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.
23. Stately as a galleon
“I’ll get it.” ActorLaddie dons dressing gown and slippers and shimmers off in search of the phone. Bally handset’s gone missing again. Has anyone ever thought of attaching it to the base by an extendable cord? Could be a winner, I think. Must mention it to ActorLaddie when he comes back. Show him that it’s not just fish-eaters who have brains.
22. Don’t panic Mr Mainwaring!
“How’d it go? Any tips?”
“Complete nightmare! They even opened my desk drawers!”
Not the news I’d hoped for when quizzing Miss Honey on her Ofsted inspection. Something along the lines of ‘a complete breeze’ would have been more reassuring.
So it was that the day before my first Ofsted, I was Dymo-taping labels for the tobacco tins in which I kept my stationery in the fear of a report saying “Yes, all the class can read but by ‘eck, you can’t lay your hands on a treasury tag for love nor money.”
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.
18. At the still point in the turning world
As we established in yesterday’s lecture on the elasticity of time (T), the pace of time for a teacher on playground duty can range from 2T to 4T. So five minutes can feel like twenty. Whereas, the pace of time in the staff room increases the closer you get to the tea urn, sometimes – say during wet play, when you know the children will be ghastly afterwards – reaching T/10. So no sooner have you reached the biscuit barrel than playtime is over.
You weren’t at yesterday’s lecture? Well you’ll just have to borrow the notes from a friend.
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.
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.
The Jelly Chronicles 