Nineteen

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I don’t know what Sigmund Freud would have made of it…

I was trudging up a long and steep hill, and, most peculiarly, I was wearing Chris’s bright blue plastic sandals, having opted to wear his rather than my own bright yellow plastic sandals. Disturbingly, Chris took umbrage with me for wearing his blue sandals and he walked past with a group of young women. I couldn’t catch up because I was so weary. Then suddenly I was in a shower-block, like those on campsites, and every door was shut to me because the women with Chris had taken them all first. It was terribly distressing…

Just as I was feeling my most wretched I heard a sound beside my right ear and I opened my eyes to see primroses on my bedside table.

“Happy nineteenth anniversary!” Chris said. “I had to search high and low for the primroses – they were early this year!”

He had been out before six in the morning on the hunt for the pretty yellow flowers that were so abundant when we married on the birthday of my dad and also my friend Sally – two days before Primrose Day.

Whilst I was still lying down, and adjusting from dream to reality, Chris assured me that he would never be upset if I wore his sandals but he would be surprised because he doesn’t have any blue plastic sandals and anyway, he takes a size 11 and I wear a puny (by comparison) size 8! And to prove that he would never go off with other women he proceeded to read me the poem he had written in anticipation of our anniversary morning rather than a bad dream…

NINETEEN

For my Darling Sally on our Nineteenth Wedding Anniversary
Nineteen summers, nineteen winters
laughing at Life’s shards and splinters
Each successive Spring and Autumn
practising all Life has taught’em
Every year the trials and triumphs
challenging complete compliance
yet despite these undulations
testing inter-marriage patience
All I ever loved and needed
while the months and years succeeded
lay right there within our marriage
and our vow to love and cherish
proved to be the one and only
guarantee ‘gainst being lonely
for, you see, since first I saw you
every day, I still adore you
Sally, sweetheart, you’re my treasure
finest friend and greatest pleasure
And, like before, still just as true
I WANT TO SPEND MY LIFE WITH YOU!!
My early attempt to hypnotise Chris when we first fell in love seemed to have worked. I wonder what Freud would have made of that?
From the bedside And more on the table

The Scream

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I couldn’t resist putting in this image of Edvard Munch’s iconic painting, which pretty well sums up the way I felt earlier in the day when I was waiting at the doctors surgery.

As per usual I found a chair as remote from the waiting throng as possible (well you don’t want to pick up any germs – do you?). My chosen seat was in a niche at the top of the stairs leading down to the lower section, but still on the middle level and separated from the main waiting room by a wall above the stairwell; therefore I was protected not only from the germs, but also from the sight of most of the other patients. My spot afforded me a view of just two patients sat opposite on the far wall and I could see the comings and goings through the doorway to the doctors’ rooms. Before sitting down I picked up a bowel cancer screening leaflet.

Some minutes later I was thinking that perhaps I should ring and ask for a testing kit when I heard a nasty cough emitted by an elderly man behind the wall. After flinching somewhat at the sound of loose phlegm I recovered my composure and almost smiled to myself – how sensible I had been in choosing such a good spot; okay, the sound travelled rather too well through the waiting room wall but I was at least safe from those horrid germs. Bored with all the health warning brochures I went over and chose reading matter from a pile of magazines beside the bald young man directly opposite me (he didn’t look too ill).

Soon it was hard to concentrate on the “Woman” magazine, not only because I didn’t have my reading glasses with me and I had to squint, but mainly due to a loud and high-pitched scream behind the wall. My hands went instinctively to my ears to protect my eardrums from the piercing noise. The screaming persisted and no chiding or soothing sounds came from behind the wall. I surveyed the faces of the two men on the bench seats opposite me. Each kept his head down, perhaps in the hope that the noise would cease if they paid no heed. The older man (with plenty of hair) glanced momentarily my way and stifled a chuckle. I was still holding my ears like the subject in the painting of “The Scream”.

With my hands planted firmly beside my face I began to read the article on my lap. I was attracted by the large print in the title – “WHAT IS MISOPHONIA?” I laughed aloud (no-one could hear over the young child’s piercing screams anyway). The first sentence read:

“Misophonia is an intolerance of sound and sufferers have specific symptoms and triggers that can set them off.”

The stolen page...with a couple of extra photographs.

The stolen page…with a couple of extra photographs.

 

If You go Down to the Woods Today…

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There are no Teddy bears in Banstead Woods – that’s where we were just over a week ago when Chris and I stayed with our good friends John and Barbara (Chris and John went to school together). Having spent the night at Belmont, next morning we went for a walk in the famous woods close to the grand house where Chris lived for much of his childhood. Until then I had no idea that the woods Chris had spoken of with such fondness, where he and his brother Jeremy had many great adventures, was even better known historically as the woods King Henry VIII bought for his new love, and second wife, Anne Boleyn.

The paths are wide and the trees, mostly still winter bare, are tall and stately; the bluebells, inspired by the sunshine, were just beginning to show their blue buds and hinted at the prospect of oceans of blue under the trees in a few weeks. We stood by a man-made pond and pondered on the fact that King Henry VIII had it dug as a watering place for the deer.

There was something magical about walking in woods so full of history. I kept thinking of Anne Boleyn meeting her lover in a secret tryst in a thicket or on sweet smelling beds of bluebells. I could nearly hear the huntsmen and the courtiers. I fancied I saw King Henry on horseback. When I checked out my photographs this morning I found to my amazement that, indeed, there was magic afoot…

A Bit of Bad Luck on the Food Front (and the Car Front!)

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You could say I’m rather hapless but definitely not unhappy or shapeless (well, the words do look a tad similar especially if you’re a speed reader). In particular I’m referring to a spot of bad luck over lunch yesterday. You see the newlyweds, Matt and Amanda, who are over from Australia and have been spending part of their honeymoon with us, were running out of time; after lunch they were going to see cousins in Paignton and would be having dinner with them, then back here for their last night. They were booked up on the train for Brighton late this morning so, in effect, yesterday lunchtime was our last opportunity to have a proper meal with them on this trip.

Charmingly, my nephew and his lovely young wife were excited at the prospect of yet another pizza (the one of three that wasn’t required at the family gathering the night before) but it was a nice pizza and I made it even more unctuous and delicious with the addition of extra cheese, peppers and pepperoni. Unfortunately, the numbers on the oven temperature dial have worn off hence it’s all a bit of guesswork; plus, I can’t time the cooking exactly according to the instructions because I always add extras so, for these reasons, I have never cooked a bought pizza to perfection – they are ever so crisp and brown, if not burnt after twenty minutes on blast furnace setting. Yesterday was no exception – but that’s normal – the mishap was yet to come.

I had laid the kitchen table but Chris, noticing the glorious sunshine outside, suggested that we eat out on the terrace balcony looking over the sea. We each filled our plates with salad and the well-done oozing pizza, added the dressings and the condiments, and took them onto the balcony. Suddenly I thought of drinks. A minute later I was back with a large bottle of sparkling water and four glasses. One glass dropped from my hands and shattered on the table… and some glass bounced… onto the plates of Amanda and Matt, especially so in the case of the latter.

The young stoics laughed and insisted that they didn’t mind pulling the small cubes of glass from their plates – “At least they were cubes (like a shattered car windscreen) and not shards!” Matt jested. I hasten to add that I brought out two extra plates and Chris and I brushed the patio floor (the newlyweds wore socks alone). We talked about the first “Die Hard” film with Bruce Willis, in particular the part where Willis has to run barefoot over broken glass and, once again, we were reminded how lucky we were that the tumbler had broken in such a fortuitous way. During the course of the meal my nephew stood up and walked to the balustrades, not to enjoy the view but to remove something from his mouth and throw it over the wall. He said:

“You know what? Glass really isn’t too bad, not nearly as bad as metal. Once I had a Chinese meal and a lump of metal from the wok got caught in my teeth. Now that was bad – it broke a tooth. No, glass is quite chewy and easy to find.”

At the end of the meal Matt made another wry comment:

“Isn’t it funny how this was our last meal together and it really could have been our ‘last supper’?”

Someone asked if he was in any pane and I can’t remember the other glass jokes.

 

In the evening, some hours later, the young couple came in and joined us in the lounge room. Chris turned off “Masterchef” (I endeavour to take note of how not to overdo things) and they told us of their excitement on the way home. The warning light had come on and, not wishing to cause any harm to the engine, they stopped and tried to open the bonnet. They were some time trying to find the lever to open the bonnet… They couldn’t find the lever – mine is a tricky little French car with levers in funny places. Luckily Matt chose to knock on the door of a rich old couple who were disposed to help the young Aussies in every possible way. The rich man’s son was called; he, in turn, looked up Peugeot Cabriolets on Google and… “Bob’s your uncle!” Soon the car was furnished with two bottles of superior quality motor oil from the posh garage and a jug of water for good measure. Apparently they had a jolly time with Brian.

They arrived safely, and on time, in Brighton this afternoon. I expect they are chatting with Jim and Jaimy right now, probably telling my son and his wife about the pizza and the breakdown. Chris took my sporty little French car with the foxy levers out for a spin and gave it a good polish to boot (not just on the boot). The car is going like a dream now it has had its fill of new oil from the “good Samaritan”. No harm done and no “last suppers”! But thank goodness we don’t live in glass houses!

Here are some photos taken at our family gathering:

 

A Day to Remember

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The year is 2011 and we are at the top of Purling Brook Falls, Springbrook National Park in the Gold Coast hinterland (Queensland). Chris and I are with my big brother Bill, his wife Lita and my nephew William. We are walking single-file on the path leading close to the cliff edge and the falls. We haven’t been here before and it’s terribly exciting, a bit frightening and exceedingly beautiful. It’s around midday and Chris is walking behind me. Suddenly he wraps his hands around my waist and whispers in my ear:

“Darling, I just thought I had better tell you that it’s my birthday today.”

“Oh no,” I said shocked, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, I rather thought you might know,” he began, “considering you’re my wife!”

 

I’ve never lived it down. But it wasn’t such a terrible thing after all because now Chris’s expectations are so low that he is thrilled to receive a “Happy Birthday!” wish at all and is inordinately pleased when I’ve gone to a little trouble to make him a card (even if it is a tad late in the day).

This morning I remembered Chris’s birthday and we went out to lunch with my lovely sister Mary and her husband Geoff. When I recalled the tale of six years ago Mary smiled but was not at all surprised.

“What about Mum and Dad?” she said. “One night when we were kids and Mum and Dad were in bed Mum said, ‘It was my birthday today’, and Dad said, ‘Was it?'”

Oh dear, it sounds rather familiar…

The Worker’s Reward

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One might believe that the completion of an arduous task, which badly needs doing, would be reward enough in itself – especially when it comes to housework – and I would agree. Certainly the large fireplaces in our lounge room and dining room were both in desperate need. I couldn’t go out as I was still recovering from my bad cold so, feeling a lot better, I decided to tackle the jobs I’d been trying to ignore for some months (or perhaps years, to be honest). For a long time I had been turning a blind eye to the grate in the dining room, and I lived in hope that Chris would notice and do the honourable thing. Not that we have any wood or coal fires burning these days, but it’s the old mortar from the chimney that falls down little by little and accumulates behind the fire-back, and some of it falls down into the grate; if you touch the fire-back by accident (perish the thought) a load of nasty red dust flies down so I tend to “back off” in the normal run.

Chris hadn’t noticed the red dust mound under the grate (so he says), neither was he aware of the white dust of ages that had formed a thick layer over all the ornaments, candles, photo frames and small glass bowls filled either with potpourri, screws, safety-pins, nails, coins and empty cigarette lighters (for the candles).

Boosted by the sight of the lounge-room fireplace all sparkly and shiny clean after my labours, I set to work on the one I had been dreading in the adjoining room. Indeed, the fire-back had to be dislodged very gingerly at first but, eventually, every bit of powdery loose red mortar was collected and the grate cleaned to a gleam. I left the mantelpiece to last because I had mistakenly thought it was the easier job. The second ornamental bowl I picked up looks like an up-ended kerchief in black with white polka-dots; well, I know it sounds awful but the piece is really quite attractive (and good for gathering dust). Anyway, I was peering inside the pot when I noticed something golden shining through the shroud of dust… I began to get excited. What could it be?

The gold necklace and pendant in the shape of Australia with opals had been missing for years. I thought I had lost it and, every so often, I have felt tearful at the loss because the necklace was a present from late father. Delighted with the find, I finished the clean-up operation as if on air. The rest of the dark corners of our house now has no bounds to me – my fear of the unknown has turned into an anticipation of more “Eureka!” moments. Also in the black and white pot was another little relic that made me smile – as you will see it’s a long screw with a message adhered to it:

“THIS IS A DECORATIVE ITEM AND NOT A TOY”

One would never have guessed!

Found

And now it’s back around my neck.

Really

No doubt beautiful in the eyes of its creator!

 

The Emperor’s New Curtains

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The good emperor

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No-one else could hold a candle to him

There was once an emperor who lived in a fine Victorian castle on a cliff above the sea. He was a kind, good tempered ruler, and therefore not rich. His beautiful wife, who was always on diet, was of a similar happy disposition and never nagged or scolded, which is quite surprising considering she was always dieting. They had four beautiful children, all grown and seeking their own adventures and fortunes out in the world.

You might have guessed that an emperor such as he would be entirely contented, however, he was not. For some time he had been a little perturbed – and it had nothing to do with the lack of delicious food in the castle larder of late…

“Darling,” he began saying to his wife over breakfast one morning, “I don’t like those curtains up in the guest suite. I think they let our place down.”

“But they were very expensive curtains Your Highness,” she answered, digging her heels in mildly (which is why she called him “Your Highness” sarcastically).

“I know, I know, but they don’t hang straight. Surely, my dear, don’t they bother you? And the curtain rails are far from smooth and gliding,” insisted the unusually vexed Emperor.

At the earliest opportunity the royal couple, accompanied by the Emperor’s dowager mother-in-law, sought out the purveyors of the finest curtains at the best price (they were not going to sell the crown jewels in order to buy the curtains). Upon seeing the perfect curtains in colour, quality and size, the Dowager purchased the correct quantity of cream bundles of silken fabric. The Emperor found five metres of new curtain track for under five pounds. Back at the castle the Emperor’s wife wondered at the cheap curtain track.

“Master,” she began, “would it not be better to spend a little more and acquire a rail that includes cords so that guests may simply open the curtains in one easy movement?”

Soon the Emperor found the Swishest curtain rail available that would not cost a king’s ransom, but which had the desired cords. The Emperor took off his best crown and donned a fake gold party piece of little worth; he put his bejeweled orb on the table, climbed a ladder and set to work. After a week or two he beckoned his wife upstairs to give her opinion on the new curtains on the new rails.

“The curtains look lovely,” said the good wife.

“What about the curtain rails?” the Emperor looked at her intently.

His wife studied the rails, which protruded six inches past the window frames on either side of the bay window, and she could not help but notice the strange and prominent metal brackets that supported the white plastic rail three inches in from each end. The ends still went down.

“They might be alright if you painted those metal things. They look like….um….” she couldn’t say it, not after all the Emperor’s hard work.

“Scaffolding!” helped the Emperor. “And, incidentally, those rails are exactly the same as the ones that I just took down. And they still don’t pull smoothly, and look at how high the cords are up the wall!” And they burst out laughing.

 

A week or so later the Emperor and his wife stood back to admire his new curtains. Each beautifully hanging, creamy, dreamy curtain glided smoothly back and forth like skaters on ice – by hand, of course. No Swishing. The cheap curtain rails, practically hidden by the new curtains, needed no “scaffolding”. The crown jewels are safe and now the Emperor is completely happy. The Emperor’s wife is vastly relieved and amused. On a whole she’s rather glad that the curtain episode has been drawn to a satisfactory close.

The "ups and downs" in an emperor's life.

The “ups and downs” in an emperor’s life.

 

 

Rave Reviews A Bit Fishy

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So glad I went to Specsavers!

So glad I went to Specsavers!

I had a feeling that Specsavers would ask me for a review after my visits for new glasses recently – they were extremely helpful and friendly – so I wasn’t surprised when the email came in last week. I set to the task immediately as, if I don’t do something straight away, it might never see the light of day again. Hence, I was not expecting to receive the same request from Specsavers this morning. Perhaps I hadn’t submitted my review correctly, I wondered, so I dutifully wrote another, less wordy review – “Excellent glasses and great service!” (well, I had done it all before!).

Now, at the same time, I remembered that I’d promised to go to Tripadvisor and write a rave review for our favourite fish and chip at Newton Abbot. After much ado installing Tripadvisor onto my mobile phone, and having to spend a lot of time trying to find the “Jacksons Fish and Chips” entry on the site, I had become rather unenthusiastic about carrying out my promise; so when at last I made it into the ratings section I was terse yet flattering. “Great fish and chips!” I wrote and left it at that, hoping no-one would notice that I was actually fed-up.

A short while ago an email came in with the heading, “Your review of Specsavers.co.uk has just been published.” Well I thought I’d check it out this time, seeing as I hadn’t done so previously. I’ve been chuckling to myself – I don’t know how the confusion came about… My Specsaver review read, “Grey fish and chips!” On that basis, I thought I’d give a grey wolf eel fish a nice new pair of specs.

And here are the before and after photographs of a much-loved Porch family photo that had seen better days. I am the startled baby.

Saving Baby Jamie

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Some people may think it’s been a waste of my time but I thought it was an emergency. If I didn’t act soon nearly all the photographs taken of my darling son during his first year of life would fade into oblivion; in fact, some of them were barely there. Back then I had one of those instant cameras, which were all the rage in the late seventies, and it was fun to have instant results even though they were only in black and white (I hasten to add that “the late seventies” to which I’m referring belong to the nineteen hundreds rather than the eighteen hundreds).

My son James, whom I used to call Jamie as a baby, is now married to a girl Jaimy and they are expecting their first child – a little girl – in July. Over the weekend my daughter-in-law sent me photos of herself as baby and she asked if I would send her some of James… that’s when I realised that all the small baby ones were either damaged or in varying degrees of bad fading. Truthfully, they weren’t even good photos at the time but that was the only camera I had. Nowadays everyone can be a great photographer with their digital cameras and PhotoShop programmes but back then you saved up and went to a professional photographer for your special photography.

The following year I bought a Kodak Instamatic, which took coloured photographs – hooray! – but they weren’t very clear and nearly all had a red cast. To a novice like me, a good photo was possible only under special conditions – particularly if the sun was shining, but not too much or there’d be white out! Therefore there weren’t many good shots for the albums.

For most of today and much of yesterday I’ve been trying to save the nearly lost images by photographing them and using all my PhotoShop skills on the new shots. Whilst working I’ve been a bit tearful remembering the old days… Now it’s James and Jaimy’s time – the turning circle – and instead of knitting for my baby I’m knitting hats with ears for my granchild… and for my great niece, great nephew and Rosie’s grandchild. Everybody likes hats with ears! I shall never have a hands free night of watching television again.

 

 

 

 

 

A Summer’s Evening in Peranga – An Oil Painting

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A Summer's Evening - Peranga

My latest painting is nearly finished. Peranga, where Chris and I stayed with my niece and family in January, is a little country town on the Darling Downs, out West from Brisbane. There are only a few houses, none of them modern, and very few cars. Many years back the mines closed and the once thriving population is now down to about thirty, according to my niece’s husband, who is the policeman – the only policeman in a large area of small, widely spaced towns. The place is isolated – that’s for sure – which is probably why it retains the charm of old Australia, the idyll that one imagines and which artists paint. I love the wide horizons, the big skies, the windmills, the barbed wire fences and the warm gold light cast by the lowering sun.

Finishing is the hardest part of any painting. The sky came into being in one day and the rest of the painting has taken about three weeks.  Should I complete the scene by adding a group of Galahs (also known as rose-breasted cockatoos), perhaps feeding on the grass or maybe perched on the fence posts? They’d probably look more picturesque on the fence but is that too clichéd? I want the painting to be the depiction of a landscape I love, maybe with some wildlife, rather than a picture of birds in a landscape. I’ll ponder some more on it… Any suggestions?

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