Friday 27 September 2013

September's Siftings - A File With Pink Spots.

Today didn’t go EXACTLY as planned – but then again maybe I didn’t have a plan and anyway, as Mr Lennon said: “Life is what happens…”

….My son woke me up at 7.3o am (on a Sunday!) because HIS girlfriend couldn’t remember what time SHE started work, a job that HE also does.

He woke his sister up to, who was so tired from the party after the party after the party that she fell asleep again and didn’t hear her alarm, which had been set for 9am.

I washed up, made some tea and took it to the chair outside in the field – still in the sun’s shadow because of the house - and opened my book (A tale Etched in Blood and Hard Black Pencil by Christopher Brookmyre).

It’s excellent.

Best book I have read since the last one.

It says on the front cover, a quote from Arena, “fiendish yet funny. There’s none better than Brookmyre.”

Much though the book is fantastic I would have to question this, John Steinbeck for one is pretty good.

I am, currently, trying to learn by heart the opening paragraph of Cannery Row as I lie down to sleep at nights – partly as a distraction from the fact that I am lying down alone at the moment, partly to strengthen my resolve never to suffer from Alzeimers, and partly to strengthen the heart.

Where was i?

Ah yes.

Then my son and HIS girlfriend appeared ready for ME to drive THEM to the market and I insisted on finishing my chapter, even though I too wanted to go to the market - bread was waiting for me and I was hopefull of cherries and apricots.

Both were there.

Both are now in my tum.

I returned to fulfil my father-to-daughter promise of driving HER in the OPPOSITE direction so she could hook up with HER friends and a ride to a three-day rock festival on sand and sea.

I found her panicking because of the oversleep, calmed her, cooked her breakfast gave her the last of my money and got her to her meeting point on time.

A hug.

See you in three days then, here’s some food.

I drove home.

That’s when the phone rang.

“I’ve forgotten my ticket.”


“Can you look in my room, it’s in the book with the Indian cover Charlette gave me for Christmas.”

It wasn’t.

“It’s in the file with the pink spots.”


“It’s in the pile under the desk.”

The WHOLE room is a pile under the desk!

And it wasn’t there.

“Can you go on-line and find an email about my ticket?”

I did one.

I did the other.

“Ok, I’ll try and get in with that.”

I didn’t think this was a good idea.

I expressed that.

I was ignored.

I drove back to the market to give MY car to MY son who had to drive HIS girlfriend home.

And I cycled back along the river, up the valley and into the forest.

The heat was hot.

I felt sick.

I got home.

I collapsed.

I made more tea.

I ate cherries and apricots.

And cheese on toast.

The phone rang.

“They won’t let me in with the print-out of the letter, can you look in my room again?”



This is my teenage daughter, she has just done her final school exams, the room has been a tip for months during revision – everywhere is a HELL of a lot of places.

“It will take hours.”

“Why are you waiting then?”

I found a giraffe-head Pez dispenser.

I found a picture of her dancing naked when she was 5.

I found her friends purse with credit card, identity card and condoms.

I found her room needs dusting.

I’m a good looker – methodical.

I started in one corner opened and closed everything.


I didn’t find her ticket.

Two hours had passed.

The phone rang.

“It’s ok, I have it.”

I was shocked.


So I sat in front of the TV and watched the men’s tennis final at Wimbledon.

My son came home and said “I’m exhausted, why are you watching tennis?”

I tried to explain, something about youth, my mum and distant lifetime.

He ignored me and went to bed.

It seems that at most historical moments I am present only through a TV.

The Man on the Moon – though to be honest it would have been hard for me to have been there.

The English football world Cup victory.

The French football world Cup victory.

Are these historical moments?

And today the first British victory at Wimbledon for 76 years.

I remember watching Wimbledon as a kid and they were hoping for an overdue victory back then.

That was 40years ago!

Well it happened today.

A tear came to my eye.

I sent a text to a friend who I thought might have also enjoyed the moment.

Then I went outside, turned on the lawnmower and cut grass.

Lawn tennis, lawn mower.

It follows.

Then I sat in the chair of this morning, now touched by the gentle glow of the setting sun, listened to the crickets at close of day, opened a beer and wrote this.

I sent a text to my daughter – “are you in?’

“Yes, and it’s great.” thank you there then.

Now I’ll wake the boy and feed him.


Anne said...

Every girl should have a methodical looker-for-tickets in her life. I've been saved so many times. Thank yous are outward, speaking for myself I don't even know how to say thank you so it would be enough. It gets mixed up with sorry, and that's a muddle of feelings, and then what do you do. – I missed the Wimbeldon victory but see your man Murray has quite a smile on that day.
Um, do you make up the words in the word verification thingy?

popps said...

No, i'm only making up the words in the THought Of The day posts at the moment - word verification is the blog - i had to put it on because the spam overwhelmed me - i will try turning it off soon and see if they have decided to leave me alone.
now --- The Big Sur!!!!

Anne said...

Word verification of another sort, then. Wordification. I get confused by all the silly capital letters. Maybe it's just a dyslexia checker. A dyslexer.