80. Something sensational to read on the train.
Jan 1st Had party at home. Went to Grandad’s.
Jan 2nd LittleSis lost piece of spirograph. No. 42 ring. Made bed. Payed Coal Bill. Went to Town.
Jan 3rd Found ring 42. Lost magnet pencil of International Spy.
London at the height of the Swinging Sixties. Still whistling World Cup Willie, we hunker down for the winter before the Summer of Love. It’s all there in the heady entries of my 1967 Letts School-girls Diary; unearthed this morning from the loft as we haul up yet more of YoungLochinvar’s goods and chattels.
74. One more for the road…
It’s a quarter to three. There’s no-one in the place except ActorLaddie and me. And Willow. ActorLaddie is curled up peacefully; dreaming, I expect, of livery companies. Don’t ask. Really, don’t ask. Willow, at a guess, is investigating the strange oval shape which has recently appeared on the lawn. I am lying on my back, hoping for a car to drive past and counting my blessings. One – ActorLaddie.
71. We are verses out of rhythm; couplets out of time…
The truth is, my anonymous blog is mostly onymous. My family, colleagues and other mates know my secret identity: largely because I’ve told them. In general, I’m pretty rubbish at keeping secrets. No strength of character. Expose me to a child learning the violin and in no time at all, I’ll tell you where the priests are hiding.
70. The Second Cut, however … Just when you thought it was safe to draw the curtains…
Bro-in-Law is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.
Case in point. Narrow tow path; big bouncy dog. LegoBoy’s bike, lying on canal bed. LegoBoy safe, having splashed his way to the side but the bike has seen better days.
“Well,” says Bro-in-Law, “if we leave it there, it will be a disaster. If we rescue it, it will be an adventure.” So he strips down to his Prince Harry’s, sploshes into the canal and rescues the bike. Tidy.
68. The first cut is the deepest…
Sunday evening, autumn, 1966. Muddy paws stretched out, Sheina basks in front of the glowing coals, whimpering through memories of an afternoon chasing squirrels in the woods. LittleSis gurgles, propped up on cushions between Ma and Pa. LittleBro and Action Man are busy conquering the Universe with a fresh haul of conkers. And the Andy Williams Show is just coming to an end. The Cookie Monster has gone back to its lair. Andy turns to us and starts crooning:
“May each day in your week be a good one…”
The horror, the horror! My spirits plummet with the reminder that tomorrow is Monday. My throat is already tightening with stress. It’s all very well for him, I think bitterly, talking of each day being a good one. He is not going to have to face Miss Offord’s sewing lesson tomorrow afternoon.
57. Clang, clang, clang went the bell…
Crammed into the sidecar attached to Pa’s motorbike, Ma, LittleBro, the budgie and I followed the removal van across the City, not dilly-dallying on the way. We were moving from our tiny first floor flat to a house in the suburbs of North London. It would be just like in my favourite Janet and John books, with a real garden and an upstairs. All very exciting and not in the least scary.
56. And the living is easy…
I inherited my ‘toy’ gene from Pa.
We like to think of ourselves as Renaissance people, do Pa and I, with wide-ranging interests which broaden our minds and engage us in the stuff of life. It would be perverse to describe us as fickle, easily bored and attracted by novelty. I would refute such an accusation heartily; indeed, I will put that in writing as soon as I retrieve my calligraphy set from behind the knitting machine. If I can just get past the allotment magazines … and the yoga mat … and the concertina…
50. With Many a Winding Turn
“I’ve just thought,” says ActorLaddie, adjusting his rucksack on the platform. “That’s the first time she’s travelled on the underground.”
GrannieBorders would have like that. Being amused was her default setting. She was an easy audience: anything out of the ordinary would simply make her laugh. We are talking here about someone who once claimed their favourite film was On the Buses.
45. Re: Annual Renewal of Parkinson’s
Mr J Hunt
Secretary of State for Health
Dear Mr Hunt,
I am writing to thank you for my year’s free trial which finishes at a quarter past three this afternoon, assuming that we are counting from the moment of official diagnosis.
I have been considering whether to renew my membership of the Grand Order of Persons With Parkinson’s; that elite band of comrades with its not-so-secret handshake. Frankly, I am still undecided.
41. Deep in my heart, I do believe…
“Anyone want to choose the next song? … Anyone?”
YoungLochinvar and I look round the circle of Elfins and are met by slightly bemused stares. We have been asked by FellowKnitter to help out with a session singing campfire songs, leading up to the Whitsun camp in Epping Forest. Elfins are the youngest in our local Woodcraft Folk group – ages up to about 7 – and we are looking at a dozen or so of them. They’re a tough audience to get going, that’s for sure. I’m jolly grateful that YoungL has come along with his guitar, as otherwise you’d only be able to hear FellowKnitter and I laying our burdens down and refusing to study war (whatever Mr Gove may say).
The Jelly Chronicles 