59. Present mirth hath present laughter…
“So, any interesting presents?” I pass on the Quality Street and add my sweet wrapper to the pile in the middle of the staffroom table. Destination – the sticking area for next year’s Reception Class, the last of this year’s children having finally, finally left the building for the summer.
Mrs Berry shakes her head as she sends the chocolates on their way. “Vouchers. And some really nice letters. Nothing useless at all. ”
“I once got last year’s diary, partially written in,” says Mrs Acorn. “And some used British Airways complimentary earplugs.”
“I was once given a packet of condoms,” muses Mrs Berry. “But at least they weren’t used.”
“I once got given a chocolate thong,” pipes up Mr Headteacher. A shiver of horror passes around the table.
“I really wish you hadn’t shared that,” I say. “Right, best tackle that classroom.” As I haul myself up, a text comes through on my phone. YoungLochinvar has thoughtfully sent me a photo he’s just taken in Smith’s. Back to School, it says. My soul shrinks a little.
The following day, I set off to buy some holiday odds and ends. I need some summer shoes for traipsing around Rome but Marks are putting out their winter boots already. Any minute now, I expect to hear carol singers.
It can’t be good for us, this rushing towards the future at the expense of the present. Not good for me, anyway. Nowadays, I work best on a very short focus.
There was a time last year when I was almost paralysed with worry about how my Parkinson’s might progress and how miserable life would become. It takes very little imagination to conjure up a pretty depressing future.
But I’ve had brilliant support from family and friends including my own ActorLaddie. And I’ve talked with people who are living positively with Parkinson’s and MS, amongst other conditions. And it’s helped me to realise that right now, right here, I am very lucky – my life is good and to be enjoyed. I am very content, despite the start of the football season.
DearHeart is currently learning about Mindfulness and has been sharing with me her discoveries. Her recommended book (here) arrived in today’s post so you can expect all future blogs to be vastly serene. And, as she reminds me, we do only have the present. I’m trying really hard to be grateful for that present. Even if it is a chocolate thong.
58. The glory that was Rome was of another day …
Five more sleeps until the wonders of North London supplant those of the Eternal City. I’m already itching to get back and play with my new bungalow but it has to be admitted that there’s some pretty darn impressive stuff here – and that’s not just the number 8 tram.
47. This sporting life
“Now then, jellybabies. In a minute, we are going down to the field to practise for our Sports Day. I want you to take off your jumper or cardy and put it on your chair. Then slip on your PE shoes. Then come and sit back on the carpet. OK?” Heads nod. “So, just to check – we’re not taking off our trousers are we?” A chorus of Nos. “And we’re not taking off our skirts?” No! “Or our summer dresses?” No! “And if you take off your skin, fold it carefully in your shoes, so you don’t lose it.” Howls of laughter. An easy audience – next week, the Glasgow Empire.
46. That which we call a rose…
When we set up our first IT suite, I wrote the name of each computer on its monitor for ease of identification.
So there I’d be in class, leading a rousing chorus of ‘Three Sailors went to Sea’ (easy to strum; no Fs), when a small child would appear at my elbow with the message that Flo wasn’t coming on. I could then reply that Flo tended to have a sticky disk drive and suggest checking that she didn’t have a floppy still in it. Then turn her off, turn her on and she’d roar into life with the full power of her 8 Mb. Simples.
40. Do you promise not to tell…
“You remember this – answer from Never to Always passing through Very Occasionally, Sometimes and Often.”
We’ve done the neurology questionnaire three times now: at the start of the drugs trial, in the middle and now, at the end. Where did that six months go? Dr LaMancha knows me so well that his pencil hovers over my answers before I say them. We whip through the questions. Then there’s that moment when I long for Dr LaMancha to give me a red pen to mark my own paper while he runs through what the answers should have been. It’s a test and I want to know how I’ve done. Perhaps I could be put in a league table with the other Parkie patients.
33. Mixing memory and desire…
“Can it wait, Layla? I need to get this register to the office.”
“But Mrs Jellywoman – we don’t have no chairs!”
I look at Layla over the top of my glasses. “That’s ‘we haven’t got any chairs’, Layla.”
Layla has younger brothers and so is accustomed to explaining things to the simple. She draws upon this skill now. “Well, you’ve got a chair, Mrs Jellywoman. You’re sitting on it. But we don’t have no chairs.”
32. I’m never gonna stop the rain by complainin’
“How do you do, Mehmet?”
“Very well thank you, Mrs Jellywoman.”
“How do you do, Ololade?”
“Very well thank you, Mrs Jellywoman.”
“How do you do, George?”
“My leg hurts.”
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.
16. And you’ve been caught.
“Now, King Rat, you come in when you hear Rat-Trap.” I say. King Rat looks confused.
“You know, by the Boomtown Rats.” King Rat shrugs and shakes his head. Youthfully.
“The Boomtown Rats. As in I Don’t Like Mondays?” Nope.
“Bob Geldof?” I try. Bingo. I can see the mists clearing. King Rat smiles.
“You mean Peaches’ Dad!” he says.
I raise my eyebrows and look at him with withering disbelief.
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.
The Jelly Chronicles 