The Lost Weekend - not like that, the computer ate my text!

Friday July 11^th

Bit of a cock up on the computing front, Reggie. 

It seems I have a lost weekend. No, not one of those drink fuelled sex orgies where you wake up two days later with no underwear; a very sore vagina and no recollection of how it all happened. TBH, I have had one of those in January of 2007. I will not go into the grisly details except to say I am glad no-one took pictures or filmed what we did or I would be eternally seen as a harlot of the first order. [I will let your little, sordid imaginations work overtime on that.]

My lost weekend of the current inst. has been occasioned by some sort of computer glitch which ate my last weekend’s entry. It is nice having your entry eaten but probably not by a computer! I deffo typed the thing out and saved it but with amazing legerdemain my trusty old Lenovo has somehow lost it all. Hey ho.

Work was as usual except the Matriarch of the Family phoned the said work at about 10am with breathless news. She had forgotten to tell us she’d got tickets for tonight’s West Side Story at the Lyceum. It is the version on national tour and was brilliant. I digress. She had completely forgotten all about it until this morning when she spotted the theatre envelope pinned to her notice board and opened it to see what it was! 

‘Dozy woman’ was my initial thought and then I told her she ought to pin the actual tickets to the board not leave them in the envelope! She said she knew that and didn’t need a lecture from me about forgetting thing. I bit my lip as she has several embarrassing tales to recount of Yours Truly forgetting all sorts of things during her 27 years on the planet. This is another instance where I will let your little, sordid imaginations run riot!

The upshot was I phoned Dom to see if he could allow Laura to cry off tonight, with the full explanation. Dominic couldn’t believe my Mum would be so forgetful. I told him about the time they had got as far as Marienborn before they realised that baby Victoria was still in Magdeburg! He thought I was joking, but it is true. I was too little to have even been aware of it, of course. He was quite happy for Laura to have the night being cultured.

The show: A May Zing. The dance routines were stunning. I was over awed by it several times over. The set was brilliant too. I was sort of scaffolding towers on wheels, with real R & J balconies on them also in scaffolding type stuff (that's a technical term, BTW). Katie Hall’s Maria was excellent, she had the power and control to bring out all of the Pathos of the role. Tony (played by Louis Maskell) was a little over shadowed by Maria, in my humble opinion, but still pretty good.

But the songs! The songs! I came away humming America. Everyone there will have moved here! And the Sergeant Krupke section was great too. The most amazing thing was the audience, they were totally moved by the entire show and the place was packed to the gunwales. I have never seen so many people crammed into the Lyceum. More crowd pleasers like this will put the books firmly into the black. If they get the run of Les Mis to hit Sheffield I predict that will sell out too.

Our next theatrical excursion is to the Crucible, a week on Wednesday (23rd July), to see Mansfield Park. It is usually our ladies’ night but we all decided a trip to some Austen would make an interesting change. That will be out last bit of culture, perhaps, until we get back from Western Australia. It is a bit of a cultural desert to be honest. That isn’t to say we won’t try and broaden our host’s horizons if we find anything worth seeing.

Laura, yet again, hadn't got  West Side Story on her radar and she was enthralled by it. I am hardly surprised. Theatre presented this well would win over anyone’s heart and with a glorious source script, and libretto, there is no reason not to fall in love with the show.

We hit the charp at about midnight after I had dug out my old OST recording from the film which I haven’t played in years.

Saturday July 12^th

Once again we regaled Sarah with more artistic reviews this morning, after our swimming session. She had heard of West Side Story but had never seen it. Laura, with quite atypical vim and vigour, insisted that if she got the chance she must go. I have not seen her so fired up about something for a while. Even Sarah seemed to take note that Laura’s passions had been aroused by the show.

When we got home, she insisted on playing my OST recording while we ate breakfast, which is so unlike her too. She then asked, after breakfast and Russ Tamblyn's singing, what other musical soundtracks I had stashed away. [There was a tale that Tamblyn’s voice was actually Tucker Smith’s but I have never found out if that was true or not.] I told her I had very few really: they include Mary Poppins, Singing in the Rain (Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously, as Moses he knows his toeses aren’t roses, as Moses supposes his toeses to be!), West Side Story, Oliver (I am reviewing the situation, must a fellow stay a villain all his life?), Rocky Horror Picture Show, Kiss Me Kate (Brush up your Shakespeare, start quoting him now!),  Moulin Rouge, Shrek and The Reduced Shakespeare Company’s Millennium the Musical (Déjà vu, it’s happened before, dju va it’ll happen once more, you can’t be sure of when, but it’s déjà vu it’ll happen again!). I don’t have The Sound of Music, you’ll be pleased to know, or Les Miserables!

I do have a lot more recordings of Operas to be honest. They are probably more of an acquired taste. I played her the Reduced Shakespeare Company one before we zoomed off into the wilds of Derbyshire for a walk along Monsal Dale (to the Monsal Head Inn) and then back again. I know a brilliant, sort of,  circular walk which has the pub as its mid-point. We parked up at Miller’s Dale and walked the low level route following the River Wye all the way to the Monsal Head Viaduct. We climbed up on to the viaduct and I got pangs for abseiling from it again! We hadn’t brought climbing gear with us so we yomped up the path to the pub where we had a really tasty and filling meal. So filling in fact we had to sit outside and let it settle properly before we set off back.

I guess having a bottle of wine with our lunch wasn’t a good idea really. We were seated for a good hour at the car park view point, opposite the pub and watched hundreds of people come struggling up from the viaduct on foot or up the road on a bicycle. Our route back took us along the Monsal Trail section to Miller’s Dale. It is Granny Walking really, but I just wanted some gentle exercise not to be sweaty Betty all day.

The effect of the wine had worn off by the time were were opposite Ravenstone Tor, apart from the pressing desire to micturate! There were just so many people about it wasn’t easy to find a discrete spot to relieve one’s bladder. We managed by climbing up the hillside a little way and then finding suitable screening bush. I was a little careless however and tumbled over after I had performed, this sent me into a horrid patch of nettles where I stung all of my left side. My arm, shoulder, neck, cheek and ear!! If, when I felt myself going, I had simply rolled over I would probably have avoided the bloody things altogether. As it was  I did what everyone tends to do when falling; I put my arm out to steady myself but ended up right into the edge of the nettle patch. The shock of being stung in the hand and wrist just sort of propelled me over into the patch almost in slow motion.

I am sorry to recount that the rufty tufty, derring-do, all action woman actually sobbed as the stings hurt so much. I felt a complete idiot for falling into them and for crying. Laura seemed to produce a whole bunch of burdock leaves from thin air and we spent the next five or ten minutes rubbing them vigorously over my stings! I think the worst bit was the area from my T-shirt strap to my ear. If I hadn’t turned my face away as I fell I would have taken a face full too! I had some antihistamine in my rucksack and took two of those to help ease the pain and swellings and we lumbered back down on to the trail and to Miller’s Dale. Luckily this was only about 10 minutes away.

In the car we decided we’d drive straight to Mum’s and I’d let her mother me. Laura drove us to Holmesfield and by good fortune Mum was in. She was surprised to see us and shocked that I had so many nasty looking stings all over my left side. They were throbbing by now and extremely unpleasant. I had to fight off a nagging, maddening desire to scratch at them as I knew it would only make them hurt more.

Mum found some solution to dab all over my arm, shoulder, neck and cheek which seemed to be quite soothing, if a bit smelly. I think it was tea tree oil judging by the smell and then she gave me a packet of frozen peas to put on my neck and cheek. This was an almost instant relief. It must have looked quite silly; me sitting in Mum’s kitchen in only my bra, clutching a bag of frozen peas in an oven mitt clamped against my neck and cheek! (She had made me take my T-shirt off in case the liquid stained it.)

She was pleased I wasn’t anaphylactic or it could have been much, much worse. I remember having to stab an epi-pen into a classmate’s thigh once when she had been stung by a wasp (several times). It was a pretty scary experience but fortunately when the girl started with us our form tutor had explained about the anaphylaxis and she had shown us how to use the pen if it was ever needed. [I can’t for the life of me remember her name. She didn’t stay long, only about 18 months. I can clearly picture her looking like the typical athletic sportswoman (girl), so it was a surprise to learn that she had the condition.]

After a while I started to feel much better and Mum insisted we had to stay and have our meal with her instead of rushing away to Oughtibridge and then preparing our meal when we arrived. Laura explained that she was working at Dom’s; but we had plenty of time to eat, digest and drive at Granny-pace across the city. That is almost exactly what we did. I relinquished the peas for a freezer block for a cool bag on the journey home and we seemed to avoid any hold ups.

Laura went off to work and I sat and tried not to scratch.

When she got back she told me she had the ideal way to take my mind of the pain. It worked a treat!

Sunday July 13^th

Mum called at about 7.15 this morning, so early in fact I thought we were going to be receiving bad news. She wanted to know how I was doing this morning. The swelling has all but disappeared but the area is still quite red and sore looking – even though it doesn’t feel sore at all either. I told her Laura was being a brilliant nurse and was taking care of me. I didn’t explain exactly how she was taking care of me but suffice to say an orgasm takes your mind completely off everything else!

BY lunchtime there was distinct danger that I may be having an ecstatic overload so I told Laura I would see if helping her would also take the pain away. It did. Apart from one time when she squeezed her legs together, trapping my head between her thighs and I thought my head was going to be crushed. Apparently I had hit a perfect spot. I told her that if it happened again she had to warn me in advance that I was heading in that direction so I could slip on my crash helmet!

I felt fit enough to have a shower after all our morning exertions but despite repeated scrubbing I couldn’t seem to shift the smell of the tea tree oil.  Laura said she couldn’t smell it all but I was sure it was still lingering.

We passed a quiet afternoon working our way through my Musical Soundtrack CDs and remembering just how bad (or good) some of them were. Dick Van Dyke’s singing in Mary Poppins was absolutely terrible. The verbal dexterity displayed in singing in the rain was quite surprising to our “modern” ears. Listening to Kiss me Kate and watching Laura’s reaction to the songs and then my summary of the story was amusing. She was appalled that such a play could have been written. I explained that a lot of Bill Waggledagger’s themes would upset contemporary audiences if they were written today. The misogyny in The Shrew or the anti-semitism in The Merchant or the sheer Quentin Tarantino horror of Titus Andronicus would never be performed if they were written in the 21^st century.

She expressed (as she always does) astonishment at how much literature there seems to be in my head, I had to tell her that I am always equally astonished when she performs some feat of mathematical genius in her head. I think hers is the harder to do, she thinks mine is. I told her I would arm-wrestle her to see who’s right. I am afraid I had to use my right arm, as my left is still not up to a wrestling match, and she won – so it appears that the genius is in knowing masses of literature not in being able to do amazing sums in your head!

We had a relatively early night, for us, as Laura asked if I needed any more pain relief and I said that I thought I might, to help me manage to get through the night. She obliged, then so did I. I wonder if this kind of treatment is available on the NHS?

What shall I pack? Decisions, decisions...

Monday July 15^th

Where has the time gone?

It seems like years and years ago that I was buying tickets to fly to Australia and invade my sister and brother-in-law’s sprawling house in Warnbro and now it is less than a fortnight before we are leaving. I am trying not to get too excited by the prospect, although I know that Laura is really extremely bouncy about the whole thing. Skyping my family out there isn’t the same as actually being there in person, it is a good substitute and it is certainly better than all the old methods of communicating. Our countdown calendar is nearly completely covered in crosses, although the last three days won’t be crossed off here as we will be at Dad for the weekend before we fly and he is kindly taking us up to Glasgow airport as well.

We dog walked together this morning and then whizzed down to the pool for our usual 100 lengths. We have promised to e-mail Sarah with all our news and exploits while we are away and we have given loads of people our Skype address. I just hope everyone remembers that Perth is 7 hours ahead of UK time in their winter and they don’t think about calling us after UK tea time. We’ll be in the land of nod! (Half past six UK will be half past one in the morning.) 

She said she will miss our silly morning gossips. I’ve told her we’ll e-mail at least one line every day. I have also informed her we are going to continue our morning swim as Warnbro pool is only about 500 metres from my sister’s house, on Warnbro Sound Avenue. They have changed its name since last year and have now called it “Aqua Jetty”. The last few times I have visited Susannah I went with her to the pool. I swam in the indoor pool while she did her aquarobics class, from 7 am to 7.45.  They have now moved that time slot all over the place and have a seniors’ movement class in the pool at those times. I have told her she could easily pass for a senior and she has promised me a very hard slap when I arrive!

We arrived at work at 8.30 again and went our separate ways until lunch time; this is still a swift half an hour for us as we are leaving early. Good old flexible working.  Nothing out of the ordinary occurred at either of our works places and we left pretty pronto at 4.30 to have our evening meal.

Laura is still not quite used to the slowness of pace that has returned to Dominic’s after the tour de France went through over a week ago and her tips have returned to their normal, pre-extravaganza levels. We have been looking around for a good deal on currency exchange but it is still pretty dire. I remember once when we went to Australia, probably in 2001, my hard saved pocket money of £500 made me over $1500! I think those days have long since gone, sadly.

Tuesday July 15^th

Dad has decided that once he drops me and Laura at the airport he and Louisa are going to spend the last of July and all of August on Arran. Seems like a sensible plan to me. If we weren’t going to Australia I would be planning on doing something similar. He has worked out that if on average a High Season Holiday Let would be around £600 per week then having five weeks in the van will have put back £3000 into the caravan’s value. I sort of see what he means; he is, of course, referring to the money saved by having the van in relation to having to rent every time. It was this cost benefit analysis that Laura did her in head when the idea of sharing was first mentioned. She reckoned that I needed to spend 25 High Season weeks to have recovered the equivalent of the amount I had paid out. After that I was quids in. 25 weeks is easily attainable in only three years of visits, especially with our length of holidays.

We were discussing this with Sarah at the pool and she said, “You have a static caravan, on Arran?” I told her I thought she knew. Either she had forgotten all about it or I didn’t tell her. I explained I had gone halves with Dad on the purchase and we had it right by the shore line in the south east of the island. I bemoaned the lack of sunsets but also commented that the west of the island is very windswept whilst the east is sheltered and can be relatively balmy. I invited her and partner to come and stay with us sometime. She said that she would love to.

At work I had some very interesting case law to find on intestacy where the entire family had no wills. I spend all day looking up different precedents and rulings. I discovered several instances of large country houses falling into the hands of sisters of the deceased after the male owner died without a will. This surprised me as I thought there was a law which used to prevent this from happening. I took a while trying to find this law. I knew all about “feme sole” and “feme couvert”; one of the things from our past which really incenses me, but I was convinced there was a single named act about intestacy. I believe what I was thinking of was Salic Law, which is quite different.

The country house thing was fascinating, the law provided that a woman could inherit, say, her brother’s estate but any titles which the brother had conferred upon him were void upon his death. Yet another bloody example of the oppression of us women and the denial of our rights. There are times when I wonder if studying history is what has actually made me the ardent feminist I am today.

Wednesday 16^th July

More of the same today. We are diligently crossing off the days on our Countdown Calendar and I keep looking at my wardrobe wondering what to pack and what to leave behind. I am planning on taking the bare minimum again but then I think: “Mmmm…. I must put that in; those would be good too; how about?” I have packed my suitcase three times already. Laura thinks I am mad. She has made a list and is sticking to it. I wish I’d done that but if I do so now she’ll think I’m copying her! LOL

I think foot wear is the hardest to decide. I am not taking my uggs, as I will buy a couple of new pairs while I am out there. I will need something sturdy for walking in but not boots; I need something jazzy for nights out and I definitely need sandals and walking in water shoes. It’s tricky. Previously I just bunged any old stuff in and hoped for the best but with Laura coming too I don’t want to look dowdy alongside her, do I?

I know I sound really petty and trivial but things like this do matter. I can’t look like the ugly duckling  next to my swan, can I? It wouldn’t be fair on her and I would feel so embarrassed. She tells me I would look gorgeous in a sack but I know she’s just saying that to stop me getting obsessive about it all.

Australian winters are difficult as the weather though mild by UK standards can be changeable and you need to be prepared for chilled mornings and roasting afternoons. When I came out for Christmas (Two holidays ago) it was simple: I put my UK summer wardrobe in my case and that was it. I also put in every bra I owned which was a pretty dumb thing to do really.  

The one thing I am definitely taking is my lightweight gore-tex waterproof. It proved invaluable last year when Mum & I were caught in several torrential downpours in Perth and Fremantle. It is longish and comes down to mid-thigh, last year on one occasion it was longer than my shorts so it looked like I only had my waterproof and my sandals on! They were quite short shorts and Mum said I was wearing them just to show off my tush! Where did she get such an idea? It was true though.

Laura is getting really excited now. I am trying to be the calm rational one when what I really want to do is grab her by the shoulders and jump up and down together shouting “Yaay!” Dignity Miss Jay, dignity.

At lunchtime, at work, I mentioned my packing with Laura and she said she has been packing by colour of garment. She is going for a lemon, blue and purple theme with all her stuff. I thought that was a great idea so I will try and repack using a colour theme too, I won’t copy Laura’s colour choices because that would be too cheesy by far!

Laura started work as usual at seven and was home again by seven thirty. I asked if she’d been sacked but she laughed and said there was a power cut in the village centre and Dominic had had to close. This was an unexpected bonus, so I drove us both across to the minor road that runs through the Strines Valley and we walked up to the pub (The Strines Inn) past the reservoir and back to the car – after a suitable libation of course.

It was really quite a muggy evening and still pretty hot. It seemed lightish as I drove up through Bradfield and down Lumb Lane but at home it was quite dark (no, we hadn’t had a power cut). As we were back early we had a shower together and then spent a good couple of hours messing around in bed before falling asleep. I didn’t need to walk Callie as she’d had her long after ‘sup sup’ walk.

Thursday 17 July.

We  walked the dog, swam and breakfasted as usual this morning. Sarah wasn’t on at the pool so we didn’t stop for a gossip like we often do. This meant we were early away to XXX & Y and as such had a slightly longer than 30 minutes lunch break.

After our lunch Mrs Briggs was called away and told me I was in charge again! Rah rah rah! However, just like last time this happened; nothing happened. Nominally I was in charge but as everyone was busy on their individual tasks and no new ones filtered down to us there was nothing to do but carry on with what I was doing. I didn’t even have to answer the phone as no one rang. Not even an internal call from another department.

There is an adjunct to this, because when Mrs B got back at just before 4.30 she started laughing in her office and then buzzed me through. She asked if we’d had any phone calls while she’d been away and I told her there had been none at all. She explained that she must have turned the ringer off and even if anyone had called we wouldn’t have heard it. Whoops. We aren’t exactly the frantic nerve centre of the company so I doubt if anything of import will have been missed.

Laura was back at Dominic’s tonight and she learned that the power cut had been caused by a lorry hitting a telegraph pole on the Middlewood Road and bringing down the power lines. Why it hadn’t blacked us out, further up the hill I have no idea. Dom  had no idea what had caused the lorry driver to drive into the telegraph pole but apparently he was taken to the Northern General Hospital for treatment afterwards. This had happened at about 6.15 last night and had partially blocked the road for ages.

I am now half way through book nine of the Sara Paretsky novels. I had forgotten just how good they are.

Late-ish night as Laura came with me to walk the dog and had a confession to make – she hadn’t chosen her packing by colour after all. She was so surprised that I had thought it was a brilliant idea she hadn’t the heart to tell me she was pulling my leg, yesterday! Good one Laura.  

Male parenting skills questioned. (My brother's actually!)

Monday July 7^th

We told Sarah, at the pool this morning, about the boob flashing and she thought it was hilarious. She asked what we’d have done if the car had turned round and come back. I said that we’d have climbed over the wall and run!

She had been in Coronation Park for quite a lot of the Sunday and was pretty surprised by the number of people who had turned up to see the race. She thought there would be good coverage on Look North tonight and we said we’d try and watch it – we forgot. I don’t watch much TV at all to be honest and it seems as if Laura is the same as she never seems to hanker for it too. Anyway, it was “I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue!” on Radio 4 which always takes precedence over anything on TV.

Today is the halfway point through our month of working together. So far it has been fine. We hardly see each other in the building; Reprographics and Archives are floors apart and at opposite sides of the place too. Laura’s task today was binding up copies of notes to go into court. She has to put these plastic ring clip things on them (a bit like a long thin sprung hair clip but without the spring) which keeps all the notes together and in order.

I have seen them after they have been used in court as we end up getting them to file away in the Archive. Often they are scribbled with notes and questions which pass between the barrister and solicitor in the court room. Occasionally there are doodles. One I had,  a few years ago, had a brilliant sketch of the bench of magistrates – the barrister that day must have been very bored!

I have just worked out this is my anniversary entry into this blog. Phewee Musky, I have kept it going for a whole year. Initially I was only keeping it as a means of remembering my holiday in Western Australia but decided to keep going. I have re-read some entries and they do bring back good memories they also seem to be peppered with mistakes – typos, wrong words etc. My editing is obviously appalling; so my new batch resolution is to make the editing much better. What’s the betting in a year’s time I will be saying the very same thing?

Home pronto after work and then after our meal I whipped Laura down to the restaurant and I went over to Wyming Brook, for a woodland walk with a tinkling stream alongside me. I know I could have walked up Coumes Brook but usually it is such a muddy trudge I don’t find it enjoyable. Wyming Brook was Idyllic. There were quite a few people around and several dog walkers, so Callie ‘meeted and greeted’ several other hounds on our sojourn. I rolled back into the little house at just before 10pm!

I drove down to Dom’s to pick Laura up and she was complaining, now, that the place had been dead all night! Last week she’d been rushed off her feet and now she was fretting about a lack of customers. It will pick up during the week though, they have three Hen Parties booked in on Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. She finds those amusing even if the hens are usually lousy tippers.

Tuesday July 8^th.

Dog walked. Swam. Showered. Breakfasted. Work.

Just one of those days. I did go climbing with Angie and Mike this evening while Laura was at the restaurant and we ended up at the Fox House Inn again for a swift libation as it started to rain. Wet rock is no fun to climb on. Their Undergrad Climbing group didn’t last all that long so next year they are planning a fresh approach. I have asked to be counted in and they are pleased to have me on board. I also signed Laura up in her absence.

When I told Laura this, as I picked her up, she was surprised. She had forgotten all about the little group. I suppose the low numbers taking it up should have been a warning. Still maybe they will attract more people next year.

This was definitely a Radio Stars Song Day.

Wednesday July 9^th.

Mum called me before we left for walk and asked if we wanted tea at hers, so I agreed but told her we had to zoom Laura to Dominic’s by seven, she said she’d come over to mine, cook tea here and then we could sit and gossip while Laura went down the road. She does this fairly often, as I have encouraged it. My only rule is the kitchen has to be left how it was found.

At work we tried to guess what she wanted to tell us. She normally saves bombshells for face to face rather than over the phone. I said she was probably re-marrying – Laura thought that would be lovely. She was of the opinion she was going to move up to Hawick or somewhere near her Mum (my Gran) as Gran is long in the tooth. Tough as old boots but heading for her mid-eighties. I had to hope that wasn’t the case. I love having Mum sort of round the corner. If she moved to the Borders that would be as far away as my Dad. I’ll have been abandoned! I don’t think I am ready for that to happen just yet.

Of course, as Mrs Briggs quite rightly said, “We may be just borrowing trouble!” It is amusing to hear your own words coming back at you from someone who is your (sort of) boss. She is right though. There may be nothing at all in our worrying.

At home Mum had prepared a meal of pork medallions with cider, they were delicious. In fact there probably weren’t enough of them as we cleared absolutely everything. The dessert was a key lime pie, which she had made at home and brought with her. That was even more delicious than the pork, if that is possible.

Mum sat and gossiped for ages. She mockingly chided me for inviting Dad to come and watch the tour de France but not her. I asked if she would have come to see it if I had and she said, “No!” I did explain how he and Louisa were only here to see Dream Theater at the City Hall and she went into a long reminiscence about how she and Dad had seen them in Newcastle in 1994 when nobody had really heard of them. They played a small club near the Tyne which probably doesn’t exist anymore. I had been left with my siblings in the trusty care of Gran in Hawick. I was just 7 at the time.

I described the tour passing by to her and she was interested but I think glad she hadn’t bothered to make the effort to come and see it happen. She was surprised that Dad  had wanted to stay and see it though, so was I to be honest.

She asked about how Louisa was and was there any more news about the baby. I passed on what we had discussed with Louisa and Dad over the weekend. Which was simply that things were progressing normally and as far as we knew everything was fine.

This lead her on to what was probably the real reason for her wanting to talk. (Yes, it was about babies and, no, it wasn’t about me and motherhood – don’t jump the gun!) She had a call from Jane in the week who sounded a little worried as she thought that Philip was having less and less to do with baby Sophie. It seems he is leaving almost everything to Jane and hardly doing a thing to help her. Jane thinks he is avoiding the reality of having a new baby in the house and is trying to continue as though she isn’t there and in need of attention and love and affection from both parents.

Mum tried to make conciliatory noises to Jane but I could see from her demeanour and expression that she is concerned for them all. I know Phil can be a bit of a pillock at times but I have to hope Jane is mistaken about this. Having said that it wouldn’t surprise me in the least as a new baby is bound to impinge on his “I am a flash git” life-style somewhat. Mum advised Jane that they need to sit down together and talk about it. There is an equally likely possibility that Phil is such an insensitive bugger (he is a typical male in that respect) that he may not even be aware of what he is doing.

Jane had the cheek to ask about how Dad was with me when I appeared ten years after Phil and twelve after Susannah. Mum thought she might be trying to seek some correlation between Dad’s attitude to his new bundle of fun (yours truly) and Phil’s attitude to Sophie. I was keen to know too so I repeated Jane’s question to her.

Dad, it seems, was absolutely overjoyed at the news of my impending arrival and even more so when I finally appeared. He did his fair share of help with my early care and once he could see I was a smart cookie he was even more hooked. Apparently when I uttered my first sentence he was delirious with my budding genius. I had said, “Victoria in Difficulties!” He took this as a sign that I was going to be the child genius his family was lacking so far. Suze wasn’t all that bothered about school but she knew from an early age she wanted to be a nurse; Phil (apparently) was a major disappointment as he wasn’t a chip of the old block at all. It took him ages to learn to read (by Dad’s standards) and he liked doing little boy things.

The fact that I could read at such a young age and seemed to love literature and books and learning about everything must have been what made me the apple of his eye all those years ago, a situation that still exists today. I know he feels Suze let him down by not following where her talent would have led her (to become a doctor) but settled for what Dad considers second best (a nurse). Phil’s relentless pursuit of mammon he, frank, abhors. That a child of his could be so fixated on money and its acquisition at the expense of the arts and literature is something which has blotted Philip’s copy book forever and indelibly. It is just sweet little old me; former nymphomaniac in the making and arrogant, stuck-up, superior little cow, who on the death of her fiancé had a nervous breakdown and when she recovered turned into a feminist lesbian; little flawed Vic is still his favourite.

Mum is going to use their visit next weekend to drop hints about stuff he should be doing when Jane steps up to do anything Baby related. I think whacking him with a 16lb hammer would be a better method of getting a response. It is worth a try though, not only for Jane’s sake but for little Sophie and Peter and Angela. They are bound to notice that their Dad is becoming an absent parent, surely?

Mum’s wine intake meant that she was in no fit state to drive so as I went down to the restaurant with Callie to escort Laura back home, Mum went through her ablutions and was ready to hit the charp when we got back in. We weren’t all that long in copying her actions, although we did delay in the shower again – but quieter than usual. (My second bedroom is right next to the bathroom!)

Thursday July 10^th.

Mum slept through us getting up and dog walking; going swimming; coming back and making breakfast. I went up to the second bedroom and knocked on her door in case she had died in the night. She hadn’t. She staggered down for a late breakfast just as we were leaving for work.

Work was as usual really. I didn’t see my beloved after we parted company in the lobby until our hasty lunch time. Then we were joined by Mrs Briggs who was keen to know when Mum was going to Scotland. I explained what had transpired and she said that she wasn’t surprised; men really weren’t very good at being parents, on the whole. I started to defend Dad but after consideration of how he has been with Suze and Phil decided to keep schtum instead.

Home as usual and an early meal and then walked Laura down to Dominic’s. Apparently Dad had phoned Reinhardt and Reinhardt had been in touch with Dominic and they are going to arrange that Dom becomes a customer and will be able to order wine at trade prices and get shipping at discount for bulk too. I am a star and have been invited for a meal (with Laura) whenever we want. We asked if it could be after we have been to Australia as we fly out in just under two weeks’ time. Dominic was happy with that. We said we could use it as our “Commencement Dinner”.

I have now finished the seventh in the Sara Paretsky series of novels and am getting more and more attuned to her writing style. I completed number 7 this evening while Laura was working. I walked down with Callie to collect after 11pm and we strolled back through Coumes Wood – no teenagers again tonight. Maybe they were just there as a one off?

Less than a fortnight to go to Australia! Yaay!

Le Tour de Sheffield.

Friday July 4^th

It’s independence day. Good riddance to a troublesome set of colonists is what I say!

It’s also Callie’s birthday, she is 8. I can’t believe eight years ago a tiny bundle of fluff came into my life. OK I didn’t collect her until September but as the breeder was a friend of Dad’s I went to see the pups in the second week after they were born. I didn’t choose Callie, she chose me. I held every puppy (after disinfecting my hands) and the one who became Callie Pup fell asleep in my hand. They were so tiny they just fitted in my hand. Well, that was it, she found me safe enough to go to sleep on so she was mine. The breeder painted her claws with red nail polish so she would know that was Maia’s choice.

She was such a cute baby dog and unlike the adult weimaraners they all had darker grey tiger stripes in their fur which gradually faded by about four weeks. Also they had the most striking blue eyes, sadly Callies’ have turned a pale greeny yellow colour. They would have been even more beautiful if they had stayed blue. Richard thought I was mad wanting a puppy but I had this idea in my head and once an idea is there you can’t shift it! She actually lived with my Mum for 18 months after Richard died and I had my breakdown in Australia. I was scared she would have become Mum’s dog after all that time apart but as soon as she saw me again she was my puppy once more.

I can’t believe it. The gossip at work was all about the tour de France and how it is coming to Sheffield, one of the girls mentioned it was coming through our village but I didn’t believe her so we went on to the tour website and sure enough, it does! Rah rah rah. I knew it was coming to Sheffield, but I thought all the bunting and flags around the village were all to do with the Oughtibridge Carnival and the party in Coronation Park that normally accompanies it!

Stage two, near the end, climbs out of High Bradfield (that’s where we go walking and drinking) up to Kirk Edge Road; it passes the convent then drops down into Oughtibridge via Worrall and Church Street. In the centre of the village it crosses the main roads and heads up Jaw Bone Hill, past Coronation Park. Wowee. From there it goes through Grenoside, drops down Halifax Road and then wanders off a bit before getting into the city proper. It doesn’t finish in the town centre though, which I thought would be ideal, but in the Don Valley Stadium (if it is still called that).

I texted Laura in Repro and she wandered up into Archives to look at the route. We think we’ll go and see it pass. Somewhere on Kirk Edge Road would be best to avoid all the road closures that are in place from very early on Sunday morning. More to follow on this one…

We finished early as usual and drove along past Dam Flask to follow the bit of the tour de Sheffield’s route from Bradfield down into the village. It really does explain the yellow bicycles, the flags and bunting plus the heaps of small knitted jerseys scattered about everywhere. Also (how I haven’t seen them before I don’t know) there are yellow AA Road Signs at almost every street corner telling you about the road closures and the route “The Tour” will be taking. We had our meal and then Laura went off to Dom’s and I took Callie to Grenoside Woods to stretch our legs and think up a cunning plan for getting to a view point with the car and not getting stuck in masses of parking, people and traffic.

The woods were surprisingly busy, it was quite a balmy night I guess which will have dragged them away from their TV, and we met another Weimaraner. She was called Heidi and her owner is an engineer for BT. I seemed to get his whole life story as well as the history of his choosing Heidi and the antics she has got up to since he bought her. All of this in the space of a two mile stroll through some woodland.

He asked about me and why I had chosen a Weimaraner and I just had to explain about our uncle in Unterwirbach in Germany who referred to them as the ghost dog when I was a little girl. I told him how I had looked to see a ghost dog during that visit but didn’t see one at all until we climbed Brocken, in the Herz mountains. A guy walking there had a pair of them, both girls and I simply fell in love with them. I was probably about 8 or 9 at the time. From then on I had been determined to own a ghost dog of my own.

When Mum and Dad split up, I tried to persuade Dad to get one but he wasn’t keen so in the end I bit the bullet, saved up all my vacation earnings and bought Callie.

John was really keen about the Tour de France and he didn’t believe I hadn’t realised it was coming until today. At the car park he asked for my mobile number! What a cheek. I told him I was in a relationship and I wasn’t going to give my number to him. He seemed a bit disappointed. As I drove down Jaw Bone Hill it got me wondering if I had been sending out the wrong signals by being open and friendly. I decided it was him with the problem, not me.

Laura made over £80 in tips tonight. (One table gave her a £20 note!) She stuffed the money in her piggy bank. It actually is a pink pig, too! She was really chuffed because that means the pig has over £1000 secreted in it since the start of the University year, just in tips! She puts it down to the Tour de France mania which seems to have swept through Sheffield and our village in particular. She isn’t complaining though.

Saturday 5^th July

Up for our swim as usual (after walking Callie) and afterwards we talked to Sarah who was the fount of all wisdom about the tour de France. According to her they are expecting over 50 thousand people to be up near Holme Moss alone. That is not by themselves, that is in that particular location. (Just to make that clear.) She was planning to go somewhere near the top of Jaw Bone Hill as they will have had a struggle to climb that deviously steep bump. She was of the opinion that if we saw them on the flat, if we blinked we’d have missed them. I thought somewhere along Kirk Edge Road would be ideal, we could walk up and cross the top of Coumes Wood, find a suitable spot and watch them all go past. Then we could drop down Burnt Hill Lane to see them again in Church Street. Especially if we took our roller blades, we could whizz down Burnt Hill like the clappers and be in Chruch Street in minutes. Another great death defying idea from yours truly! Rah rah rah!

Laura (and Sarah) was doubtful. Not about Kirk Edge Road as a view point but the idea of us zooming down a really, really steep hill on our roller blades. Laura is still a bit of a novice on hers whereas I have been blading since I was little. I do have a bike she could use to follow me down the hill but that would mean a long trek round Lumb Lane to get to our view point as we’d never get a bike over the stiles and through the gates on the Coumes Wood path.

Back home we pottered about (OK, I gave the house a thorough cleaning) and continued our chat about how to best see the men in lycra whizz past us. We hadn’t decided anything really by the time Dad and Louisa arrived, after lunch. They had eaten in Meadowhall’s food court which Dad described as a pathetic attempt to emulate a genuine Australia one. I had to agree; there are a couple in Perth and Freo that are just brilliant, which would have knocked the piddling affair at Meadowhall into a cocked hat.

Dad was as excited as a kid again at the thought of the tour de France driving through Oughtibridge. He was definitely going to stop to watch it. I was rather taken aback by his enthusiasm, normally he would be cynical and laid back but he was genuinely keen to go and watch it. To be fair, he was like this when we had the Olympic Games Baton Relay in 2012 as well, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised. I told him how we had got as far as the idea of watching along Kirk Edge Road but were working out a way to watch them in the village proper too. He thought my roller blading idea was crazy too, and dangerous. He absolutely refused to let me persuade Laura that she would be safe going down such a steep hill. He is right I suppose.

We had some pieces of steak for our evening meal, cooked in four different styles. Louisa and Laura had theirs put under the electric grill first, then Dad’s and finally, with about two minutes to go on its timer, mine went under. I love steak almost raw. It is so tender and succulent that way. Laura is yet to be convinced but I am working on her. Dad used to have his done the same way as me; I guess his tastes have changed as he’s grown older.

The three of them left at the same time with Dad & Louisa dropping Laura off at the restaurant on their way into town. He was really quite excited about seeing Dream Theater but I detected that Louisa may have been a little cooler about the idea.

They all arrived back at my little house together too as Dad had arranged to collect Laura from Dominic’s and they ended up chatting about his family in Germany and importing wine. The wine I brought for Dom had long since gone and try as he might he hasn’t been able to get any more brought over. Dad gave him the number of Hilmar’s son-in-law who runs the production now that Hilmar is getting long in the tooth and told him not to call until after Wednesday by which time he’d have called Reinhardt to forewarn him (as it were).

Laura had been run ragged at the place, again, tonight as they were very busy on the eve of the tour and she had made another shed load of cash in tips! Dad was a bit euphoric about seeing the band but Louisa’s only comment was, “They were loud!”

Dad had scribbled down a set list of the songs they played (he always does this, which is very annoying but probably indicates why I am so fussy about facts and figures too). I was quite startled to see that, according to Dad’s list, they’d only played two songs I actually knew. Probably a good job I decided not to go after all.

Dad walked Callie with me through Hill Top Wood and we had a long father / daughter talk about life the universe and the price of sliced bread. I told Dad about the Weimaraner guy in Greno Woods wanting my phone number and he said, ”I don’t know why you’re surprised; when did you last look in a mirror?”

I told him how upset it had made Laura and he could see that she would be worried but she didn’t have cause because I had told her all about it. He was of the opinion that if I stopped telling her stuff like that, then she’d have cause to fret.

I told him my worry about what will happen when she graduates next year. I am afraid I will lose her if she can’t find somewhere to work in South Yorkshire. He asked me if I would try and keep her with me and when I said, “Of course not.”

He replied, “Then you won’t have a problem. She will return to you if she feels the same about you as you feel about her. It is when you try and stop someone doing what they want that divisions occur in relationships.”

I asked if that was what had happened between him and Mum but he told me that was none of my business. He was the parent; I was the child. I started to sulk but then saw him grinning and realised he wasn’t being serious at all. He did admit that he wanted to move away from Norwich years before he had but Mum had insisted on staying as she loved her job, so he’d hung on as long as he could stand it.

I was tempted to ask about his alleged infidelities with students but common sense kicked in before I voiced the thought. That would have been a question too far by a country mile!

I love walking like this with Dad when he comes and stays. I get to feel all loved and protected yet grown up and adult as he talks to me like an equal (he always has done, TBH). I slipped my arm in his as we trooped back through Onesacre and told him how much I loved him. He said it was mutual and that seeing me happy made him happy.

I had a mini-confession. He was disappointed with the gig. He didn’t like their choice of set and thought if it was for a festival they ought to have stuck to a “greatest hits” type format. I was sworn to secrecy over this however, as Louisa hadn’t really wanted to go at all but went along to please Dad. The sounds of the party in Coronation Park could still be heard at home through our open bedroom windows but it was too hot for us to close them so Laura and I were lulled to sleep by the gently pounding beat of some execrable disco music!

Sunday July 6^th.

Well the mania has hit fever pitch. Last night the site set up in Coronation Park was buzzing and Dad and I could hear it clearly even as far away as Hill Top Woods. There are people camping in there and at various places along  Jawbone Hill even though the thing doesn’t pass through much before 4 o’clock tomorrow afternoon.

Dad, Laura and I had a stroll through the village this morning with Callie (Louisa decided she was staying put as the hills might be a challenge in her condition). We went up to Onesacre and donw the hill over Coumes Brook and onto Church Street. Tour fever was everywhere. Bunting, flags, signs, bikes. I guess I had subconsciously noticed it but hadn’t given it much thought. I foolishly thought it was just another carnival type festival thing in the park.

We bumped into the pub landlady at Sylvia’s newsagent and she told us that last night’s and Friday’s taking had been almost double what they usually are. I guess that is why Laura has been run ragged at Dominic’s these last few nights too. No wonder people are so excited. Even for this early hour on Sunday morning (it was about 8.30 when we got to the shop) the village was heaving. The road closures had already started on the route through the village so we decided that viewing from Kirk Edge Road was probably the only thing we’d be able to do. Getting anywhere else could prove impossible.

Back at the ranch, Louisa had a pile of bacon waiting for our breakfast and we gorged on bacon butties. Yummy in our tummy. The plan was decided, we’d drive up Lumb Lane straight after breakfast and then head as close as we could get to Kirk Edge Road with a collection of our deck chairs and umbrellas and the like in order to stake a claim on a spot on the roadside. We made a couple of flasks of tea and coffee and put a few drinks into the old cool box.

There were  a surprising number of people already up on the roadside. We took both cars up there and I left mine pulled off the road on the wonderfully named Onesmoor Bottom. We trudged the few hundred yards to K.E.R. and established base camp. This was at about 10.45. We lined up our four chairs but the cool box in front of them and spiked our umbrellas in the ground at each end of the row. I was assigned the first guard duty, then after 12.30 Laura would drive up and take over and at three-ish the rest of the mini clan would try and park up near to my car and join her.

It was a good job the weather was fairly clement and there was a good wall we could hop over for a swift comfort break, if necessary.

I just sat there reading the next in the Sarah Paretsky series of novels until Laura arrived. By which time more and more people had turned up and Onesmoor Bottom was beginning to look like a miniature car park. Dad had driven her up and he was waiting for me at the junction of Burnt Hill.

At just before three we trooped up to join our intrepid seat saver who took the opportunity to climb the wall and make like Paula Radcliffe! Dad, being Dad, got talking to the folks on either side of where we were and he seemed to be in his element.

I have never seen so many helicopters at one time. We knew this must be the herald of the tour getting closer as they were clearly visible way over to the north east and getting closer. What I also wasn’t expecting was the whole array of sponsors vehicles ahead of the race advertising their wares to the assembled crowds. One even had a person on a mountain bike doing stunts on the trailer as it was moving! There were press vehicles and camera cars and men on motorbikes (and a couple of women). All of this long before any sweaty men dressed in lycra appeared. One of the motor bikes was a real French Gendarmerie bike; that was unusual in its dark blue livery. (Dad told me later there had been several but I had obviously missed them.)

Eventually, four abreast, came a row of men ahead of the others. They were dressed in black with a team logo on their shirts, it might have been “Sky” but I didn’t pay much attention. It was all over so quickly, one moment we were cheering – yes, even I cheered – the four men as they appeared and then in a swift whizz the whole bloody lot went zooming past. Dad did film the whole thing on his mobile phone and his footage lasted about four minutes, altogether. (He hadn’t bothered with the advertising vehicles.)

I whispered to Laura it was all over so quickly it was like a teenage boy’s first sexual experience! I obviously didn’t whisper as quietly as I thought because Louisa said, “So true, so true!” Quite a telling statement. I thought the noise of all the support vehicles would have masked my words but they didn’t. Laura said that she wouldn’t know. The only naked man she had ever seen had been the guy in Dublin on her ill-fated trip to Ireland, with her so called friends from University. She didn’t count her brother.

Once they had all passed that would have been it but as we had chosen a spot on Kirk Edge where we could see Jawbone Hill we decided to wait and watch them struggle up le Col d’Oughtibridge on the other side of the valley. It didn’t take them long for the first of the vehicles and then the rider’s group to appear at about the railway bridge, a few hundred yards up the slope itself. If they had fairly shot by us on Kirk Edge Road, they didn’t appear to be all that slow going up Jawbone Hill either. OK, it wasn’t the teenage boy speed, but they were definitely not laggards going up the slope.

I walked up it once to get to Grenoside Woods and it is a deceptively steep climb (not made easier for walking by the absence of footpaths!) so I knew how hard it must be on a bike. When then last of the men had disappeared around the corner at the top of the hill we headed back to our cars. There was a mini traffic jam for a while but obviously all the cars on the north of Kirk Edge could only head northwards which meant it cleared fairly quickly and we found Lumb Lane and then Cockshutts Lane relatively quiet.

We agreed on a couple of things about the day; it had been much better supported than we imagined it would be; it really was quite spectacular (even though the actual competitors were past in a flash) and there was definitely a girl in the race. We all agreed we had seen one, in black, with her blondish hair in a pigtail. I thought I had been mistaken, so I didn’t mention it when the peloton went by but all four of us had seen her.

The only down side as far as I could see was the fact I had been wearing my new sandals and I seemed to have sunburnt my feet. Later on they really began to throb. (Minor inconvenience really.)

Dad and Louisa had tea, which was the Sunday roast held over from lunch time. (A turkey crown and veggies.) Then they rested to let it all settle sitting on chairs in the back garden. We were joined by a few of our neighbours who had been down into Coronation Park and they told us what was down there – a stage and some big screens which showed the race live, a few concession stalls selling food and hundreds of people. Literally hundreds. They didn’t think they had chosen a good spot to view the riders as there were so many others there.

We had (another) impromptu gathering on our lawn and a few bottles were opened. Before you knew it the clock had whipped round to 9pm and Dad asked if it was OK if they stayed the night, neither of them was in a legal state to drive. I agreed, naturally. Then Dad began to show his Germanic roots and instigated a series of toasts with all of us present. (He did explain it was a German drinking tradition.) His began with “To the best daughter a man could wish for!” This silliness continued for another hour. Luckily we didn’t start getting ridiculous with them.

[On one drunken night in Magdeburg – when I was a teenager – we had ended up toasting the bombing of Dresden and the bombing of Coventry!]

As I took Callie for her last walk of the day, accompanied by Laura, we could still hear the event in Coronation Park blaring away. Laura thought it had been a very special day indeed. I had to agree. We sat on the bench at the junction of the Onesacre and Hill Top roads and had a major league snog. Normally this is quite secluded a spot but a car drove down and as it passed the bench a voice shouted out, “Get a room!”

We both stood up and flashed our boobs at the disappearing tail lights! I doubt if the occupants saw us but we thought it was hysterical.  

Dream Theatre?

Monday June 30^th.

We fly to Aus next month. I am so excited. Still have the tedium of three weeks at work to endure before we go though, for every upside there’s a down. (That would be a good title for a song –  it probably already is and I have dragged it from my subconscious.)

The Aged parent phone before we left for work to ask if they could come down and stay on Saturday as they have tickets to see Dream Theatre at The City Hall. “Dream Theater” (sic) I should say as they are American and still think correct spelling makes them part of an imperialist plot by the UK. Rant avoided here as I can’t be arsed to criticise the whole country for being a set of drongos.

I told Dad I was OK with them coming down and did they want a pre-gig meal cooking? He was delighted by the idea (I knew he would be). Laura is at Dominic’s all week working up a vast amount of spending money for our trip – mainly from the tips she gets. She had over £60 last time she worked a Saturday night.

Dad and Louisa will arrive mid-morning, they want to come via Meadowhall (they even asked me if I wanted to meet them for some retail therapy there – I declined). I asked how the baby was doing and they are doing fine it seems. It is still pretty early in the pregnancy but the pre-natal unit in Carlisle is being very good with Louisa because she is an older woman. So they should too! She has regular checks and the like to make sure nothing is amiss, this is very reassuring. I am so used to the idea of having a kids sister, I would be heart-broken if anything happened. (OK it may be a boy, but I have my heart set on a kid sister. I told Louisa this and she said she would try her best! LOL)

Work and daily life continued as usual. Nothing earth shattering happened. Today and I doubt if it will over the course of the week to be honest. Not having the interplay of personalities there are around a campus it is easy to see how people in their work fall into a rut with it. It sort of makes me see why Christopher has behaved towards me over the four years I have worked at XXX & Y.

We finished early as usual, by working our lunch hours. Had a meal, a relaxing hug, and then the Lollster went down to the restaurant. Feeling enervated by the warm weather I ended up snoozing on the sofa for most of the evening, with Radio 3 playing softly in the background. I had realised I was tired. I  just drifted away with beautiful music to lull me to sleep. When I was woken up Laura had taken Callie for a walk and we could just pile into the shower then bed. She is a star.

Tuesday July 1^st

More of the same really today: dog walk, swimming, breakfast, work, home, meal, Laura to restaurant, Me sewing, dog walk, shower together, bed.

When written like that it is pretty banal really, isn’t it? Still the “X”s on the wall chart keep growing.

Wednesday July 2^nd.

After getting into work I realised I left the back door open (or I thought I had). Laura couldn’t remember closing it and neither could I. I made a frantic call to Julie and she went round to check for me and to lock it if it was open. It wasn’t. Phew! Thank goodness. Is this the onset of early Alzheimer’s? 

The rest of the office and I had a good old giggle about the silly things we had done owing to forgetfulness. I not only had a cheered up morning, but I discovered everyone seems to have their ditzy moments. We made it a condition for everyone who entered Archives this morning that they had to tell us about a moment of forgetfulness from their past. Everybody had one they could recount. I was amazed.  I could have killed Christopher when he told the office he had forgotten about me only wanting a concert companion which was why he had tried to snog me after a show  couple of years ago. The little git.

I suffered a good hours grilling about what was wrong with Christopher? Why did I only want a concert companion? How come I had not let on to anyone in the office about this? [I did point out that their very reaction was the main reason!] Ann told me she knew he was always ultra-nice to me but had no idea it was unrequited love which was making him behave that way. If I didn’t mind she would try and take him off my hands. I couldn’t give a sensible reason why not so I told her, “If you want him, he’s yours!” I am not sure that Christopher will be too pleased if he discovers I have given him away like this.

I went to the web to find out about Dream Theater (sic) tickets etc and discovered they were playing the City Hall as a low key warm-up to a festival gig the next evening. That sounded pretty cool, so I buzzed down to the Lollster in Repro and asked her if she wanted the night of from Dom’s to go and see them. She replied with a “Not really, but if you want to go, go ahead…” That left me on the horns of a dilemma; did I really want to see them after all? In the end I decided I wouldn’t bother either.

After Laura went off to the restaurant I drove Callie and me up to Loxley Edge and we had a good old hour and a bit’s walk along a virtually unknown little edge right in the city. It has overgrown quite a lot and there are no real places to climb at all (that I could find) but Callie loved running about and trying to catch rabbits. She failed.

It was quite a muggy night and there were far more bugs than I would have liked. I was surprised to see that the road to the car park had been resurfaced recently. It used be pitted and cratered like the surface of the moon but now some kind people (the council perhaps?) had filled all the holes and put a beautifully smooth and car-spring-friendly road way down to the car park. It will merely mean more people come and use it and it’ll be less popular for couples wanting a place for a secret bonk!

In my year-long dalliance with Alan we had parked up here one evening after going to the Admiral Rodney (further down the hill). It was where I had given him a BJ. I remember it particularly as once he had shot his load and I’d removed my head from his lap there was a second car parked quite close alongside us – he had not said a thing about it! I felt so embarrassed that the people in the car would know exactly what I had been doing when my head miraculously reappeared. I made him take me home at once.

I drove slowly back home and then collected Laura from Dominic’s at kicking out time. We both walked Callie and then hit the charp for some passion after our shower.

Thursday July 3^rd

Thinking about Alan yesterday must have made me dream about Richard. (Don’t question my logic) I had this amazing dream where we were on holiday somewhere hot, out on the water in a pedalo and he asked me to a bj. I agreed but then seemed to end up with loads of pedalos coming over and the guys in them asking for a bj too. Everyone was very disappointed that I wouldn’t. 

It was both exciting and disgusting at the same time. I woke up really wet and horny as hell. Laura was still fast asleep so I decided not to wake her but snook out one of our toys from the bedside drawer (a replica penis which has a sort of sucker at the end so you can fix to a wall, table or floor; fastening it to the wardrobe door and backing myself onto it used to be my favourite way of masturbating when I was younger). I started to use the toy gently on myself and kept biting my lip to stop myself from making any noise.

It proved unnecessary because just as I felt a head of steam rising I also found another hand closing round mine and a voice said, “I’ll finish this for you if you can do the same for me afterwards?”

I didn’t need asking twice. Laura helped the steam come out of my ears and I then repaid her the compliment with the toy, then with my mouth and the toy together. She was most appreciative.

She asked me afterwards what had brought that on. I explained that I'd had this dream about Richard and it turned me on so much. To my surprise she started crying. Wracking great sobs that filled me with alarm (to say the least).

When she finally calmed down a little, I asked her what was the matter and she said that it was her great fear that I would tire of her and end up leaving her for a man. The dream had sort of proved it. 

I explained that dreaming about having sex with Richard was something that is only to be expected. We fucked all the time all over the place (a bit like she and I do – I reminded her) because we loved each other so much. I don’t dream about other guys or having sex with anyone but Richard (and occasionally doing it in very public places with Laura, although I didn’t tell her that). If I was thinking of leaving her surely I would have kept quiet about the dream? She sort of got the point.

I told her that I had occasional worries that she’d meet someone more exciting and younger than me and she’d be the one leaving me. We both had a little sob and a cuddle. Finally, before we drifted back off to sleep, she lay snuggled against my breasts and muttered, “If you do try and leave me, I’ll just have to kill you, you know?”

I told her I would the same to her! With the food processor!

The Wayward Daughter.

Friday 27^th June

If you were going to be given a surprise would you want a few hints about what it might be or would you prefer it to be secret until the time it happened?

That was the question I asked my beautiful girl on Friday when we got home from work to find my Mum waiting at my house. (Mum was in on the surprise…) Laura chose the latter so I told her to follow my lead in getting changed then Mum would drive us away. I put on my favourite black dress, the one with the embroidered bodice and ruched bustier. It is lined with skin tone fabric so it looks as though I am naked underneath it! Laura put on the red mini dress she knows I love. It has a tulip shaped shirt and makes her look like a film star.

We piled into Mum’s car and she hit the M1 heading south. Eventually arriving at the very same car park we went to when we visited Nottingham Playhouse earlier in the year. “We are going to see a play!” Laura said.

“No, we are going for a bite to eat,” said Mum. After parking up she led us to a smallish restaurant a few hundred yards away from the car park.

I had a really nice piece of turbot (you don’t often see turbot on a menu) Laura and Mum had scallops. Laura asked a couple more questions about what we were doing but we skirted round the answers telling her she had said she didn’t want to know the surprise until the time so we weren’t going to play 20 questions.

After the meal we strolled across Nottingham’s city centre and finally headed up at the Theatre Royal. Laura read the signage and went “Fille mal gardee? What’s that?”

My Mum said, “It’s Vic here. She has always been a wayward daughter!” Thanks Mum!

I am of the opinion that if you want your children to appreciate something which you like the best way is to start them on it early. I was taken to the theatre as a toddler, to a pantomime (which scared the hell out of me in one section, I add) this fostered my love of going to the theatre. The reason I listen to Classical Music is probably because I was played Mozart in utero and then over and over again as a babe in arms. (Mum had read about Classical Music helping your child’s mental development before it was even born.)

If you want someone to appreciate ballet the very best one ever to take them to see as a child is “La Fille Mal Gardee”. Mum took me to see it in Norwich when I was still a toddler and I have been a visitor to several other versions of it over the years of my childhood and adolescence. I would go so far as to say if you took a little boy to see it (I know I am being horribly sexist in my gender stereotyping here) he would also end up being a ballet lover too!

This isn’t Laura’s first ballet, it is about her fourth or fifth (the last three were with me) but I definitely wanted her to see this one. I do own a copy of it on DVD but I haven’t watched it with her as it bears no relation to seeing the thing in the flesh. This version was by the Birmingham Royal Ballet and it was using the much acclaimed Frederick Ashton choreography. It was wonderful. Funny, touching, energetic, catchy. It was the perfect ballet to bring Laura to as a surprise and to show her how much I had missed her while she was at her Mum and Dad’s.

Mum’s comment that the title referred to me was something she had said as a joke when I was still a pre-teen, maybe I decided to live up (or down) to the billing she had given me. I don’t try to be deliberately wayward but I think my upbringing has made me look at the world and my place in it in a rather different way than most people do. I also think being a Wayward Daughter has made me a much better person that I otherwise would have been.

The Ballet: Nao Sakuma (Lise) and Cesar Morales (Colas) danced very well but to be honest they weren’t a patch on the two dancing the parts on my DVD version -  Carlos Acosta (Colas), Marianela Nuñez (Lise), then again I wouldn't have expected them to be. They were believable and that is all that matters. As always it was Lise’s Mum [Simone – Michael O’Hare] who brought the house down, it is a brilliant part for a male dancer who wants to get away from the more “serious” roles in Classical Ballet. In fact the whole ballet is a good excuse for anyone who wants to escape more “serious” ballets to find a huge comic escape.

There was one gasp out loud moment (even though I knew it was coming) when Cesar balanced Nao on the palm of his hand in a technically awesome lift. I have seen this done quite a few times now but I can still remember my childhood astonishment at the feat. Laura was gobsmacked by it, too!

I can’t mention La Fille without talking about the Clog Dance, possibly the most well-known piece of music from the whole ballet, if not from the whole world of ballet. O’Hare managed to make the complex routine look so simple anyone could do it. That is the mark of a true expert, I feel, making the impossible look achievable by everyone. I enjoyed myself thoroughly, so did Mum and Laura was totally blown away by the whole thing. As a newcomer to the show, everyone is. People think ballet is so stuffy and po-faced. La Fille is neither.

We got back to mine at about midnight and I invited Mum to spend the night rather than driving back to Holmesfield but she wanted to be up and about in her garden in the morning so she declined. Laura waited until I had walked Callie for her shower which we shared. After a tumble in bed before sleeping she told me, “I love you so much!” [Obviously I reciprocated!]

Saturday June 28^th.

We regaled Sarah with tales of the Ballet after our swim this morning. She said it sounded marvellous and wanted to know how long it was on. She also thought it was playing in Sheffield. I had to disabuse her of those two misconceptions and she seemed really disappointed. I said I would look up the BRB website to see if it was going to be playing anywhere else but no luck. I did say she could borrow my DV which made her smile.

When we got home I dug out my Royal Ballet version and we spent almost two hours watching it again. If we had seem the Royal Ballet last night it would have knocked the BRB’s version inot a cocked hat but as we were only seeing it through a small TV rather than being immersed in the whole experience last night’s was definitely better.

We went off into the Peak District next and I took Laura on a circuit from Edale that went across the ridge from Winhill, round to Seal Stones on the eastern edge of Kinder and then over onto the plateau. We lunched, where I had a fortnight ago, at Kinder Downfall, and then did the same orienteering on a bearing across the mass of peaty streams to Grindsbrook. We took much longer than I had because at the bottom of one of the hags I was assaulted by my companion who decided she wanted alfresco sex and wanted it now! We knew the chances of discovery were pretty remote up on the barren top of Deryshire’s highest mountain but there was one point where an enterprising Laura had just managed to hide her hand inside me that we heard voices which seemed to be heading our way.

Instead of stopping what we were doing and covering up, we just stood like rabbits caught in the headlights until we heard the voices recede. Phew.

We didn’t have a meal in the pub, like I had, but we did stop for a pot of tea – which was just what was needed. I then drove us the windy back way to home past the three reservoirs in the Bradfield Valley.

Our evening meal was cooked and ready when we got in and we had a hot chili on one of the hottest days of the year. Mad or what?

Sunday June 29th

Had a lie in until 7.30 this morning. Callie was so disturbed by this alteration to her routine she came up and nudged my ear several times and then pushed her nose under the quilt to nibble my hand! I decided that I had better get up and take her out.

When I got back Laura had got up and broken the first rule of camping (one of Dad’s silly rules, that is) no cooking bacon on a campsite. It drives every other camper mad with desire for bacon. It certainly made me mad for bacon. She had cooked enough for two bacon baps each. Rah rah rah!

Suitably fortified we drove up to Leeds to visit my illustrious brother and family, we had been invited to spend the day with them because the aforementioned brother had snagged my ticket to Hetty Feather and I was a bit miffed to say the least.

I was able to quiz Angela and Peter about the show and they had enjoyed it no end although listening to their garbled and confused accounts did make me wonder if they had both seen the same thing at all! It is fascinating what children will focus on, compared to how adults view things. Jane, for example, gave me a clear plot summary; a description of the set and the characters, the songs and the feel of the whole thing. Children just zoom in on what interests them at the time and ignore the other stuff.

I mentioned Fille Mal Gardee and Jane went into raptures about it and how she had loved seeing at as a girl. I explained how the three of us had gone to Nottingham on Friday to see it. Phil was scathing about travelling to another city to see a show until I mentioned the fact he’d stolen my ticket to see a show in Sheffield! Point to me I think. The little pillock then started moaning that Mum and I always did stuff together and she hardly ever came up to Horsforth. Even Jane came to my defence and told him, it’s different for girls and their Mums. He stopped bleating when we all pulled silly faces at him. I think he does it deliberately to see if I will take the bait. I told him he was just jealous that I had a ballet named after me. He didn’t know what the idiomatic translation of Fille Mal Gardee was. Point number two to me!

We had a super lunch of lamb. It was so sweet and succulent. I even had seconds despite the fact there was a dessert too.

In the afternoon we went to the local reservoir and we messed about on their boat. It is an 18 footer but held us all fairly well, if a little squashed together. Sophie was dropped off at Jane’s mum being too little for sailing. Phil and I haven’t sailed together for ages and we had a whale of a time – we even managed to forget to snipe at each other at every verse end.   

Phil told the tale of how we had taken Dad’s skiff from the University Broad all the way down to Great Yarmouth but then chickened out of going to sea proper. Plus by the time we go there, we’d used up all the diesel and ended up stuck in Gorleston until a very angry Dad had come and collected us. Phil blamed me for the idea and I blamed him. (It was me goading him that had led us to doing it to be honest!)

He is thinking of trading up and getting a sea going yacht which he’ll moor somewhere along the Humber or Ouse. I think he is jealous of Suze and Pete’s 42’ pilot house yacht and is trying to keep up with them. He is stupid enough to think they will be bothered. I rubbed salt in the cut by telling him we’d be out in their boat during the summer, we are going to use their mooring off Rottnest Island for a few days rather than rent a cottage on the island. I thought that would be more fun for Laura.

We left after having a cold collation tea, claiming to have pressing work that we needed to get done by the morning. Never having been to University I guess the older brother can be fooled easily like that, especially if he thinks term is still going at the end of June!

Laura says Phil reminds her a bit of her Dad.  I didn’t know how to respond to that one. At home the only pressing thing we had to do was cuddle on the sofa and listen to the even concert on Radio 3. It was Music of the Great War; quite appropriate for the hundredth anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.