service was so good we carried on even when the weather was warmer and the nights lighter. [His nut and bean salad was to die for…] “But I thought…you… were Health Inspectors…” he stammered and pointed to my leather case bulging with files and paper work. For a brief moment we were both speechless…in fact all three of us were and then we laughed and he laughed and he shouted to his waiters and informed them that we were not inspectors but teachers…and that they would never see us on a Thursday night again!

We were not sure if we should have been flattered by that remark but nonetheless the situation was quite funny: no wonder we had such good treatment, prompt ordering and chatty waiters, good portions and then there was  the relief on the manager’s face when we complimented him on the state of his toilets…they obviously mistook our discussions and lesson writing to be connected with restaurant inspecting…the fact that we worked our way through his menu most likely confirmed what he was concerned about.

I often wonder if the restaurant is still there…it was the first of its kind and not popular to start with because it served unusual food combinations…but we loved it and we loved the smiles and waves of goodbye from ALL the staff as we left that last Thursday night…

So you see how a conversation can trigger memories leading to a different conversation…although perhaps ‘Hubby’ would probably say he was listening as opposed to conversing…

Blog 54 m...coming soon...next Wednesday...

[*the term woolly backs refers to people not born in Liverpool...from the North and refers to the sheep farming communities...!]
Copyright ©GML2012