Monday 14th October.
Harry’s daughter was called Joan. I have never met a Joan
before. She’s the one who called Henry “Harry”. In fact everybody calls him
Harry and she didn’t understand why he had called himself Henry when I spoke to
him in the car immediately after the crash. She is about a few years younger
than Mum, I’d guess. She is tiny. I know Mum isn’t exactly an Amazon but this
woman was positively microscopic in comparison. She was also very small
featured. When she was younger she must’ve looked like a doll.
We met in the café which has an entrance on York Street and
one overlooking the Cathedral Precincts. I had ordered a pot of Earl Grey for
one and an apple and custard Danish when she arrived. She was looking anxiously
around the room and then caught my eye and headed straight for my table. We
established who we were and she sat down just as the waitress arrived with my
tea. She wrinkled her nose at the idea of joining me in an Earl Grey and
ordered a latte with an extra shot.
Before we could even get to pleasantries I asked how her
father was. That seemed to make her relax enormously and she launched straight into
a paean of praise for the treatment he’d been receiving and how the poor nurses
were rushed off their feel and just how busy the wards were. I felt as though
my ears had been pinned back in the sudden rush of words. I couldn’t get a word
in edgeways at all for a good five minutes. Her coffee stopped her flow and I
took up the bat.
I explained as carefully as I could exactly what had
happened that morning. Probably in more detail than I’d given to the police
woman at the scene. I didn’t mention that I thought the branch could have hit
us instead of her Dad’s car, but she did. She didn’t seem to think our good
fortune had caused her Dad’s bad fortune which was a relief. She asked me where
I worked and I told her I was an archivist at XXX &Y solicitors. She seemed
surprised at this and said the policeman had told her I was a student, so I
went into the whole saga of the job, then the Uni, then my new job at the Uni
and taking the old job part-time. I don’t think I confused her [too much].
I gave her a CD of the film I had taken from my phone and
was pleased to hear she had a computer and was quite proficient in using it.
Apparently the insurance company are going to write off her Dad’s car. I thought
that was pretty quick turnaround. She was glad I had filmed a lot of the branch
which had caused the accident; she seemed to think someone should have brought
it from the accident site but nobody had!
We spent the rest of the time chatting. She has a son and a
daughter. The son is a teacher [only just started] and her daughter is a buyer
for Lewis’s department store in town. I told her about the Lion attack on
Saturday and she was surprised that someone as conservative as me would do
something like that. I guess she had looked at what I was wearing and arrived
at a whole load of conclusions about me.
My Outfit: two piece
suit; dark pin striped jacket and matching (pencil) skirt. Pale lilac blouse,
black tights and a pair of pale lilac courts. A lilac handbag and
pashmina. Hair drawn back and fastened
with an Alice band. I do like getting dressed up for work. I wondered what
she’d have made of me in Thursday’s gear? Tight jeans, stiletto ankle boots,
blue blouse tied in a knot over my exposed belly button, short denim jacket,
Arabic square scarf –also blue, a blue beret and hair in two pigtails down each
side of my head. Oh and a patchwork rucksack. I bet the word conservative
wouldn’t even have crossed her mind, never mind her lips!
We had a good old gossip for another half an hour or so (two
more drinks, more Earl Grey and Latte, extra shot) during which I heard a load
about her life story and she heard selected snippets of mine. Harry is an
ex-bus driver and has never had an accident before in his life! Joan works for
a dairy somewhere that I hadn’t heard of, but in the office, not milking cows.
I think she has obviously said that joke all her life! She promised to keep me
informed of Harry’s progress [I’d given her my e-mail addy and my landline
number] and we parted.
I strolled back to work and more translations. Felice and
Laura had had lunch together! That is why my ears felt so hot! I am so pleased
they get on. Laura had been hearing about Feli’s love life. [It sounds very
exotic and complicated to me.] Laura had told the story of our first kiss on
Piccadilly Station, in Manchester, and how she’d fled on to the train before I
had a chance to react or do anything else. Feli thought this was so cute. [It
was! I'd sat in my car for ages afterwards rubbing my finger across my lips and
wondering if we would ever do it again.]
I had an e-mail waiting at home from Phil saying sorry he’d
been a prat on Saturday. I wonder why it took him two days? I’ll bet the kids
were full of the Room on the Broom and he realised his kid sister wasn’t trying
to undermine him at all. [Ha, I doubt it!]
Still bloody horrible weather so I drove Laura both ways
tonight. The restaurant was really slack tonight.
Tuesday 15th October.
Dog walk then swim and no rain. Rah, rah rah!
Off into work as usual. Decided to cut down on the tea a
little bit as I have got through a whole box of Earl Grey tea bags already,
plus I am visiting the toilet like it was going out of fashion! We had a really
silly time this morning as Feli recounted the tale of how her family got
stranded on a sandbank at la bassin d'arcachon in their yacht, for three days,
as nobody realised they were stuck! We used to go to that very region ourselves
in the camper van when I was a kid.
She even remembered the nudist camp, where we went
accidentally once [I assume it was accidental] and I had to witness a naked Mum
and Dad for three days. Quite an unusual
thing for a six year old! [Feli asked, “Does he have an unusual thing?”
and we lost in big time for quite a while.] I don’t imagine Andrea and I would
have been as silly and giggly.
We had done pretty basic sex-ed at school and I remembered
being quite worried that there was something wrong with his willy as it was so
dangly and wobbly. It would never get inside Mummy to make more babies! I am so
pleased I never asked them about that! Feli thought that was hysterical; the daughter
worrying about her Dad’s wobbly willy!
That was the final straw. The idea of wobbly willies was too
much for us both. I ended up with tears streaming down my face and my sides
aching. Feli started this deep whooping sort of laugh which sounded like a bird
being strangled. We made so much noise that a guy from the department came to our
office to check that we were OK.
I mean, how could we explain to this middle aged bloke what
the hell we were in hysterics about? He’d have died from the shock. He had
heard the whoops and was quite concerned for our safety, bless him. It didn’t
help that I mouthed, “I bet his is wobbly” to Feli behind his back.
The afternoon was scheduled to be calmer as I was back at
XXX&Y digitising the records some more. I met another guy whose willy
probably wasn’t wobbly near me! Bloody Christopher came to seek me out, again!
He wanted to know something about the Halle Concert next week, or that was his
excuse. I think he wanted to be near me and hope that I would forget all what I
had told him and ask him to ‘screw me like I have never been screwed before’ –
or something like that! That’s what they always seem to want. Some bollox like
that. I think he is going to have a long
wait.
Wednesday 16th October.
Oh, to be in England now that spring is here!
Jesus H Christ. This is the sixth consecutive day of grotty
weather! What is going on? OK yesterday was fine, I suppose –says she
grudgingly. But I mean…
I am going to put in an official complaint. Something needs
to be done!
Had a phone call from Dad. He wonders if I’d be interested
in going in with him on a cottage purchase on Arran?
What the F? What planet is he on? He’s rolling in it, why
does he want me to stump up some dosh too?
He’s couriered down the details and I should get them
tomorrow morning.
The cottage is in Whiting Bay. Quite small. Semi-detached, 2
bedrooms and faces south and east. It is up one of the roads that runs at right
angles to the main road round the island and you get a view towards Ayr, across
the Clyde, one way and Giant’s Graves the other.
That explains where he and Louisa have been for the past few
days. He hasn’t been answering either his home phone or his mobile.
I am not sure what to think, despite my earlier reaction. It
may be a great idea, would it mean we are pricing some poor local out of the
housing market if we buy a property on there? He asked me not to tell Mum, so of course that is what I did
immediately. She is gobsmacked that he would be thinking of doing something
like that.
When I get the details I’ll be in touch with Big Bro. He is
the whizz on all matters financial, being an accountant.
In a quandary.
Thursday 17th October.
Walked and swam as usual and at 8am a courier arrived with
Dad’s Arran stuff. Didn’t have time to do anything as Feli and I were off to
Halifax to look at a casket from around the time of our box, which is in
private ownership. Laura took my car and Feli and I went in hers. She has never
been to Halifax before [me neither, I hasten to add] and we got hopelessly lost.
I had to resort to using the sat nav on my phone to direct us there.
We knew we were lost because one of the lady's instructions was: Don’t
cross the river and canal. If you do that you’ve gone wrong. Whoops. We crossed
them four times altogether. I guess having a left hand drive car in the UK
doesn’t help. Plus, our route took us down a lane so narrow, between some large
looking factories, it looked to me like a work’s entrance, so I told Feli, “No.
That’s not it.” It bloody was! What a chump!
The woman who owns the casket lives in a really big, stone built
house in its own grounds, surrounded by fields. One of which is a school
playing field for a large school we could just about see in the distance. The
lady, who was called Susan, offered us some tea and was delighted that we liked Earl Grey. Her house was huge but minimal. There was very little furniture and
what there was looked as though it may have cost a packet.
We sat in a lounge that had just four leather reclining chairs,
a TV and a stand, two lamps and a small nest of tables and that was it! The
walls were covered with embroideries, though, and I spent an age walking round
looking at them all. She has been doing needlework for sixty plus years and you
can tell. Some of the pieces were exquisite. It made me realise how little I
had actually done with my sewing.
She had two pieces, she’d rescued from her Mum, which were
done when she was a primary school pupil. They were so cute and naively
childish. It made me wish I had something like that to put on display too.
There was one really striking piece which was called Secret Garden. It was of a
wall with an open iron gate set into it. Through the gate you could see a
cartoon style rickety house. It was the most wonderful piece I have ever seen.
I wish I had taken a note of the designer’s name because I would love to buy
the pattern and sew it myself. [I have searched for it on the web but to no
avail. So far!]
The casket was tiny compared to our hefty thing and covered
with embroidery all over, even underneath! It was quite like the two in the
Victoria and Albert Museum but in a much better condition. It has been in Susan’s
family for as long as she can remember.
The back panel has a really delicate Tree of Life pattern. There are
flowers and garlands on most of the surfaces and the front has Adam and Eve in
the Garden of Eden on each of the two doors. We spent over an hour just
looking, sketching, measuring and photographing. It is a truly brilliant object.
We then had another hour and a half joining Susan in a lunch
she had prepared for us of sandwiches and soup and then cake for dessert. I was
really surprised by this. Feli had said the Lady had said she’d stand us lunch
but she didn’t quite get the idiom. Her kitchen was unbelievable. Again totally
minimal in its style. Plain pale marble work tops and sink, with a mixer tap
exactly like mine [I had bought the most expensive one Howden’s sold to make up
for having a cheaper work top.] The most striking things were the cupboard doors, they were black but
had a sort of glass finish. They weren’t glass, obviously, but whatever the
black stuff was it was polished to look just like it. It was not the sort of
kitchen you would have associated with the house at all. From the outside you
would have expected a traditional Farmhouse, Wooden kitchen.
We had an explore of Halifax centre afterwards, which was
nothing to write home about, to be honest. We then moseyed back to Sunny
Sheffield [it was shrouded in mist this time] via Huddersfield. Big mistake! We
should have gone across the M62 and down the M1 but bugger lugs here wanted to
see what Huddersfield was like. Silly cow! Halifax to Huddersfield is about 6
miles. It took us over an hour to get from the M62 junction to the road out on
the Sheffield side of the town.
At one point Feli wound her window down and volleyed a
stream of French invective at a motorist surprised to find a left hand drive
car alongside and a woman screaming at him in French! He had pulled out of a
junction without stopping, and even I had braced myself and closed my eyes as I
thought it was going to hit us. I did
the typical French shoulder shrug with upturned palms at him as he looked
across Felice to catch my eye. What the hell he thought I would do?
We decided that Uni could be given miss for the rest of the
day, and Feli came back to mine. For another cuppa and a calm down. Laura was
surprised to find a sleeping Frenchwoman on our sofa when she rolled in. Just
in time for tea.
All three of us went and played with Callie in the field behind our house after tea, giving her some exercise after being cooped up all day. She is good
at torch light retrieving. I am not so good at avoiding obstacles in the dark, though and
went arse over tit straight into a vast expanse of mud! The other two just
laughed! Which I found seriously annoying.
After being helped up, eventually,
by a giggling girlfriend and frolicking French woman, in a fit of pique I stripped
off down to my bra and knickers, there and then in the field! I marched back into my garden, stomped down the path, threw my clothes down on the floor of the
conservatory and went to have a shower! They found this even more hilarious!
Friends, eh?
I still haven’t looked at Dad’s stuff. Finger out tomorrow.
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