I've just packed Father off into a minibus, thank goodness. Despite swearing never to drink on the sabbath I've felt the need to pour myself a large Bailey's to cope with the stress involved. It went something like this:
Saturday, 13:48
Father arrives in a minibus emblazoned with 'Human Earthworm Sanctuary - serving the megadrile community since 2001' which was embarrassing in itself. He'd changed since I last saw him, he was wearing a lycra catsuit (wormsuit?), which teamed with beige slip ons and angora socks looked a little srange in the midsummer heat. I hurried him up to the flat where he sat on the sofa and demanded food; luckily I'd stocked up from the Co-op in advance so it wasn't difficult at first to sate his hunger. We discussed what was happening in the sanctuary - apparently there's a huge rivalry between the New Zealand Flatworm and the Earthworm community, the former being a predator of the latter. I must confess that his conversation was less than riveting so after an hour of this I switched on the television.
We spent the rest of the day in companionable silence and went to bed at 22:15, I'd made up the sofa and Father had my bed. I was woken at 02:16 by Roger who stated that he'd spied Father writhing around in the communal garden/backyard; I managed to tempt Father indoors with some dead leaves which seemed to do the trick.
Sunday was a complete disaster - Eleanor, Sebastian and Nick visited but were openly shocked by Father's condition. I saw Eleanor stifle laughter when Father started talking about soil consumption in great detail.
A blog about a strange forty-something woman who lives in the London suburbs, likes wearing acrylic and saving money.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Saturday, 23 July 2011
Weekends with Wilf
Despite the success of his Scout Pack's Gang Show a fortnight ago Wilf seems to be permanent feature in my flat these days; you'd think that the giddy excitement of Gant's Hill would draw him back, but oh no. He's had car trouble for ages, which is hardly surprising given the age of the vehicle - he wants me to drive it too but I just can't, you know my phobia.
I think it's being out of paid employment which is causing him stress, he's a resourceful man though and I fully expect him to succeed in his application for driving the local Mencap minibus. Roger has offered him some shifts in the shop, which he's gratefully lapped up; Wilf's even suggested that he give up his flat and move in with me, which is hardly romantic.
Romance - that's a funny notion. I think I really only felt it with Mr A, which is a sad indictment on the state of my love life. I like Wilf, I really do and enjoy his company, but it's not much deeper than that. I suppose I can't expect huge passionate affairs post forty but I thought I'd be more affected than this.
On a lighter note Father's written to me asking if he could take a short holiday from the Earthworm Retreat and stay with me for a few days. I agreed, how could I refuse a seriously deluded man? I'm slightly concerned that he'll have to remain moist at all times and as for eating his own body weight in food every day - it's just as well there's a Co-op over the road.
I think it's being out of paid employment which is causing him stress, he's a resourceful man though and I fully expect him to succeed in his application for driving the local Mencap minibus. Roger has offered him some shifts in the shop, which he's gratefully lapped up; Wilf's even suggested that he give up his flat and move in with me, which is hardly romantic.
Romance - that's a funny notion. I think I really only felt it with Mr A, which is a sad indictment on the state of my love life. I like Wilf, I really do and enjoy his company, but it's not much deeper than that. I suppose I can't expect huge passionate affairs post forty but I thought I'd be more affected than this.
On a lighter note Father's written to me asking if he could take a short holiday from the Earthworm Retreat and stay with me for a few days. I agreed, how could I refuse a seriously deluded man? I'm slightly concerned that he'll have to remain moist at all times and as for eating his own body weight in food every day - it's just as well there's a Co-op over the road.
Sunday, 17 July 2011
Poor Old Roger
I am writing this whilst Roger slumbers on my sofa - his one man show last night was a complete disaster. Firstly, he only sold ten tickets, five of those to his mother, Maureen and her cronies and the rest to me, Wilf, Eleanor and two tramps called, rather bizarrely Vladamir and Estragon, hopefully as a homage to Waiting for Godot.
The set was impressive, if nothing else. It consisted of a single flat behind Roger which was decorated in maroon flock wallpaper; he sat on a cherry red leather wing chair placed on a wilton rug, so I think he managed to nail the 'Gentlemans' Club' look if nothing else. He wore a blue silk smoking jacket, velvet trousers, spats, brown patent winklepickers, plus a silk shirt topped of with a mustard coloured cravat - his remaining hair was slicked back and he sported a monacle.
The evening started five minutes late with a strange buzz stage left, which was strangely miked up and ended with "don't wave that thing near me, you're not Keith Chegwin you know!" Roger managed to lift the mood with a slide show depicting various events in his life; I must confess that some of the pictures looked a little superimposed, especially the one depicting Roger meeting both the Pope and Nelson Mandela. Eleanor of course was almost in hysterics at this point, typical!
The musical element of the evening didn't go as well as could be expected either - Roger's rendition of Strangers in the Night was somewhat muted and the backing track to The Greatest Love of All disappeared in the second chorus so he was somewhat out on a limb. During the last number, Body Talk, Roger's mother and her friend started throwing Minstrels onto the stage which wasn't particularly pleasant, one old lady, Doris Murphy brought along some rotten fruit which caused a nasty stain on Roger's smoking jacket.
The audience Q&A section went badly too, Roger's mother piped up with "Why are you such a huge liar son?" Roger's riposte was "because I've learnt from the master, mother dear!"
After clearing up afterwards and forfeiting the £500 deposit Roger dissolved into tears in Eleanor's car. He spent the night on my sofa after drinking all of my Bell's Whisky. Wilf got bored after half an hour and bailed out.
The set was impressive, if nothing else. It consisted of a single flat behind Roger which was decorated in maroon flock wallpaper; he sat on a cherry red leather wing chair placed on a wilton rug, so I think he managed to nail the 'Gentlemans' Club' look if nothing else. He wore a blue silk smoking jacket, velvet trousers, spats, brown patent winklepickers, plus a silk shirt topped of with a mustard coloured cravat - his remaining hair was slicked back and he sported a monacle.
The evening started five minutes late with a strange buzz stage left, which was strangely miked up and ended with "don't wave that thing near me, you're not Keith Chegwin you know!" Roger managed to lift the mood with a slide show depicting various events in his life; I must confess that some of the pictures looked a little superimposed, especially the one depicting Roger meeting both the Pope and Nelson Mandela. Eleanor of course was almost in hysterics at this point, typical!
The musical element of the evening didn't go as well as could be expected either - Roger's rendition of Strangers in the Night was somewhat muted and the backing track to The Greatest Love of All disappeared in the second chorus so he was somewhat out on a limb. During the last number, Body Talk, Roger's mother and her friend started throwing Minstrels onto the stage which wasn't particularly pleasant, one old lady, Doris Murphy brought along some rotten fruit which caused a nasty stain on Roger's smoking jacket.
The audience Q&A section went badly too, Roger's mother piped up with "Why are you such a huge liar son?" Roger's riposte was "because I've learnt from the master, mother dear!"
After clearing up afterwards and forfeiting the £500 deposit Roger dissolved into tears in Eleanor's car. He spent the night on my sofa after drinking all of my Bell's Whisky. Wilf got bored after half an hour and bailed out.
Saturday, 9 July 2011
Roger the Raconteur
After a short spell at the coast last week I return to my laptop refreshed and invigorated. Roger's in a terrible state, his one man show, Roger the Raconteur is scheduled to take place next Saturday night, but to date he's only sold 10 tickets and eight of those are to friends and family. Sometimes I think that Roger has rather a misplaced high opinion of his talents, a certain amount of self confidence is attractive, but arrogance isn't.
As usual I worked in the shop this morning and am pottering about this afternoon. Wilf's busy putting the final touches to the Scouts' Gang Show which is being performed next Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights in east London. Apparently the fire eating has been vetoed by health and safety and the magician's rabbits were eaten by a fox last week, so here's hoping it's all right on the night.
As usual I worked in the shop this morning and am pottering about this afternoon. Wilf's busy putting the final touches to the Scouts' Gang Show which is being performed next Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights in east London. Apparently the fire eating has been vetoed by health and safety and the magician's rabbits were eaten by a fox last week, so here's hoping it's all right on the night.
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