103. “Romeo met Juliet by the fish-tank.”
The Marker’s Lament
June brings assessments,
reports, progress data. Where
are the strawberries?
Having a screw loose, Pa needed some bits from Screwfix this week. Instead of just driving down there, he ordered on-line with their Click and Collect service first, thus bagging £1.35 towards a cure, costing him narry a penny. The link to GiveAsYouLive is here.
102. But when they seldom come, they wished for come…
“Hoorah! The start of the hols! What shall we do?”
“We could ask Aunty Fanny for a tuck box; then row to Kirrin Island and camp there for the week living on wild berries and lashings of ginger beer. Knowing our luck, there’ll probably be smugglers and we’ll get in a frightful scrape but end up having tea with the Chief Inspector!”
101. Broth Spoiling for Beginners.
“Do you have trouble cooking?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Maria frowns, pen poised over ‘No’. I’d not reported trouble dressing, washing or cleaning. But cooking?
“Well ActorLaddie is such a good cook, you see. He’s a hard act to follow. Also, he does the shopping so he knows what we’ve got in the cupboard. If he’s out for the evening, by the time I’ve staggered in from school, I have terrible trouble cooking. It’s all I can do to make porridge.” Maria is looking perplexed, so I relent. “Tick ‘no’,” I tell her. “I can cook porridge.”
“I’m from Sicily,” Maria smiles. “Men don’t do cooking.”
100! What do they think I am? Dumb or something? Why, I make more money than – than – than Calvin Coolidge! Put together!
One of Pa’s cheques had bounced. The cheque in question was from his current account to his building society. The cheque in question apparently had his signature on it. The cheque in question had not been written by Pa.
Pa’s cheque book was still safely in the bureau and there were no obvious signs of a break-in. But both building society books were missing. Phone calls revealed that both accounts had been emptied.
99. Just between you and me….
“We seem to be heading for the station. Should I have brought my wallet?” asks Pa.
“Should I have changed? I don’t look very smart,” worries Ma.
They have been persuaded by LittleBro to go for a mystery trip in his car on the promise that “he has something he wants to show them.” You’d think they’d know better than to get in a car with a strange man.
“Surely that’s their son?” you cry. Indeed he is. Doesn’t stop him being strange. Probably explains it, in fact.
98. An April state of smiles and tears…
Ask me … go on, ask me…
Are you looking forward to retiring?
Hmm… tricky one… and an interesting and relevant question. You must be a very perceptive person. Let me see…
97 Repentance…
Whan that Aprill with his showers sweet
Is watering the sod aronde my feet,
And weedes do sprout and gentile seedlings harden
Thanne longen I to go and dig the garden
And pick the hyacinths and prune the pentas
And wander lustilly round garden centas.
And this is why my blogging’s gone to pot
And furthermore hath schoolwork been forgot.
But now, alack, I reape what I have sown
And over empty planning folders groane
The thought of class tomorrow mack me shiver
With so few arrowes ready in my quiver.
“It serves you rite,” my inner Ofsted’s chanting,
“For Easter spente in planning not, but planting.”
96. First, catch your Parkie…
Last Friday, ActorLaddie and I went to a conference organised by the Cure Parkinson’s Trust Conference. The theme was ‘Curing Parkinson’s’, which sounds a pretty good idea to me. Half a dozen experts came from across the globe to explain what is going on at the moment in the way of research.
It was inspirational.
95. How charmingly sweet you sing…
We had our own little Glee Club at Liverpool Street station yesterday evening. A dozen youngsters from the Music and Dance Academy donned Parkinson’s UK t-shirts and sang their hearts out for two hours, bless them, to raise funds for PUK. They could belt it out, those kids; a great attention-grabber even down at the other end of the concourse where I was rattling a bucket.
94. The Parent Trap…
“Libby, did you want to share your news?” Libby puts down her hand, wades to the front of the carpet and faces her audience.
“I’ve got news about my mum and dad,” she announces.
“Is it happy news?” I ask. Some things are probably not best shared in show-and-tell.
“Yes it is. Sometimes, my mum takes all my dad’s clothes off and then she laughs. Any questions?”
The Jelly Chronicles 