At home, Grizelda made us a coffee and played mother hen. I did tell her that the chipmunk needed hers cool and with a straw. It was actually quite funny to see the little dribbles coming from the side of her numb lips. Of course being a gentleman, I didn't actually mention it, and just dabbed the corners of her mouth with a tissue and laid one on her lap.
When I laughed, I just said it was something funny I'd seen in the papers.
The day wore on and her mouth did ease a lot. I suggested we let Grizelda go home and we two would go for a nice meal. I booked a table for two at a little Italian place that had opened recently in town. Grimaldi's was proving to be quite popular and I counted myself lucky to get in.
At seven thirty our taxi arrived to pick us up and drive us into town. We arrived a little early and I asked Lady J if she'd like a little drink at the bar, and a chance to study the menu.
She had a red wine and I my usual lime and lemonade which I find very refreshing. We chose the meals we wanted and were soon shown to our table. We had just settled when I saw movement at the door, and my stomach sank as I saw Edna and Edgar Arbuthnot coming through. Edgar gave a small wave of recognition when he saw us. Edna, who was still wearing the mayoral regalia, gave an imperious nod and moved on. The table to which they were shown was on the opposite side of the room behind Julia, so she wouldn't be able to see them. Already I could see a vein in her forehead start to throb. Edna on the other hand had chosen the seat that faced our table and her face looked as though she was eating raw lemons.
I could imagine Saturday night now. The Gunfight at the OK Corral would be a safer venue.
Edna's way with the waiters was to raise her arm and click her fingers for attention. I was sure they wouldn't like it much and I could already hear Julia's teeth grinding. Poor Edgar must have been embarrassed. It was a shame as I quite like him and he's proved to be a good mayor. Edna has just debased the job of mayoress with her attitude. She's rarely seen out without the chain of office and some say she sleeps in it. She says that the chain has been earned and she dislikes the nobility for our airs and graces. Strange that we rarely display any and yet Edna certainly does. I couldn't help but wonder at her childhood.
We finished our meal and managed to get out without having to speak. Our taxi was waiting and the tension eased as we got in.
"Come on, chipmunk”, I said, "soon be home”.
"You know you'll pay for that, David", she said.
We arrived home safely and relaxed for a while with a cup of coffee.
“You seem a little quiet, dear" said Julia.
I didn't reply. I had toothache.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Blood Pressure and a Diet
Thursday started at 5.10 am. It was very grey outside and looked like rain wasn't too far away. On the inside, however, Oscar had woken me up to give me a severe talking to. His tone also held a resigned note as if to say, 'I know it's a waste of time, Human, but I'm going to give you one more chance to redeem yourself.' Accordingly, I hopped out of bed donning my new, non-peed in slippers, and went to do his food dishes. Feeling the need to show him how much I appreciated this last chance, I gave him fresh chicken, or at least chicken that was still within date according to the packet. I even carefully broke it into small, easily chewable pieces. Knowing I'd done my best now, I made myself a drink and took it to the office.
There wasn't too much mail today, and it looked like most of the advertisers had given up on me. I did have one offer, though, that suggested I needn't suffer these ugly facial wrinkles that give my age away any more. For the equivalent of a Third World nation's annual budget, I could have them all smoothed away by some very painful injections that would make my face freeze, thereby making smiling an impossibility and giving my lips the plumpness of a large fish pouting.
Difficult as it was, I declined the offer. After all, if they made my face any smoother my hair might slide off my head altogether!
I also had a note from a friend to say there was to be a meeting of the 'Friends of Greenfield Bottom Folk Society'. They needed to raise funds to bring in some outside acts. As a great fan of folk music, my suggestions for fundraising would be welcomed.
Knowing as I did that the local folk club usually consisted of evenings in the Fursty Ferret and songs from such notables as 'Blond Joe Harper' or 'Young Lad Williamson', with occasional turns by 'Barking Fox', and that their repertoire consisted of the same dozen or so songs, I got my thinking hat on. I made two suggestions.
ONE. That the Fursty Ferret should start charging for entry on folk nights, knowing that they couldn't take that up or the pub would always be empty on a Thursday.
TWO. That the pub should hold a fun day where they could have a bouncy castle for the children (and the drunks), and have various games for the adults. For instance a river runs behind the Ferret where perhaps teams could hold barrel races. They could pay to enter and the landlord could present a cup to the winner that could be played for every year. I did specify that it should be a silver cup as the landlord’s IQ is about the same as his shoe size. They could hold plastic duck races with gambling. A percentage of the bets to go to the punters guessing the correct duck to win, the rest to the funds. The folk club needed the diversity of outside artistes or it would simply have to fold. We heard the same songs sung so often that even I, with my memory, now knew all the words, and that included the ones in Gaelic and Latin.
At seven I woke her Ladyship with her coffee and morning tablet. I knew she'd want an early start at the stables today. By 8.00 am she'd gone and so I sat down with the paper delivered as usual by Dawn, who today had been strangling what sounded like a cover of Brown Sugar by The Stones. Out of Dawn's mouth it sounded like Brow Suga.
After the paper I made ready to visit the doctor for the results of my blood test, Dr. Jekyll for some reason having requested the pleasure of my company.
The surgery was busy as usual and I saw a sea of faces I knew, but got a seat next to Fred Crumplow who told me all about his ‘gravedigger’s back', and how he had come for some tablets for his Arthur-itis. I didn't ask what gravedigger’s back was but presumed it must be as a result of working all the controls on his mini-digger.
The doctor called me and I went into the surgery and sat down.
"Well mon", he started, “what’s all this then?"
"Erm, can you give me a clue", I asked.
"These results are terrible", he almost shouted, "terrrrible I say. Your cholesterol levels are up despite the diet. You are sticking to that, aren't you?", he asked.
"But of course", I replied, wondering how he could even question it.
"Let’s take a look at the blood pressure then", he said taking out his sphygmomanometer (I know, showing off now). He strapped it to my arm and started pumping. After what felt like an hour I started getting quite light headed and I knew my arm must be black and ready to drop off.
"Ridiculous", he said, “it’s 184 over 120. I'm surprised you're still walking round. I shall give you a prescription for some tablets to bring the cholesterol down and some for the BP. You will also eat nothing but chicken with either pasta or rice for the next few days and then come back and see me. Now get out of my sight, you reprobate. Home and bed for the rest of the day”.
"Erm, for you or for me, doc”, I ventured to ask.
“Go, go, go”, he said. “Now I don't feel myself at all", saying which Dr Hyde suddenly appeared.
I left the two men chatting and walked off to the chemist’s.
Mr Boot filled the prescription with a smart, "Tut tut, been overdoing the highlife, My Lord?"
“Can’t understand it”, I said, “I’m careful with my diet. I'm sure it's the pills that do it. I've started rattling when I walk now”.
After filling the prescription I went home. I wondered whether Oscar might be prepared to share some of his chicken but I thought maybe not.
Grizelda was there and asked if I needed anything. I said a packet of crisps and
a couple of choccie biscuits with a cup of coffee would go down fine, and could she do a little shopping for me please.
The chocolate biscuits cheered me. I thought Dr Jekyll had been a bit unreasonable in apportioning blame for this hiccough to me.
Grizelda brought the shopping and said she'd do me nice chicken pasta for lunch. While I was waiting, I picked up one of Julia's magazines. There was a little quiz on 'Do you watch your man’s health?' I decided to do it. I think the questions were slanted slightly towards women and I was decidedly put out when the answer came back ' Lucretia Borgia!!!! Why aren't you in prison for murder?'
Lunch was amazing. It didn't occur to me that Grizelda would have no experience of pasta. It didn't seem that exotic in this day and age. But when I entered the dining room I gasped. There on the table was Mount Vesuvius. She'd used a whole packet of spaghetti, not realising how it swells. The mound was topped by a deep red sauce in the centre that looked like it was about to erupt, or just had, to judge from the pieces of chicken sticking out. I took a mouthful while she watched me. I made all the right noises. Actually I was trying not to choke but she didn't guess. I smiled at her and chewed, and chewed, and chewed. Luckily she nodded and said, "H'enjoy H'it", and left. I swallowed. The next mouthful and the pasta were already cold. I looked around for a carrier bag and piled it all in ready to throw in a bin. I went through and thanked Grizelda and then decided on a whim to dig out my metal detector.
Carrying that, and the bag of soon to be discarded lunch, I headed for the shed to collect a spade. This done I started at the top of the garden going from left to right along the edge and back again. Within minutes I had a deafening pinging in my ear. Setting to work I dug up a rusting discarded trowel. Another couple of miles and I dug up a half crown. Only 40 years old and probably some poor soul’s wages, but I was pleased. On and on I went until I had nearly completed the section of the garden that Mellors and I hadn't touched. All of a sudden the pinging reached fever pitch. I started digging and about a foot down came across a lovely metal box about 6 inches cubed. Excitedly I opened it and there inside I found... an old World War II gas mask. In disgust I threw it and the box and the metal detector on a rubbish pile nearby. Just then Mellors appeared. "Don't want that then, Your Lordship?", he asked. Assuming he meant the detector or the mask, I answered "No Mellors, help yourself". With that I stomped indoors in a sulk.
I sat with a coffee and Lady J arrived home.
"Hello my dear", I said, "a good day with Pilgrim?"
“Fine", she replied. “Beggar didn't stand on my foot once today. And how did you get on with the doctor?", she asked in turn.
“Great", said I, “he thinks I might have chicken sometimes but definitely no spaghetti. Did think I should rest today, so I had a day at home”. My fingers were crossed.
"Good”, she said "a happy day all round then. As I came home I saw Mellors, and he was telling me how he found an old 18th century metal dispatch box today and got £200 from the antique shop for it”.
Friday, August 6, 2010
The Quiz
At nine minutes past five this morning, the Infidel Warrior in the red crossed white robe rode through the city of Jerusalem, sword waving in the air… when the Saracen jumped him. His breath was pushed from his body.
The Saracen turned out to be grey, four legged and equipped with a set of needle sharp claws.
Oscar just doesn't seem to care what time it is if his personal itch needs scratching. Today’s itch it seemed, as he'd jumped on my stomach to wake me, was that no-one seemed to be stroking him. His method of rectifying that wrong was to push his head not too subtly into my exposed hand. I'd always thought that Salah el Din was a fair man, much more educated than we Templar Knights and kinder than we deserved, but now I understand the truth, that he used sleep deprivation on his captives.
I sat up so that I could be comfortable as I stroked Oscar el Din. As he took this to be a cessation of my attention, he bit my thumb and ran.
He doesn't bite Julia when she sleeps through his attention-seeking antics or brushes him away in her sleep. And, I'll never understand how she can sleep through his yowls, but she can. I on the other hand got up to do his dishes like an obedient slave. Knowing that I wouldn't get back to sleep, I crept into the office and turned on my computer.
My first message was one of congratulations as I could win the chance of a New York weekend. All I had to do to be entered was to agree to answer consumer questions every week for a year. As each set of questions wouldn't take much more than an hour, I declined the offer. I'd save longer than the weekend by not doing it.
Psychic Mara needed me to get in touch urgently so she could warn me of choppy waters ahead. I thought, 'Why bother, it's not like I'm going on a cruise’.
There was a message from the folk society thanking me for the wonderful idea and asking how long it would take me to arrange it. I wrote and said I'd be happy to open the event for them, but that I didn't have time to arrange things. I thought that's what committees were for?
It was time to wake Lady J so I put the kettle on and prepared the cups, or in her case a bucket. I took my morning medication and got hers ready, taking it through with her coffee and a cheery “Good morning, my dear, a beautiful day”.
One eye flickered open and a voice asked, “How can you be so damnably cheerful at this time of the day?"
"Rise and shine, dear, coffee and your tablet are here”. With that I left just ahead of the book that followed me.
Just outside her bedroom Lady J keeps 'Rocky', an old family rocking horse. Julia uses it to keep odd saddles and bits of tack on sometimes. As I reached it, I found Oscar sitting there looking very poised and regal. As I passed him, one paw reached out in a blessing, which, it turned out, consisted of four red stripes just above my wrist. The red was blood, of course, and the marks itched like hell.
I had just gone through to apply some antiseptic when I heard Lady J say, “Right, you little beggar”, followed by a very plaintive cry from Oscar. I ran to the scene. Julia, with matching awards on her arm, was on the floor wrestling with her dressing gown. I thought how odd it looked until I saw Oscar's head protruding through one of the arms. Julia had a good grip with her knees and was using one hand to stroke his throat and the other to hold his jaws closed. “I’ve managed to get today’s tablet in his mouth", she told me. Still having the antiseptic in my hands, I applied some to her wound and said SNAP.
After about five minutes of listening to his siren-like growls, she eased her grip and Oscar made a break for it. He moved about six feet away, spat out half his tablet and started to groom himself. I reckoned by the end of the ten days she might actually have managed to get one full dose down him.
We spent the morning arranging photographs into an album and laughing together at the memories some evoked. There had been a time when we hadn’t been too self conscious about letting our hair down a bit.
At lunchtime we went to Cass E Dees where today our waitress was Sarahrah. She's a really pleasant girl, as are the rest of the staff. I remember meeting her mum and saying she must be proud of her daughter. I said it was an unusual name her daughter had and asked if it was a Celtish name.
“Nay, My Lord", she'd replied. "Her fool of a father had hiccoughs the day he went to register her, it was meant to be just Sarah!"
Today Lady J and I both decided on soup. I suggested that on past performance she'd better avoid the tomato. It's not that it makes her ill or anything, but she just doesn't seem able to keep it on a spoon. On a dress, yes, on a jacket, yes, on a spoon, NO. Last time she giggled as she lifted the spoon and ended up pebble dashing my tie.
After we had finished we paid, gave thanks and headed for home where we found Giles Thrupp waiting. He'd come to tell us how well his prize bull was now doing, and that he now had orders for the bull to cover cows all over the county. He said he was now going to take on more staff. For some reason he thought we were in part responsible for his change of fort
unes and had come to offer shares in the bull. We declined with thanks, and then Lady J started to ask him whether he was seeing anyone. I know matchmaking talk when I hear it, and felt sorry for the man. I left the room rapidly.
That evening, and on the spur of the moment, Julia suggested we go to the Fursty Ferret and enjoy the pub quiz. I thought it might make a pleasant change and agreed. I rang Suki to see if she'd care to join us, but she was going on a date it seemed. I must remember to ask her about that.
It was quite pleasant outside, with no rain, so we took a little walk to the pub.
We found a small table and I went to get drinks from the bar. When I got back someone had been round and given Julia a sheet of paper. “For our answers", she explained. I hadn't realised we would be participating. We had to come up with a name for ourselves and after a few poor attempts, she came up with Bad Manors, to which I readily agreed.
The quiz started with an easy question about which team won the 1966 World Cup. I wrote down England, knowing that as it's about the only time England has ever won anything, everyone would know it.
There were about eight other teams in the room and we were close enough that even a whispered question could be heard, but the landlord was using a microphone in case there was anyone in the entire village who couldn't hear him.
The questions went on. Some were easy and some hard, but just before half time there was a music section which I have to admit suited me, as it was all 60s, 70s & 80s.
We started with a song called 'The Laughing Gnome', that sounded like Anthony Newley but I knew was actually David Bowie. I hoped that some others might not know that. For sure, some of the teams looked like they were fans of the music from the Boer War and others weren't born before the Falklands Conflict. There were songs by Gary Pucket and Union Gap, Jethro Tull, Andy Williams and Free. I heard some great tracks that brought memories flooding back.
My Barsetshire Diary (The Barsetshire Diaries Book 1) Page 11