24. Not even for ready money…
“So where is this market then?”
Pa’s enthusiasm for souvenir shopping has never been a patch on that of the girls – even less so under the blazing Spanish sun. I wasn’t actually there, you understand – this was all reported to me later, but I’m imagining an attractive little town: flamenco dancers on the corner, castanet players frolicking on the lawn, El Nombre and his mates having a kick-about; that sort of thing. The bus had left them in what might have passed for a market square had it not been worryingly uncluttered by markets.
21. In the middle of our street, our house…
LittleSis and Bro-in-law had just moved into their new house when the phone went.
“I know you’re in,” said Ma. “I can see you moving.”
In case you’re thinking that I’m from a long line of mystics (I knew you were), perhaps I should explain that LittleSis’s new house backed onto Ma and Pa’s place. Ma could walk down her garden, across the alley, into LittleSis’s garden straight to the back door. She often did, in fact. As Bro-in-law said, having seen the film My Big Fat Greek Wedding “That is so my life.” We’re not actually Greek. But we do Family.
20. But it makes me wonder…
“So where is the audiology department, Ma?” I ask, turning the car into the hospital driveway. Answer comes there none so I try again – at volume. “Where am I going, Ma?” By now I’m shouting. “Where’s audiology?” Still no reponse. I seem to have slipped into an episode of Fawlty Towers. I start to laugh and Ma frowns.
“What’s funny? Why are you laughing?”
19. We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
I approve of 2013.
In our neck of the woods, at least, 2012 lacked a certain something. It started with Pa’s eye exploding, followed in the spring by GrannieBorders being whipped into hospital with weeping legs.
She’s quite a lass is GrannieBorders. Paralysed with polio in Coronation year, she brought up ActorLaddie and his older but irritatingly hairier brother from her wheelchair, while GrandadBorders worked as the most civil of servants. Family legend has it that she once burnt out the engine of her disability trike seeing how fast she could drive it to Worthing.
17. Slow, slow, quick quick, slow
Compare.
“Look, dragon breath!” Mixed infants circle round me, their breath steaming in the winter air. I roar obligingly and they scamper away.
One little dragon loses her footing and is brought to me, howling, by Katie. We check out the knees and agree that a quick magic rub and the application of a little TLC will be sufficient. We’re just setting off on a turn around the playground when there’s a tug on my coat. Owen is standing behind me with a plastic cup filled with mud.
“Coffee?” he asks. I take the cup and pretend to sip.
“Delicious!”
“That’ll be fifty pounds,” he says. “You can pay by card.” I pick up a leaf and hand it over. “Do you want cash-back with that?” he asks.
15. Frosty wind made moan
I was going to blog about the Christmas Concert we went to last night; organised by Parkinson’s UK and held in St George’s Cathedral.
I was going to start by mentioning that the organ wasn’t working. Hence everything was being accompanied on an electric piano which the choir obviously couldn’t hear. I would have added something about the pianist being keen to get to the mulled wine, and the challenging acoustics of the building, leading to the choir almost being lapped while singing Once in Royal David’s City.
14. And I’m doing … very well.
“I’ve finished, Mrs Jellywoman.”
I scoot across the ICT room to see Chiyedza’s work. Although she only started using the computers a couple of months ago, she has made a jolly good job of the picture which will end up on the front of her Christmas card. She chose the angel outline; then added colours with the Fill tool. Her cherub has a dashing green dress and is winging its way through a purple sky. Like Chiyedza, it has gorgeous mahogany brown skin.
“That’s beautiful,” I tell her. “Let me show you how to use the Spray tool. You could use it to add tinsel, perhaps, or stars, or snow.”
Job done, I scoot over to help Ezra. His Father Christmas has a yellow face and blue hair, so all good children this year will have their presents delivered by Marge Simpson. That beard is fooling no-one, Marge – don’t flutter your eyelashes at me.
10. Wade in the water
She said eight and I said twenty-one. Key to the door and all that. She said eight and I said eighteen then. She said eight and I said sweet sixteen. She said eight and I said thirteen. To mark becoming a teenager. Final offer.
So it was that, in the summer holiday before she started Year Six, when she was – well, nearly ten, InfantPhenomenon and I set off to get her ears pierced.
9. Cool for cats
“I’ve been reading your blog” says Dr LaMancha as he slides the needle into my vein. I attempt a sort of “am I bovvered?” nonchalance: I’ve been working on this look since starting my blog three weeks ago, just in case. I suspect, though, that my veneer of cultivated cool is rather undermined by multiple calls to Mum informing her that somebody I don’t know in the Isle of Man has just Liked my blog.
Mum does her best to sound excited, bless her, but as her last brush with new technology ground to a halt when she couldn’t work out how to fit a CD into an i-pod, I suspect she’s humouring me.
The Jelly Chronicles 