Living Between the Lines
A wry look at family life
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Time was…
Time was, I was the one assisting people with their computers and IT problems. I was the one, coding, building websites and even building a computer or two. I was as familiar with motherboards and Y connectors as I have ever been with motherhood and Y-fronts. I may be a bit rusty here and there with the coding, but generally, I still pick up new technology quickly. So, what has happened to change this? First, I decide to top up with petrol on my way to the bank. I drive into the petrol station and pull up beside the pump. The first one has a large notice stuck to it,…
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Follow that wasp!
Monday: “Must be 5,000 if not 10,000 wasps in that tree,” the wasp man tells us. This does not make us feel any better. We wait as he gazes up into the branches. “Can’t see a nest…nothing I can do unless we know where the nest is,” We look at one another, Lisa and I. Isn’t that why we have called him? “They’re feeding now,” “Are they?” The busy buzzing creatures are not bothering us, it is true, they are far too busy. “You need to follow them and see where they go,” That’s helpful. We see a wasp heading off down the garden, just the one. Eagerly, our man…
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One sugar or two?
We are having some building work done at our house. This work has taken the form of an orangery, which is being attached to the kitchen and is to be followed by the fitting of an entirely new kitchen. Exciting stuff if you can stand it. The work has of course, been a tad disruptive. An exterior wall being knocked down, a patio dug up, nothing has been quiet nor without its share of rubble and dust. My kitchen has been dismantled, My routine shattered. My tactic is to remain calm and carry on. We have taken to visiting local places of interest. At this juncture, I should say that…
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Over the hedge
Five-year-old William had done the unthinkable and hurled his younger brother’s sunglasses up into the air and over the hedge. You may remember me doing something similar in a fit of jealousy, with my sister’s silk knickers? Could this be a family trait? I shan’t admit such a thing. The first I knew of the incident was when William came running in from the garden calling out, “Grandma, Grandma, you’ve got to help me!” Of course, I dropped whatever I was doing and followed him down the garden. Three-year-old Elliott stood with a sorrowful expression, by the hedge. “William,” (pronounced, Wi’yam) “threw my sunglasses into the hedge,” he told me,…
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Nights in Pink Satin
As I reached across the gas hob to retrieve a wooden spoon, I felt the heat rush up my arm. Husband had left the gas ring on, ‘simmer’. I hastily withdrew my arm before the flimsy material of my blouse could catch alight. That single act brought another image to mind, an image of another item of clothing that did not escape the flames and indeed, that can still cause me to squirm and die a little of shame, each time I remember it. I was 3 years old. The year was 1960. It should be said that sibling jealousy played a big part in what was about to happen.…
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A Twist in the Tail…
Flossie here. I have to say I am feeling a little embarrassed today. I’d really rather not tell you about my latest escapade at all but if I don’t, the Boss will and she is bound to make far more of it than she needs. I suppose I should start with the current state of play, since the days of my cunning plan. For the past few weeks, my freedom has been curtailed. Having blocked up as many holes as she supposed I could escape from, and in between bouts of pulling her hair out, The Boss has ordered new fencing and my outings into the garden have been limited.…
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Does this violin belong to anyone?
“Would you like ballet lessons, Debbie?” The question was thrown at my 7-year-old self, by my mother who stood chatting to a neighbour, in the street. I was playing hopscotch on the broad paving slabs that lay beyond our gate, at the time and stopped, wide eyed at the prospect set before me. I had harboured dreams of becoming a ballerina, ever since reading “Laura of the ballet school.” “Yes please!” I breathed. They both laughed and turned away. I threw the pebble with renewed vigour and practically pirouetted across the slabs. I was going to have ballet lessons! I was beyond excitement. My mother, chatting away to her friend,…
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Fess up!..
Have you ever listened to Simon Mayo’s, True Confessions, on Radio 2? Have you any of your own that deserve to be aired? Asking myself that question, I was struck that there is something I really should confess, so here goes… It was July 1977, the year of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. My boyfriend of 7 months, and I, had no money between us. He was still at University, I was working for the Civil Service. We were 20 years old and looking for a cheap summer holiday. My father, a sergeant in the police and well liked and respected by his colleagues, knew someone in the force who had…
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Flying irons
It started as one of those days. Two of my little grandchildren stayed at our house last night. I would not have been aware of their presence this morning, had I not opened my eyes just as they were leaving our room having, I guessed, been standing by the bed, staring at my sleeping figure for some time. I should have continued to sleep or to pretend sleep for a few minutes more, at least. However, being Grandma, I did what any grandma might do, I said, “Hello, you two,” Now, every grandchild knows that if Grandma says hello, that means she is awake, ready to play/read/cuddle whatever you like.…
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We’re Going on a Pear Hunt…
Yes, it is that time of year again. The tree that was festooned in blossom in early Spring and provided shade all summer, is now ready to let go its fruit. This would be good under normal circumstances. The tree is rooted just yards from the back door and the pears it produces are invariably juicy and sweet. There are far too many for us to use ourselves so we give lots away. We have already handed out bags to hairdresser, daughters and work colleagues…other years have seen us putting boxes of pears outside the barn , on the roadside, for passers by to collect. This last ploy has always…
