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January 31 Introducing........... My Old Aunt Sizzie.
Story 1. (circa 1952) Aunt Sizzie and the J.W's
My old Aunt Sizzie is a Witch. She makes no secret of it. In fact she is known locally as Old Cilla, the Witch. Her cottage is just across the road from the house where I live. Just across the road and down a bit. So I'm very lucky 'cos I can go and see her every day. I know her best of all as Aunt Sizzie, she likes it when I call her that, says it's not at all stuck up and sounds a lot like the noise newts eyes make when they're dropped into a hot cauldron. Sizzie comes from when I was little and couldn’t pronounce Pricilla properly. I've called her that ever since.
Very often, when I go to see her she is making a spell or mixing a potion for a client; some of whom have been seeing her for years and years. Sometimes when I go to see her, she lets me taste what ever it is she's mixing, if it's not poisonous or anything, just so that I'll remember what it was like when I have to do it for myself. Of course not all of the mixtures are eaten or drunk, some have to be carried in a little bag, some have to be rubbed on the skin and some have to be pushed up “where the sun never shines” as Aunt Sizzie says.
One day Aunt Sizzie told me if I was everso good, she'd change me into a toad or a terrapin or something like that, for a laugh, to see if I liked it. She said it would all be part of my "Eddycation!"
Last Wednesday was a good day for Aunt Sizzie, her new false teeth had come at last! She had waited ages for them but didn't have to pay a lot on account of being "retired" she said. Now at last all her spells would come out right 'cos she would be able to say all the words right again. She was outside by the water butt washing out some of those two pound jam jars that you can’t get anymore in a pail of clean dry rainwater when I went round to see her that morning.
“Ah, there you are my gal!” she said. Straight away she got me cleaning the lids of those jars with a scrap of grey dishcloth which had seen better years with water from the butt in her chipped enamel washing up bowl. The tap on the water butt is always stiff and hard to turn on and off, this time I got it on alright but couldn't turn it off before it had overflowed the old enamel bowl. So my feet and legs and a lot of Aunt Sizzie's garden path were wet. In fact there was quite a puddle in that low part by the gate. Aunt Sizzie tut tutted and muttered things about Dad coming to sort that out. I hope she meant the tap!
Just then we heard a voice call out from the road. “Oh Mrs. Bignall, I'm so glad you're at home!”
I distinctly heard Aunt Sizzie say one of those rude words that I’m not supposed to know as she straightened up, wiped her hands and nose on her apron and turned to see who had the cheek to call on her at that time of the day.
The two large ladies I’d seen earlier calling on poor Mrs Jones, standing at Aunt Sizzies front gate. I’m always told to close the gate behind me when I go in or out. Luckily this time I had remembered to do so. The larger of the two fumbled with the latch, pinching her thumb as she did so. Another odd job no doubt, for Dad to do. Putting that right.
The gate squeaked open reluctantly, giving up the unequal struggle, and the Large Visitor walked into Aunt Sizzies garden closely followed by her shorter friend. She made her way carefully along the path, doing her best to avoid the mud and puddles.
The shorter companion managed to be just as careful.
“Mrs Jones tells me you're making some medicine for her”, the Large Visitor cried in Aunt Sizzie's direction. The word “medicine” seemed to come out very loud.
“Don't you realise you're breaking the law, mixing things up when you're unqualified ?” the Large Visitor went on. “You could be put in prison for that, you know”
Aunt Sizzie snorted, breathed in deeply and brought herself up to her full height. She is only a short lady I know, but sometimes she seems to be immensely tall.
“Have you come here to threaten me again ?” enquired Aunt Sizzie quietly. “’cos if you have, you can bugger off right now. I’ve got better things to do than talk to the likes o’ you!”
I remembered then who these two large ladies were, remembered them from some weeks before the very first time they had been round. Aunt Sizzie calls them Witlessnesses. They had come to tell her the good news. They told her that their saviour had risen again and that she ought to repent and rejoice!
“Risen, Risen!, has he ?” She had said. “Risen ! Well he’s a damned lucky saviour then, isn’t he! Risen! Thass a lot more than my bread ha’ done!”
I remembered her struggling with the dough a bit earlier that morning and thought then it was not going to work, even standing it for half an hour covered with a cloth, in front of the fire, would do no good. The yeast was about three months old.
Aunt Sizzie snorted again, preparing herself for the coming battle.
The larger of the two appeared not to have heard this remark, she went on zealously, “Do you know, Mrs. Bignall” she said , firmly holding a large Bible in front of herself, “people round here are saying you are a witch ?”
“Ar!” replied Aunt Sizzie, “an’ thass not ‘alf of it, you should ‘a’ heard what the vicar said , and look what’s happened to him!”
Mummy says the vicar has a Herne-ee-argh and is impudent. She says his wife would leave him if it wasn't for his sty- pen or something. I thought the vicar was supposed to look after sheep not pigs!
The large Visitor still appeared not to have heard what Aunt Sizzie was saying. She went on preaching doggedly.
“So we are here to help you give up your sinful, evil ways!”
She waved the Bible in front of Auntie and cried out, “Repent and be saved! Renounce Satan and all his works and come to Jesus!”
Well I don't know what Satan had done that morning to upset anybody. He was usually such a good cat, though I've heard Auntie calling him a little devil sometimes.
“Would you like to meet Satan?” asked Aunt Sizzie innocently. “I'm sure he’s here, somewhere about!”
She gave the Large visitor one of her grins. I knew what she was up to, I'd seen her give the milkman a similar grin when her account was overdue.
“Come inside, won’t you?” she asked “Have some tea with me. The kettles on, ready for a brew!”
“Never !” cried the Large Visitor and her mate in unison. “You'll never lure us into hell’s kitchen!”
“Hell's kitchen indeed!” Snorted Auntie Sizzie “I paid good money for that kitchen I'll have you know!” I knew that was right. Auntie had paid a lot for a kitchen out of Homes and Gardens or was it Ideal Homes? The man who made it was called Littlemole, something like that, I remember her saying so. Only the expensive kitchen had been fitted by my dad in our house and Auntie had got hold of the remains of the old one out of the builders skip. Why on earth had she paid for us to have a new fitted kitchen? Maybe it was to do with Mum and Dad being together for so long, I don't know. Anyway, Auntie hauled the poor worn out cupboards out from under all the other rubbish the builders had made when they knocked the kitchen wall through. She’d told one of the builders, the blonde one, she’d pay him to fit them in her own house but he took one look at them, lying in her front garden covered in brick dust and said politely, “No” So in the end poor old Dad had to fit them! He thought he'd seen the last of them, after staring at them for the last I don't know how many years in his own kitchen.
In particular, Auntie had wanted the sink unit, there was no water indoors in her cottage and she thought if she had the cupboard and the enamel top someone could be persuaded to plumb it in. Fortunately for Dad, who would have got the job, and unfortunately for Auntie the whole thing fell to bits as soon as it was unscrewed from the wall. So here she was, washing up outside the same as she'd done for the last fifty odd years.
The two visitors fidgeted about for a moment as if uncertain what to do. Clearly, they were not convinced that their own God was powerful enough to protect them from so obviously evil a woman. The smaller of the two Visitors seemed ready to go. At that moment Satan, tail erect strolled round the corner. By the look of him he'd been up to no good, another neighbouring she-cat in the family way, another piece of stolen brisket eaten.
“Satan! There you are, you little devil!” cried Auntie Sizzie, “have you come home for your dinner?”
Ignoring her completely the cat stalked to the door of the cottage and yowled loudly his demand to be let in.
I know I shouldn’t tell anyone this but there's a trick to opening Aunt Sizzie’s front door. The iron handle which you pull on to shut it is no use at all to get in 'cos the lever that goes through to lift the latch inside is missing, a deliberate bit of self sabotage on Aunt Sizzie's part. Instead there's a hole, just big enough for a slim finger to slip in and lift up the latch, easing the door at the same time. Well I suppose other people know about it; it's a common thing in country places where the Suffolk latch prevails. Helps to stop horses and other clever animals opening the door and letting themselves into places they shouldn't go. Aunt Sizzie was crafty and always managed to get people to look at something else if she had to open the door when they were around and might see how she did it.
With a hearty shove, Aunt Sizzie opened the door, it's rusty hinges protesting squeakily, on purpose. Dad had hung the door with both hinges upside down, as Sizzie had requested in order for it to do that.
Exactly on cue, cobwebs and soot cascaded down across the opening. Satan stalked inside haughtily and disappeared into the darkness. Aunt Sizzie turned dramatically, framed in the doorway and said quietly to the watching women,
“Don't you come round here spouting that silly religion stuff. You don't have a clue what you're talking about!”
“We are here to do the Lord's work, to save you from your sins!” cried the larger of the two, still carefully holding the Bible in front of herself.
Her companion, a smaller lady with an uncertain, shifty sort of air, stood carefully behind her for protection and nodded wisely at these words.
“It is written in the Bible that you should not suffer a Witch to live!” continued the Large one. “But we say if you give up your wicked ways and pray with us you may yet be saved! “Yes!” Aunt Sizzie replied, “And that also says that the Devil may quote the scriptures for his own use!”
“Repent!” cried the Large Visitor, firmly holding the Book before her. “Repent now! Before it’s too late!” “Balderdash, Rammel and Squitt!” snorted Auntie Sizzie. She took a step towards the woman, who moved hastily backwards towards the gate.
Somewhere inside the cottage a wheezy clock chimed a long drawn out twelve. Satan began his ear-splitting wailing. Sizzie and I both knew he always did this at midnight, whenever that chimed but of course the un-nerved Visitors didn’t!
“Come in and have some tea, and we'll talk it over” said a crafty Aunt Sizzie, but the Visitors fell over each other in their haste to refuse. The smaller one was struggling with the gate by now, which for some reason declined to open. They did have a bit of trouble opening it, I remembered, when they came in, only a few, was it only a few........moments ago?
As I watched the proceedings with growing amusement I saw a bramble runner, complete with leaves, thorns and little flowers, grow steadily across the top of the gate. It reached the other side in less than a minute, brushing against the woman's hand when it got near to the latch.
Before her unbelieving eyes could take it in, hooked thorns, three quarters of an inch along or more, reared sharply up towards her. Sizzie cackled and indoors Satan began purring with enough volume to set saucepans rattling up on the pantry shelves. I stood quietly watching and learning, wondering what Aunt Sizzie would do next. Then the Visitor with the Bible stepped towards Sizzie again. Well perhaps the gate did push her a little bit. She glared at Sizzie while still holding the Book protectively in front of herself.
“If you don't let us out of here this minute, I shall call the police” she shouted.
The other Visitor gaining courage from this, turned in an attempt to support her companion but found to her horror she could no longer get away from the gate because the bramble runner had completely encircled her arm.
Letting out a short scream she tried to tear herself free but succeeded only in tearing the material of her coat. If anything, the bramble grew longer and more thorny as she struggled.
“Help! Help!” the Large Visitor shouted “Help! Police! Help! Let us out!”
“Do shut up!” snorted Aunt Sizzie. “Who do you think can hear you out here, there's no-one about!”
“Help! Help!” the woman loudly continued “Help! Police! Somebody, let us out!”
As she shouted, her companion tried to tear herself from the gate once more. Soon the sleeve and a large part of the front had gone from her coat but still the blackberry branch continued to grow around her. There was something close to terror on her face now; all thoughts of a spiritual salvation had fled from her mind.
Her intention now was for a physical one.
“Help me!” was all she managed to say hoarsely to her Bible-armed companion before Aunt Sizzie's next little trick struck both women both deaf and dumb.
I’d seen her do this once before, when she got involved in a dispute about a small piece of lamb. The butcher said he had promised it to someone else, one of his "regular customers" was what he had said. He ought to have known better than to cross Auntie Sizzie when she has specially gone out to get Satan his tea. The poor man had to shut up shop for the rest of the day. He was utterly unable to speak! Aunt Sizzie leaned over the counter and seized the man by his shirt collar saying,
“Look here my man, I want a piece of meat!”
It came to one and nine when she dropped it on his scales. She left the man speechless with two bob and never went back for her change. Now here she was using the same thing again, she told me later it was a sort of hypnotism, but don’t tell anyone else about it. Anyway, the Large Visitor carefully laid her Bible by the lavender bush and taking hold of her smaller, terrified companion's coat furiously began to tug. Amazed, I watched the remaining arm come away from the coat, and not only that but a long ragged piece of her blouse sleeve came with it. By this time a good deal of pink flesh was showing and the blackberry branch was reaching into the pockets of the coat. The poor Christian was rapidly turning into an example of one of those “Green Man” she’d read so much about. There was a slow ripping noise and a handkerchief and a packet of cigarettes fell out of a long tear that used to be a pocket. The woman was overcome by terror now. Almost fainting with fear and unable to do or say anything about it. Aunt Sizzie had a look on her face of demonical glee. She knew she had got the better of these two and was rightly very pleased to have done so.
“Come on!” she said to me “We’ll have that cuppa now. I’ve some soap an’ candles to make later an' there’s a good bit o’ fat on them two that will help me out!"
I followed Aunt Sizzie indoors, being very careful to close the door behind me. After all I didn’t want Satan to get out again and wreak even more havoc……
© V.J.S 2008.
January 15 how childish of them........January 14 A different Sunday Morning.Ooooh he was very different this Sunday to the way he was last Sunday. I wonder why? For once, the first time for ages, he got up first and brought me a cup of coffee and some toast to have in bed. I didn't say anything, just waited for him to bring it up. Eventually he did.
Him: Are you going out anywhere today?
Me: Hadn't planned on it.
Him: Thats alright then.
Smiling to myself I ate my toast and drank some coffee. There was more to come from him yet.
Him: Where did you go last Sunday?
Me. I had a bit of a drive round
Him: Didn't you stop anywhere?
Me: Course I did
Him: Oh......
Me: I went to the loo at Watford Gap
Him: Oh yes?
Me: Mmmmmm
Still smiling I finished my coffee and warned him there might be toast crumbs in the bed.
Him: I got worried about you, you know!
Me: Did you? Why?
Him: You didn't tell me where you were going
Me: No, you were asleep
Him: You could have left me a note
Me: I didn't think.......
We went on in the same vein for some time until it was obvious he was getting sick of it. I asked if there was any more toast and, with ill grace, he went off to make some. I'd got dressed by the time he came back.
Him: I thought you said you weren't going anywhere.
Me: I'm not
Him: Then why have you got dressed?
Me: Because last sunday you moaned about me slopping around the house half dressed.
Him: Do you want to eat the rest of your breakfast downstairs?
So I did. Looks like whatever I do I won't win with him. We had a quiet day and I didn't go out. No I sat at home here and read the papers, finished my book and had a little sleep. Which meant the Sunday dinner was late so he complained about that instead. No, there is no chance I shall ever win with him. Thing is you see I allow myself to be wrong so he will have something to moan about. It keeps him happy. I think. Even got a kiss off him this morning when he went off to work.
I waited until nine o'clock then I drove off to my favourite sevice station. On the off chance, you understand, but neither Big Pete nor the courier lady was there. I even had some lunch, which I didn't enjoy, hoping that one or other of them would come in. Thats the way it is these days. Living in hope. XVX
January 09 Waiting..................
I could write a song To the rhythm of your breathing To the rise and fall of your breasts While you lie sleeping To the beat of the pulse On the curve of your wrist.
Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t tell you Would not know where To begin the description Of love, my love for you But bring me a feather A petal, a raindrop Then you’ll know.
I could cry a song To the pain of my sadness To the emptiness inside When you’re not here To the shape you’ve left On your side of the bed.
Don’t ask me how I couldn’t define it Have no idea what When or why it is it But bring me a sigh The wind in the trees The rain on the window Then you’ll know.
I watch the day fade into evening and wait but still there is nothing to show me where in my world you might be travelling; whether from me or to me, I cannot tell. Raindrops stain and darken my windows, curtains shade the last of the light from the sky. I cry as softly as those raindrops, as silently as the breath, your breath, I can no longer hear. I drank, now my cup is empty, ate, now my cupboard is bare, loved, now my heart feels broken. Perhaps it is ......
All evening I pottered aimlessly, never more than a yard from the phone in case it should ring. It didn’t, now I am worried. Anguish is a funny word. Inadequate to describe the way I feel. Tearful sounds torn and frightful, like smeared mascara. Broken hearted sounds so final. Perhaps it is ......
Uncertainty kills me slowly, inexorably. Creeping like a ice cold snake into my thoughts, my coffee, my chocolate biscuits. If only you’d ring, it’d only take a minute. Less ‘cos I’d answer straight away. Vicky, you’d say. Sorry, I’ve been delayed. Theres a jam on the motorway. Something, anything instead of nothing. Is it dark outside? Perhaps it is ......
Words are my weapons and armed I shall fight my fears. Love, she said, conquers all, if only you believe. I love you dearly, with all my heart, I said. Tears are my enemy, tears and the gulf of you not being here. Love, she said, sustains all, if only you believe. I love you truly, with all my soul, I said. And I did ......
I could write a song To the misery of my crying To the drip of raindrops And the drip of tears To the cold fear inside To the weight of my worry
Don’t ask me why I couldn’t tell you I know naught of anything Except that sadness Is death, or soon will be ‘cos you’re not here ‘cos you’re not here ‘cos you’re not here.
I could cry a song For th……………
I jump out of my skin when the phone rings, knock it onto the floor in my haste to answer it, scrabble on the floor to pick it up...............
Is it her?
It is!
Hello, yes? Yes, YES!
“Vicky! Its me. Sorry I won't be home tonight. There has been a lot of snow and they’ve closed all the roads over the Pennines. My mobile won’t work up here but I’m alright. I’ve got a room in that hotel on the Snake Pass and am calling from there. Love you ......”
~~~V.J.S 2008~~~ January 08 Life in the Middle Lane.
Following my previous blog and the fun I had the rest of that day I thought I'd try to post the bit of story I wrote about what happened.......... Life in the Middle Lane. II
Its odd how the strangest and often the most interesting things happen to me when I am not trying to make it so. Take yesterday morning for instance. I had a row with the old man about nothing in particular, decided I’d had enough of him already that day, so got in my trusty Escort and zoomed off to my favourite motorway service station. It’s one I am very familiar with and one I am sure you have all heard of so I won’t here include its name. No really. I can do without hordes of people chasing after me!
Anyway, I’d got parked up in my usual quiet space, right where the lorries turn in and out of their own expanse of dirty concrete and was sitting quietly, half listening to the radio and half watching what was going on. The need for something to eat and drink wasn’t that urgent but the need to pee was so, after a while, I wandered off towards the ladies and remembered on the way that the car needed some water in it’s window washers. Yes there is a connection but not the one you are thinking of. I expect you’ll see it in the end.
Well I got back from the loo and went to the boot of the car to get out the bottle of window washer stuff, which is diluted ready for use in the half gallon plastic can the concentrate was originally in.
Maybe too many men have the wrong idea about women’s capabilities. I mean, I know damn well where the washer water goes. And the
He smiled at this, made some joke, half heartedly about women in distress, which I ignored pointedly but then, instead of buggering off to his wagon he offered to check my oil and coolant levels for me.
God I hate men sometimes.
I told him I thought both oil and water were alright but he insisted, saying he would not want to see me broken down on the motorway later on.
God, I really hate men sometimes! So for the sake of a quiet life I allowed him to withdraw my dipstick and inspect it. Of course the oil level was exactly where it ought to be, exactly as I knew it would be, there in line with the little notch on the stick.
The man wiped it on the side of his overalls then shoved it down into the engine again. When he withdrew it a second time the level was exactly the same.
He grunted something to himself, as if he was disappointed to find I’d been right.
“Old motors often burn a lot of oil!” he told me “On a long journey you might find the engine runs right out before you know it……”
“She doesn’t burn any oil” I told him firmly. “No matter how far I go”
The man ignored me, began to unscrew the top of the coolant tank instead. Well I could see through the transparent side of the tank that the coolant level was alright but I didn’t say anything. Much as I hate them sometimes, often it is better to keep quiet when men are trying to be helpful, isn’t it?
I don’t know what he expected to see inside that little tank but pale blue water was all that was in there. Pale blue coolant at exactly the right level. No more nor less than that!
“Sometimes these older type engines tend to leak……” he offered lamely
“Well this one doesn’t!” I said.
The man stood up suddenly and I stepped back.
“Sorry!” he said “I was only trying to help. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve……”
“It’s alright!” I said “No need to apologise”
I had to feel kind of sorry for him then, in some strangely indefinable way. He looked so disappointed that he’d not found something he could help me with, crestfallen I suppose you’d call it.
“Used to be my job” he said quietly “Aye One Rescue. You know, good as the A.A. it was, when I was there”
“Oh yes?” I said.
He nodded “Now it’s removals I do. Part loads, pictures and antiques”
“I do all my own maintenance” I said “Used to be my job too. Courier driver, I was, at one time. I had BMC vans then”
The man looked suitably impressed.
“What Sherpas? He asked interestedly.
I shook my head. Clumsy great lumbering things, those Sherpa vans. Too big, slow and underpowered to be any use for what I used to do.
“Maestros” I told him proudly. “I ran a fleet of nine of them. Six other drivers and me with two vans in reserve. Small parcels mostly, private mails, that sort of thing, mostly between Brum and London”
I must say the man looked very impressed by this.
“I thought I’d met you before” he said.
I smiled “You may have, but I doubt it. My vans never broke down. Once, and once only did a driver run out of fuel. I sacked her for that! For negligence. Right down the bottom of the M25 by Gatwick”
“That was a bit hard wasn’t it?” he asked “I mean, sacking her because she ran out of petrol?”
“Diesel” I said “And that’s what vans have a fuel gauge for. Getting that one going again cost me a lot of money, it did”
The man nodded knowledgeably “You’d have to bleed it” he said.
“Yes” I told him. “That’s what I did!”
That must have been the last straw for the man. Here he was, a knight in shining armour, well filthy overalls if you insist, searching around for a maiden to rescue, when who should come along but me! Complete with socket set in both aye eff and metric and with a bloody great screwdriver stuck into my belt. It wasn’t that difficult bleeding the air out of a Maestro’s fuel system anyway, if I remember rightly. Just a couple of screws to loosen on the filter and a single five sixteenths nut on the pump. And yes I’d dermatitis a couple of times too, so don’t you tell me about the drawbacks.
The stupid thing is this driver of mine had been running on red diesel, you see……… So it was negligence and theft in reality I’d sacked her for, because while there is nothing wrong with red diesel in a tractor it is somewhat illegal to use it on the road for more than a few miles. That’s why the white stuff is called derv – diesel engine road vehicle the acronym means and the reason why it costs three times as much as the red is because of the tax. I’d paid her for white but she’d filled up with red, pocketed the difference and put my vehicle in danger of being impounded by the customs and excise. They will do that you know and you never get it back. So, had she been caught I’d be eight and a half grand down to Barclays with no van to show for it and with a hefty fine from C&E to contend with as well.
“What a cow!” the man in the greasy overalls said. “Tell you what. Why don’t I buy you a drink?”
I had to laugh at him then, in a jovial sort of way, as I’d never been picked up in quite that sort of manner before. Which is not to say I hadn’t been picked up at that particular service station. Oh no! It had happened to me there more than anywhere else in the country, but usually at my instigation. This time I hadn’t really thought about it and it had still happened. I can only assume from that that some men still find something attractive in me.
“You can buy me coffee and a cake if you like!” I said boldly, which cheered the man up straight away.
……………………
Well the cake was stale and the coffee to hot, too strong, and too tasteless, but I didn’t complain. Instead I asked him if he had a schedule to keep and no, not today, was what he told me.
“Didn’t realise I was so hungry” I announced, collecting cake crumbs with a sucked fingertip. The man gazed at me wonderingly.
“Can I get you something else then?” he asked “If you’re still hungry I mean”
I shook my head, remembering my manners and the fact that I only had about two quid in change in my purse. I could only buy him a bar of chocolate in return if I had to, with that!
“Its alright” I told him “I shall have to be going soon anyway. I’ve got to cook the old man’s dinner!”
“Aah!” he breathed “The old man. A husband is there?”
“That’s what there is” I said “One who lies in bed on Sunday morning and issues orders” I grinned “This Sunday I came out and left him”
Then I remembered how I’d come away in such a rush. With only a nightie and dressing gown on under my coat. Oh fuck and……… oh well! The dressing gown, what little could be seen of it might easily pass for a jumper of some sort, or, if I sat down carefully an all in one pale pink top and skirt. Furtively I squinted at my reflection in the window. No, thank goodness, the top of my nightie could not be seen.
The man laughed “You must have come out in a hurry then” he said.
Well it was blindingly obvious to me then wasn’t it, and I’m bloody stupid. No makeup! Hair all over the place! Coat all crumpled and to make matters worse, when I looked down at it, it was unmistakeably a dressing gown I could see. Hell and damnation I was lucky the law didn’t come and take me away. I could just see the headlines now:
“Semi naked pensioner exposes herself to motorists”
and
“M’Way crash caused by old woman flasher”
“You could say that” I said.
The man looked at me over the top of his coffee cup, his knight in shining armour persona to the fore again.
“Anything I can do?” he asked me.
For some reason I felt his concern was genuine. He continued to stare at me while I finished my coffee, appeared to want to ask me something more when I put down the cup.
“It’s alright” I said “I’ll go home in a while and do him some dinner. If I am quiet and he’s still in bed like I’ll bet he is he’ll never know I’ve been anywhere”
“If you’re sure” the man said disappointedly.
“Yes I’m sure” I said
“Well if you get any bother you can tell him Big Pete Sandon will come round and sort him!”
“That’s you then, is it?” I asked.
The man grinned “Yeah, that’s me!”
“Well I’m Vicky” I said, holding out my hand.
His hand was as warm as his eyes had been when he’d gazed at me over his coffee cup. Suddenly I felt stupidly attracted to the man. He’d been unnecessarily helpful and generous towards me, worked hard at making conversation and shown an interest and an understanding of what I had to say, now here I was disappointing him and deflating his ego by telling him I was about to go home to my husband.
I didn’t want to let go of his hand, but neither did I want to go on holding it over the table. Reluctantly I pulled my hand free.
“More coffee before you go?” he asked hopefully
More coffee? I nodded.
He smiled.
And I had an idea.
“Removals?” I asked obliquely “Is that what you’re doing today?”
The man paused uncertainly, awkwardly half risen from the table.
“Just a part load today, as it’s a Sunday” he confirmed “Auction house stuff. Got to be in Chiswick by Monday ready for the sale”
“Mmmmm” I said “so how much room is in the back”
The man sat down again, I thought somewhat unsteadily. Perhaps he could see where the conversation was leading.
“It’s a seven and a half tonner, Luton top, and theres only a set of chairs, a dining table and a bureau in the back. It’s good stuff. Georgian I’d say”
He looked around hastily, as if worried about being overheard. “there is a lot of repro stuff about though” he added meaningfully.
Now in the same way as I don’t know anything about art, but I know what I like I don’t know very much about antiques. But you know, I’ve read a little bit about this and that. Enough to be able to hold a conversation if necessary or to make a comment good enough so that I don’t look silly.
“Second or third George?” I asked.
“What, oh how should I know” he flustered “I’m only the driver”
I pulled a face “And there was me thinking you were going to show it to me!”
“Were……yes, I can do that” the man said “I want to check it anyway. It wasn’t very well packed”
“Alright” I said “Lets forget about the coffee. You go and see if Old George is alright. Then you can show it to me. It’s an interest of mine, is that type of furniture”
That was a lie but he never knew it and I was beginning to think I might have overdone the innuendoes too, but he didn’t appear to have noticed those either.
Obviously his thoughts were already straying elsewhere.
……………………………
We stood on the taillift and rode up on it together. Then he undid the roller door and shoved it upwards with a clatter.
Like most wagons of this type, in order to let the light in the roof was made of some kind of transparent plastic and like most wagons of this type it was chipped and knocked about by clumsy use inside.
“Alright?” he asked, offering me his hand.
Now I could have stepped off that taillift without any problem but I took his proffered hand anyway. Matters were coming to a head now, I could tell, so I didn’t want to fall over.
There was a neatly folded stack of old blankets on one side at the back with others of their kind wrapped and stuffed and draped all over Old George, with dust sheets and several broken down cardboard cartons lying on the floor.
“’S all right” the man said “I don’t think it has moved about much.
“Coo, you could live in here” I said.
The man laughed “It’d be chilly in the winter and too hot in summer” he looked at obliquely “Besides, there isn’t no bed………...”
“Never mind Pete” I said, lying back against the stack of blankets “We can do it on here……………”
Startled, he stared at me.
“What……?”
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” I asked unbuttoning my coat.
“Shit!” he cried in alarm. “For fucks sake wait till I close the door!”
Dodging past me like a whirlwind he slammed the taillift shut with a tremendous clatter then heaved on the loop of rope which brought down the roller shutter. I doubt whether that wagon had been closed up that fast before in it's life.
I took off my coat, untied the front of my dressing gown and, soon after that, found out why he was called Big Pete.
Oh, and in case you’re still wondering, it was George the Third furniture.
………………
Life in the Middle Lane © V.J.S. 2008.
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I do hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing and experiencing it. In case you are wondering what Life in the Middle Lane I was, that was a story I wrote some time ago and which I suppose I shall now have to post on here again? XXVickyXX
January 06 Sunday morning's alercation.Hmmmm. We had a little argument this morning which resulted in me losing my temper with him. Which is unusual and in fact surprised him more than it did me. It went along something like this:
Him: Why do you always slop about the house with that old dressing gown on?
Me: Because I like it.
Him: Why don't you get dressed?
Me: Why, are we going somewhere?
Him: Don't think so.
I'd brought coffee and the Sunday Bloody Telegraph to his bed knowing that Sunday was a day of rest, at least for men.
Me: You used to like looking at me like this at one time.
Him: Oh did I?
Me: You know you did.
Him: Ummmm (takes a mouthful of coffee)
I'd done him two eggs two rashers of bacon and fried bread and he ate the lot without a word.
Me: Was your breakfast alright?
Him: Yes.
Me: What else would you like?
Him: Nothing else.
No chance of a bit of meat and two veg there then.
Him: Are you going to get dressed?
Me: No.
Him: Why not?
Me: Because I am more comfortable like this
Him: What if someone comes round?
Me: Like who? Are we expecting someone?
Him: No.
It was becoming all the more futile by the minute. I went downstairs, found my book and had just started to read it when he hollered down the stairs:
Him: Where the hells my soap?
Me: Wherever you left it.
Him: No its not!
Me: Then I don't know.
Loads of thumps, slamming doors and swearing from upstairs.
Me: Have you found it?
Him: No.
Me: Get a new bar out of the cupboard.
Him: There isn't any
Me: Yes there is.
Him: Well I can't.......(crash thump bellow!)
Me: Are you alright?
Him: No.
Me: Whats the matter?
Him: (Crash thump clatter) I can't find the bloody soap.
At this point I decided enough was enough. i knew there were at least six bars of soap in the cupboard 'cos I'd put them there the day before, soon after I'd come back from shopping. I knew that if I went upstairs I'd end up shouting at him, knew if I stayed where I was he'd shout at me. So.........
You know I keep a pair of shoes and a coat in the car, amongst other things. What I call my emergency kit. Other clothes too but my coat most importantly. This means that should I decide to take off somewhere in a hurry I can do so withut worrying too much about what I may or may not be wearing. I know exactly where the ladies room is at Watfor Gap services and where I can park very easily without being seen. There is a space next to the lorry drivers park..........
I shall go home later, when I have simmered down, by which time presumably he will have done so too. Until then I will doze and listen to the radio and watch the bigwheelers moving in and out. yawn. In another lifetime I want to be a lorry driver. XVX
January 04 Disaster strikes againDo you know
Would you believe it?
That bloody sunset fell down
When I slammed the door.
Cost me a fortune it did
Half an hour on my back
And another ten minutes
Kneeling on the floor.
Men! I hate 'em all
Sometimes
And love 'em - little boys
All of the time.
Now I've mess to clear up
Broken glass and broken
Dreams - and a dirtied towel
To boot.
But I have it now
On good authority
There is green in the sky
Loads of people told me so.
And do you know
Would you credit it?
He'd left his pallette
By the door............
(c) V.J.S 2008 Friday bloody Freezing morning.Hell and damnation it is cold this morning! I was forced to put a woolie and some slippers on. I turned the heating up too, and noted that this part of the world now appears to be directly in line with the north pole. Even the coffee took much longer to get right. Do you know, for once i think imight even get properly dressed! XVX January 03 What does it take?What does it take?
“Ensure the batteries are inserted the right way round” or words to that effect were the instructions. The damn thing cost me a tenner but the spring broke as soon as I put the batteries in. Kitchen foil! That was the answer. A carefully folded wad of that. Duracells are useless! Their little nipples are too small to make contact! But cheaper batteries work ok… ……ok, except I think they’re already run down. Why is life so bloody difficult??? Now I have to get up and go down to the kitchen again, to where there are some cheap Chinese batteries in a drawer……….. ……….. coffee? Well the waters still hot……….. …….and the floor so cold in bare feet…….. Two batteries, double A’s they should do it……… Yes! ……….zzzzzzz carefully………. zzzzzz…….. a bit more coffee……… …….zzz ……….zzzzzzznowIamcontent……… January 02 2008 begins..........Well the painter came Finally On a pushbike with a satchel thing On the back. He made a mess And drank my whiskey And put a lot of greens where I thought no such colour should be. There’s no green in the sky I said pettishly To which he asked Had I ever looked for it.
I’d post a picture of it but msn won’t let me In case I post something rude. Entire cultures have been ruined By attitudes like that Entire economies made Out of the ruins. Yes they made a new world So as to have freedom of religion So get thyself to church Before I belt thee! Another freedom lost, not found!
So I’ll sit here in my nightie While he grumbles and grouses Downstairs. It has rained, his car is dirty And kids have thrown used condoms At the door. That’s what happens when you live In a cul de sac where the streetlights Are broken. I could never condemn teenage sex Just offer them somewhere comfortable And wish them, and all, a happy new year. |
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