Today I found 9 damp towels in the children’s bathroom.
‘It’s not fair.’ I said ‘ I have to do all the washing and you lot just help yourselves to another towel as if you lived in a bloody hotel with bloody laundry service and I was a bloody chamber maid.’
‘ Well, it wasn’t me.’ said Zac ‘I haven’t had a bath for ages.’
‘ And I have to mend everything.’ I continued ‘Abigail, when you pull the doorknob off the bathroom door the least you could do is to go and get a screwdriver and put it back on again. You just left it lying on the floor.’
She said ‘Actually I didn’t pull it off the door. It just came off in my hand so someone else must have pulled it off earlier and then just slid it back on again and I don’t know how to work a screwdriver.’
Maisie said ‘I couldn’t have left a wet towel in the children’s bathroom because you always pick my towels up after I have used them and you probably put them away where they belong.’
5th February
Surprise Party
Today is John’s surprise party. My cousins are coming and so are Ellis and Paul. Claire will be in Stalybridge. Fraser and Bella are coming too.
I have made a card for John with a pink heart on it. Maisie has made him one with Doctor Who.
I am a bit worried about the surprise party because John said he didn’t want one and I said ‘Well you’re not having one, we are going out to dinner.’ One of my cousins said ‘See you on Tuesday.’ to John the other day so he thinks they are coming out to dinner with us.
Really there will be silver balloons and food from Ottolenghi and a Tarte from En Compagne. I hope he likes it.
This morning I walked Maisie to school with Paul and his daughter Billie. I will miss walking to school with Paul. He said that the cash buying trustafarian hadn’t got back to them and that the bottom had fallen out of the housing market. And he said that he used to know the bee man from the party and that he was very Russian about nakedness and was probably not flashing at Hannah and Hetty as he read a lot of Dostoevski.
I said ‘What?’ I’ve never read Dostoevski. I didn’t know that Russians were especially naked, I thought they wore a lot of fur and it was Finns who were naked. I have, however, been flashed at three times.
Paul is a good criminal defence lawyer, he is very clever and went to Cambridge a year early.
Wednesday 6th February 2008
The Day After
John is 50 and 1 day old. he looks exactly the same, only tired. John’s editor bought him an iPhone and he was very happy.
The surprise party was so exciting. We stationed one child by the front door, one on the stairs down to the kitchen and one by the kitchen door.
‘He’s coming !’ they whispered and there was the sound of a key in the lock. We all hid behind the kitchen units.
‘Surprise ! Happy birthday !’ We all had a lovely time. I didn’t buy enough wine because I thought everyone would want to go to bed early but they didn’t. We ate Ottolenghi food and talked and listened to music. The children took all the silver balloons into the playroom and breathed in the helium, then they came squeaking into the kitchen. Paul told Ellis’ youngest child to ‘Bugger off and stop squeaking in my face.’ Ellis was cross. This morning Paul ‘phoned and he said he was worried that Ellis was cross with him. Ellis texted me and said he thought Paul was cross with him for being cross. How sweet they are.
Ellis is in love with an artist but he says he can’t have sex with him because his feet are too small. I said
‘Is it true about feet size then?’
And he said ‘Yes, apart from in the case of Indian men where there seems to be no correlation.’
I said ‘Have you had sex with lots of Indian men then?’
And he said “No of course not. I used to be an anaesthetist in Wales and the first thing we did once we’d got a patient unconscious was to check their size.’
I said ‘Oh, that’s not a very comforting thought is it, for all those people having operations?’
He said ‘They were unconscious, so they didn’t know. Anyway it might have just been a Cardiff thing.’
I quite often ask Ellis about sex as I’ve only been to bed with two men, but I think I get a slightly skewed version from him. In fact Ellis is quite restrained sexually. I think he is too fussy. Judy says that her gay friend, Neal, says he doesn’t do small talk and prefers to just get down to it. My other gay friend, Jan, says he once went to a torture club wearing a rubber vest and chaps. Jan looks quite scary without a rubber vest and chaps. I don’t think Ellis is availing himself of all the opportunities being a single gay man in London affords him. He says it’s because of the children but I can’t see how that’s true as they all love the artist and couldn’t care less how small his feet are.
On the way to school this morning Maisie saw that the perfect doctors were having a load of wood delivered to their house. I said
‘Oh look at that. I wonder what they are building with all that wood.’
Maisie said, “They are going to build something beautiful like an amazing playhouse. Their children will do wonderful designs and drawings all over it and they will use organic paint.’
I said ‘Will they?’
Maisie tossed her gilded head and spun away down the pavement on her little red scooter calling back over her shoulder “Yes because they are better at things than us.’
I need to clear up the kitchen. I will do it later. There is a dead hamster in the middle of the lawn. I didn’t know what it was at first but I have just been to check and it’s a fat dead hamster. Buddy is embarrassing. Maybe if I leave it there he will take it away. More likely he will take it up to Abigail’s room and put it on her bed. I wonder whose hamster it is.
7th February 2008
Hamster
Liposuction.
Botox
10 am. The hamster is still there. I thought a fox would have taken it over night. It’s the least the foxes could do, they are always yipping and wailing in the garden at night and once, one stole my clog but when it comes to hamsters they are obviously too sniffy. I’ll have to move it later.
John weighed himself this morning and said ‘I am almost down to 17 stone.’
I said ‘When my book is published I’m going to have a nose job and Liposuction.’
John stared at me for a minute then said ‘Why?’ I don’t know why. It’s for the same reason that I have Botox and hair straightening and am constantly on a diet. I don’t know what the reasons are but I feel that they are the same. So I said ‘I’m not really going to.’
John said ‘When your book is published I’m going to have hippo suction. I am going to interview Alison Goldfrapp today. Do you know where my Boss suit is and will you iron me a shirt?’
I got a letter from my father this morning. He had enclosed an article from the Guardian that said you could die from Botox. I already knew that of course because the story had been covered in The Sun days ago. Apparently 16 people have died of Botox in America and the writer appeared to think that most Botox injections are administered by dentists and that it migrates to the lungs. Mine are administered by a dermatologist and he was on Fern and Philip yesterday saying he thought sun beds should be banned. (I must stop going on sun beds). Does that honestly sound like the kind of person that would inject out of control, migratory Botox to unsuspecting North London housewives? I bet more people in America are killed by their underwear than are killed by Botox and my father has never written to me advising me to stop wearing underwear.
Bloody hamster’s still there. OK, the bin men are coming. I am going to throw the hamster in the dustbin. People shouldn’t let their hamsters wonder about willy nilly and if they do they can hardly blame a passing cat for taking advantage of the situation.
I think I’ll leave it a bit longer, I’ve put the hamster in a bag in the hall just in case someone comes to claim the corpse. I’ll put the word about that I have found a dead hamster.
I took Evil out for a walk. I had to go out to buy a new fuse for the washing machine. I hope it’s the fuse otherwise I will have killed yet another domestic appliance.
John says I have that magnetic thing where everything electrical malfunctions when they are near me. He says it’s the reason he malfunctions as well. Since we have lived in this house we have had two washing machines, two dishwashers, two hobs and two fridges. We should have had a new oven too because the fan doesn’t work but we couldn’t be bothered to buy one. We have been here 7 years. It’s not normal, but it may be because we bought Smeg. Ellis told us not to, but we thought they looked nice.
Anyway while I was out I met Ellie’s mum near the Kebab shop. She said she was going to buy some mince to take back to the school where she works. I thought that was strange and said so. ‘No!’ she laughed ‘Mints not mince.’ and walked away giggling. Abigail tells me that according to Ellie’s male friends Ellie’s mum is a MILF. I didn’t know what that meant and when Abigail explained I was quite confused. Is being a MILF a desirable thing ? Are there DILFS ? Or is it just a boy thing ? Are there SILFS or BILFS? I will have to ask Zac. Abigail will tell me not to be so lame.
Zac said ‘Don’t be so lame.’
Hurray the washing machine is working. I changed the fuse on the mains switch and the fuse in the plug and nothing happened so I kicked it and all the lights came on.
I have texted everyone I know about that hamster. Evil took it out of the bag in the hall and I found her licking it hungrily in her basket. It looks a bit the worse for wear now so I think I will put it in the dustbin if no one has claimed it by this afternoon.
8th February 2008
Hamster continued.
Oh bloody hell !! I put the hamster out with the bins, I mean, you can’t keep a festering hamster in your house forever and I couldn’t be bothered to bury it. Then this afternoon the doorbell goes and standing on the step is Abigail’s old art teacher, she has moved to live just around the corner. With her was her pallid little daughter.
‘I understand you have found our hamster.’ she said
‘Is he dead?’ said the daughter.
‘Yes he is.’ said Maisie enthusiastically. ‘Buddy killed him.’ She was standing in the hall just behind me.
‘May we come in?’ said the art teacher.
‘Umm... yes, of course you may.’ I stood aside and they came in.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I was wracking my brains by now, how could I explain binning their hamster? I decided between the front door and the kitchen to lie. Maisie was the only stumbling block. ‘
Maisie why don’t you go upstairs and practice your piano?’ I said hopefully. She pretended not to hear and followed us into the kitchen. ‘I’d like a cup of tea too.’ she said.
‘We’d like to take Alfred home with us. We’d like to bury him in the garden.’ said the art teacher assertively.
‘Yes.’ said the art teacher’s daughter, ‘We’d like to give him a proper funeral.’
Maisie’s eyes were like saucers. ‘I’ve buried him already.’ I said, staring hard at Maisie. ‘I buried him in the garden, under the mallow in the corner.’
‘Yes’ said Maisie ‘We lined his coffin with pink petals and snowdrops and we sang hymns. The coffin was a beautifully carved wooden box with ‘hamster’ written on the top in golden lettering.’
The art teacher looked sceptical. ‘Could we dig him up?’ she said ‘We could take the box home and put him in our garden. I think it would help Aurelia with her grief.’
‘That would be a good idea.’ said Maisie ‘Shall I get a trowel?’
I took the art teacher’s arm and led her into the garden. There was no sign of pink petals or snowdrops. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I buried him over there, in the corner, three or four days ago. It’s been raining since and the box was only cardboard, I don’t think it’s a good idea to dig him up.’ The daughter came and stood mournfully beside us and stared at the undisturbed earth. ‘Did you bury him exactly there?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ said Maise ‘Exactly there. In a golden box, wrapped in a silken shroud.’
Eventually, I got rid of them. ‘For God’s sake Maisie!’ I said, when they had gone. ‘What on earth was that all about?’
She looked at me with limpid blue eyes, that filled slowly with tears. ‘I was only trying to help.’ she said ‘Next time I won’t even bother. And anyway you shouldn’t tell lies.’
Later the art teacher rang me. ‘I am going to buy Aurelia a kitten to help her with her grief. I was wondering if you could put a bell on your cat’s collar to warn us if he approaches. We don’t want any more deaths do we?’ she said. I told her I would put a bell on Buddy’s collar and that he was extremely unlikely to kill a kitten.
‘Well you can’t be too careful.’ said the art teacher ‘I wouldn’t like Aurelia to go through that again.’
I put the phone down. Bloody stupid woman.
Saturday 9th February
John’s mother
Rachel Unthank
John Smith
John’s mother came to stay for the weekend and we took her to see Rachel Unthank at The Borderline in Oxford Street. Rachel Unthank is a Geordie folk singer. She sings folk with her sister. Her sister sings with her hands on her hips and Rachel sings with her eyes closed. They said coming to London was like ‘Something off the telly, it was that glamorous.’ I liked them very much. John’s mother is 74 and she stood up for two and a half hours. I was quite impressed.
I liked the support act too. He’s called John Smith. He plays his guitar across his knees banging on the body of it, like Newton Faulkner. I like it when people do that. Afterwards when he came off stage, I told him he was very good and I bought his CD. I have agreed to review him in the paper. I hate writing reviews. This what I wrote. I bet it gets all the sense edited out of it.
It’s Saturday night down in the pubby, clubby atmosphere of the Borderline off Oxford Street and there is a guitar genius with the world weary vocal of Tom Waitts singing us a story or two.
Devonian folk John Smith has arrived. He sounds as though he arrived sixty years ago but looks startlingly young, perched on a chair, quietly confident, charming and instantly engaging.
John once said “If you are into it they (the audience) will hopefully dig in as well.’ So we did. ‘Winter’ saw him beating out a rhythm on the body of his guitar like a laid back Newton Faulkner, Axe Mountain told of murder most horrid, Queens Of The Stone age standard No One Knows was given a new twist, beneath his deft fingers and ‘So So’ told of a broken love affair.
Self released album John Smith, Live At The Roundhouse has got it covered and is available at his groovy website, johnsmithjohnsmith.com. Established as a talented folk singer John deserves a wider audience. Go and check him out.
I also wrote:
Released on the 18th February 2008 Asa, pronounced Asha,’s eponymous debut album showcases a new and perfectly unique talent.
Out of Africa, Asa fuses pop, r&b, funk, soul and reggae without deserting her roots.
Her smokey vocal with it’s gentle Nigerian lilt takes us on an epic journey through the jazzy, African hooks of ‘Jailer’ to the orchestral backed ‘Awe’ sung in her native Yaruba. Single ‘Fire On the Mountain’ recalls Bob Marley’s campaigning days and ‘So Beautiful’ is a feel good love song.
Asa says ‘I want to show the world that something beautiful and positive can come out of the black continent.’ With this album I think she has done just that. 4
Sunday 12th February
Family Row
I make soup for lunch.
“Why is the playroom in such a mess?’ says John. ‘Why do we have to have 8 or 9 people staying here every weekend? Why do the children never clear up after themselves?’
‘I don’t know.’ I say ‘I’m making soup. Why don’t you ask them why they never help?’
‘I prefer not to interfere.’ says John’s mother.
Abigail walks into the kitchen wearing her pyjamas with a towel round her head. ‘Why is the playroom such a mess?’ asks John ‘Why are there Pringles all over the carpet and why is there coke spilt all over the table? And why do you spend your entire life in your pyjamas’
‘Zac did it.’ says Abigail ‘I didn’t and I don’t see why I have to clear up his mess. He has all his friends to stay and then just because he isn’t here you expect me to clear up after him. I don’t see why I should clear up after him.’
‘Oh well’ I say ‘I suppose that applies to me as well. If I didn’t make the mess I shouldn’t have to clear it up. I spend my entire life clearing up other people’s mess. Why shouldn’t you?’
‘Zac’s never here.’ says Abigail ‘So he never tidies anything up. He just buggers off every weekend.’
‘Where is Zac?’ says John ‘Why isn’t he here?’
‘ He’s at Angus’ but he made all that mess with Sam and Eric.’ I say ‘Is anyone going to eat this soup or not? It’s vegetarian.’
‘Yes, the least you can do is eat some soup, Abigail. It’s fucking ridiculous the way you won’t eat anything.’ says John. ‘Sit down and eat some fucking soup.’
I don’t know why he is so cross.
‘I can’t eat that.’ says Abigail ‘It has pasta in it. I can’t eat pasta.’
‘I never eat anything with a face.’ says John’s mother.
‘So, you wouldn’t eat a clock then?’ asks Maisie.
‘Have some bran flakes instead.’ I say.
‘I am giving up bran flakes.’ says Abigail. ‘I’m too fat.’
Abigail is not too fat. Maisie says ‘I’ll eat it. Soup doesn’t make you fat. Rosemary at school says vegetable soup is good for you.’
Abigail pulls a face at Maisie. Maisie cries into her soup.
‘Ok,’ says John “Don’t eat soup. Don’t help clear up. Don’t do your A levels. Starve yourself to death but go and do it somewhere else. And don’t expect me to pay for your fucking school fees.’
John’s mother says ‘I wouldn’t like to talk out of turn.’
Abigail goes into the sitting room and cries and while everyone else eats soup, I hug her better.
Abigail says ‘I can’t help it.’
I say ‘I know, but you’ve got to.’
Later Maisie, John , his mother and me take Evil for a walk in the park. It’s a lovely day. When we get home Abigail is much better and Ellie comes over.
12 February
Competitive Eating Disorder
Valentines Day
Brits...
6.45 am I have just got up. It’s the morning after all. No one else is up though. John says I keep him awake all night talking in my sleep and going to get drinks of water. I think he keeps me awake all night by being asleep in such a determined way right next to me. Buddy also keeps me awake by sitting on my head purring and the milkman keeps me awake by arriving at 5 and clanging milk bottles about. We have the noisiest milkman in the world and I know that once I have heard him there is absolutely no chance of going back to sleep. That’s what happened this morning.
I am very thin. Abigail says I have competitive-eating- disorder disorder. It’s quite hard to eat in this environment. Abigail says that when she takes power she will be called the Arch Abigail of London and no one will be allowed to bow to anyone else, and that includes God, that all organised religion will be banned that all people with a high BMI will be sent to Ohio with a rucksack until they have achieved a reasonable and aesthetic weight. Abigail also said this.
‘Oh my God! Do you know how many calories there are in a teaspoon of sugar? In one teaspoon?’
I didn’t know.
This morning when I tried to hold my contact lens fluid bottle between my thighs whilst putting my lenses in. It fell to the floor. My legs have gone all thin. I am pleased but feel the underlying cause can’t be healthy. It may be stage three cancer or symptomatic of hormonal changes signalling the early onset of the menopause, with little old lady legs and a widows hump just around the corner, or most shy making of all, competitive dieting with teenaged anorexic daughter.
Claire is doing competitive dieting with her daughter Beth. She says Beth is looking all waif-like due to AS level retake stress and is by extension making her feel all lumpen so she has taken up swimming in response. I think swimming will make her look all strapping in the manner of Sharon Davis. I also think that at our age ‘waif-like’ translates, all to easily, into ‘crone-like’.
I must, however, make hay while the sun shines so will wear my teeny weeny jeans today.
John says he cannot cope with his life, that he doesn’t want to be fifty, that he has to interview Sting and has no idea what to ask him, that yesterday the TV girl on the paper said in conference that Snoop Dog has a special rap name for David Beckham and it’s ‘D Beck.’ John’s editor said that wasn’t very interesting. And John said ‘No it is actually C Rap.’ Apparently it brought the house down.
John said ‘Will you come out on Valentine’s Day?’
And I said ‘No, Valentine’s day is embarrassing.’
So he said ‘’Oh.... oh dear.’
I think he might have arranged something. How embarrassing.
I just rang my mother. My mother is a Catholic so has given up alcohol for Lent. Ellie has given up Diet Coke, Abigail has refused to give up Diet Coke saying she can’t get her head round the concept of Lent.
My mother says she is up with the lark and full of energy since giving up alcohol. I say that I am up with the lark too. She says she is incredibly thin since stopping drinking. I say that I am incredibly thin too. She says ‘You are so competitive and if half what you tell me about your life style is true I really cannot come and stay with you ever again. You are all clearly quite mad. Where is Zac? Do you even know where he is?
I say ‘He’s in Hampstead with a very nice family and Zac tells me they live in a lovely house and apparently his friend, Eric, has the comfortablest bed in the world and there are stars all over his bedroom ceiling at the flick of a switch and they have been kick boxing.’
My mother says ‘Have you met this family? Just because someone lives in Hampstead and has money does not mean they are nice.’
I say ‘Yes I have met them. Zac went to Eric’s Barmitzvah.’
My father takes the phone and says ‘She may get up early and be full of energy but she’s awfully bad tempered since she gave up alcohol. She threw all her clothes around the bedroom this morning.’
My mother takes the phone back and says ‘That was because all my clothes are horrible and I have scoured the Boden catalogue and the Toast catalogue but they are full of the most peculiar things. And everything in that Swedish catalogue you sent me is too big because, you see, I am so very tiny. I shall have to come to stay with you after all to go shopping. Is there a Camper shop near you?’
I say ‘No, but we have a TK Max.’
13 February 2008
Maisie’s Lists
Mother
Brit Awards
I found this next to the computer:
List Of Things To Do
1. Get drest, brush hair and teeth
2. Half an hour bifor lunch do rabbit, includes feed, clean out and overe all care.
3. Just in the middle of 6 and 12 do all home work, includes crities, piano just that.
4.Eat super ext water and go to bed.
I found this blu-tacked to Maisie’s bedroom door:
Weekend Things To Do
Saterday: I get up, dress brush hair, do teeth make bed and tidy up.
2. Have bran flakes for brakefast.
3. wach a little bit of TV
4.. Do some drawing of nice things.
5. Go on the computer till super.
6. have super with out fuss go to bed after.
Sunday: I get up dress, brush hair do teeth and make bed and tidy up.
2. Have bran flakes for brakefast.
3. Wach a little bit of TV
4. From 03.30 to 05.30 do homework.
5. Go on computer till super time.
6. eat super go to bed early ready for the week ahead (lay out clothes)
I am worried that her life has become dull, repetitive and routine. Zac says we never do anything fun or exciting. He is still asleep and it’s 10.33 am I have to be here at 3.30 pm to pick Maisie up from school so it’s quite a short window of time to do anything fun or exciting. This weekend we will do things that are fun and exciting and include the children.
I just got a text from Claire. ‘We have received offer of 825 Paul wants 840. Please advise.’
I texted back ‘Who from?’ We don’t want any more of those ghastly people who send there children to private schools and get all their shopping delivered by Ocado moving into the area.
She texted back “English professor and writer on Times.’
Sounds Ok...
I texted back ‘Ask for 835, say you can’t afford to move for less. They may drop offer after survey.’
I should have told her to hold out for 850, then they would have lost the house in Stalybridge and would have had to stay here. I don’t really want Paul and Claire to move. Maybe we should buy a flat in Stalybridge, it’s probably very cheap.
My mother rang. She has no clothes at all. In fact, she has so few, she dyed some trousers I gave her two years ago. She is coming to London to stay with her sister, May, and to go shopping. I tell her there is a lovely exhibition on at Tate Britain. She says ‘Will you come and fetch me from May’s ? Come for lunch.’ She says.
‘I don’t really do lunch.’ I say. She bursts into tears. ‘ ‘Tell your daughter that if she doesn’t eat properly,’ she says ‘I will starve myself to death. I haven’t had a drink for 9 days now and I am very thin.’ she says.
‘Well, for goodness sake have a glass of wine.’ I say. ’You can’t expect to live in the depths of Cornwall with no clothes and no alcohol.’
She is coming to London next week. Maybe I should give up alcohol too, although I shall have to take it up again for The Brit Awards I couldn’t possibly do The Brits sober. Everyone else snorts cocaine but I don’t know how to and would probably sneeze and anyway it makes you talk rubbish and I talk rubbish without coke.
Actually I am afraid of The Brits. I will probably have to wear that dress from Whistles that is too young for me. I will have to sit next to a scary PR from Republic Media with Rouge Noir lipstick and we will instantly run out of things to say to each other.
I wonder where you get cocaine from.
Zac went out today with his friend Ned. Ned and he have resolved to ‘discover’ London with their Nikons He rang me just now. ‘How do you get home from the London Eye?’ he said.
‘You walk to Waterloo and take a bus.’ I said.
‘We’re north of the river though,’ he replied, ‘facing the Eye. Should we turn left or right if we want to go towards the Tate Modern?’
Blimey, and he’s lived in this city all his life. You can’t blame Ned as he is from Hampstead which is not London but Guildford or Chichester like Blackheath.
‘Left, left, left.’
Zac is still not home, when should I worry ?
February 14th 2008
Yay ! Valentine’s Day
Well, not really ‘Yay !’ More sort of ‘Oh !’ or ‘Oh well .’ John gave me a card, I gave him a little red heart which lit up. Inside John’s card was a booking for the evening of my birthday to see King Lear at The Globe. I really hate King Lear. ‘But you like Shakespeare’ said John looking hurt.
‘And you like music but I still wouldn’t book you a chamber music recital on your birthday.” I said nastily.
‘It’ll be a very good production.’ John said ‘Couldn’t you just put up with it. The only other thing they had coming up at The Globe was A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’
I like ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’
Anyway, later, a beautiful bunch of flowers arrived from John. Why is he making such a big deal of Valentines day ? Maybe he’s having an affair. How exciting. Poor her, she must never see him.
Zac and me went shopping. Zac has no clothes like my mother. When Ned was here I asked him where he gets his clothes as he struck me as rather stylish. Ned said he shopped in ‘various boutiques.’ Zac said he’d rather I didn’t ‘take the piss out of my friends.’ I really didn’t, but we don’t have ‘boutiques’ around here but I suppose they still do in Hampstead.
Zac and I went to Oxford Street. First of all we went to Selfridges. I love Selfridges. If I have to be blown up by the terrorists, I hope I am shopping in Selfridges when it happens.
I took Zac to the men’s Salon. Zac has a lot of nits but they don’t look for them in The Men’s Salon because nits are way outside their experience. A lovely Polish girl cut his hair and he looks lovely, I can see his face and he has blue eyes. I had forgotten that he has blue eyes.
We had lunch in the Lab Cafe on the second floor. We danced around the Men’s uber-designer section with a beautiful, delicate gay shop assistant in very tight trousers and tried on some Alexander Mcqueen. We bought Zac two pairs of Hightops in the Street Wear and Skate department and a lumberjack shirt which is very fashionable. Zac began to look quite attractive.
‘Zac, you really ought to pay more attention to the way you look. You are really quite an attractive boy.’ I said.
He said ‘Hmm.’ which I think is private school for ‘Whatever.’
We went to Urban Outfitters and bought a Penguin cardigan, a ‘jock’ jacket and some skinny black jeans. Then we caught a bus home.
When we got home Zac was starving. ‘Can you make me, like a, sandwich?’ he asked Abigail. Abigail is a very good sandwich maker, although how she could make him ‘like’ one, I don’t know. She made him one with two fried eggs and some Turkish white beans from a tin.
‘ Your hair looks nice Zac.’ she said.
John came home from work at 9.30. ‘Your reviews were good.’ he said. ‘I took out Tom Waitts and added John Martyn, I also took out Newton Faulkner.’ I didn’t mind. Who is John Martyn?
We went to our local Indian restaurant. The waiters were very attentive. Tariq is a father of four and he says his children are all very well behaved. The food was very nice and Tariq gave me a Valentine’s rose. John says that he thinks it is a very bad sign when your local Indian knows you by name and that perhaps this goes some way to explaining that he is ‘Almost down to 17 stone.’
15th February 2008
Things Abigail doesn’t understand.
1. Judgemental people.
2. Fat people who just keep on eating.
3. Religious people and people who believe in the after life. ‘ I mean, why would you go and talk to someone who is buried in a grave? They can’t hear you?’
4. People who choose to appear on ‘Come Dine With Me.’ ‘Haven’t they got any friends?’
5. Lent
6. People who eat meat.
7. People who live in the country by choice.
Last night Abigail went to the pub with some school friends. Today she rang me. ‘I am still alive.’ she said.
‘Oh good.’ I replied.
‘Can you come and fetch me from Camden?’ she said ‘I feel really rough, I was sick.’
‘ Oh,’ I said ‘OK.’
I drove to Camden. Abigail got in the car.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘Well’, she said ‘ I was sick. We were in a pub and I can’t drink as much as I used to and all the girls wanted to go on to a club. I was too drunk so Briony put me in a cab back to hers. I was sick in the cab but the driver was very nice’
‘ Good God ! ‘I said ‘That was so dangerous. Was it a black cab? Did Briony give you a key?’ I asked.
‘ No, it was a mini cab. ’ she said ‘ But Briony’s mum is always up in the middle of the night. She wants to go home to Argentina. Why was it dangerous? It was a licensed firm and everything.’
‘Some cab firms take on casuals on a Saturday,’ I said ‘You were very lucky.’
‘No,’ Abigail replied ‘Anyone who has anything bad happening to them is very unlucky. It’s quite different.’
Abigail told me everyone she knows takes drugs.
I said that I didn’t think I would ever take drugs because when you are drunk you don’t tend to think that you are being amazingly glam and interesting, in fact, you are more likely to think other people are, and then you fall asleep. But when you are on drugs it seems that you think you’re extraordinary when really you are just being dull, like Pete Doherty and that bloke who sat next to me at the Brits last year.
Abigail said ‘ I have taken a few drugs.’
‘Which ones?’ I asked.
‘Why do you want to know?’ she said.
‘Curiosity.’ I replied.
She said she had smoked majuana.
‘What really? No coke? No crystal meth or anything?’ I asked.
‘No.’ she said. ‘ Did you know everyone in Ohio takes crystal meth because it’s in the fertiliser? Coke doesn’t do much, really and I‘d never take E. It’s too dodgy. Do you know, one person in Colombia dies for every gram of coke snorted in the UK?’
I didn’t know that and I think Abigail may be obsessed with Ohio.
John said ‘So what have you done? Taken three kinds of dope and watched two episodes of ‘Skins?’ Cool.’
I don’t think John is taking all this seriously enough.
Abigail says ‘You both make feel sick.’
18th February 2008
Canary Wharf.
On Saturday we went to Canary Wharf. Abigail didn’t come because she had to work on her classics revision. Abigail went through her Classics revision book with me. ‘Look at that.’ she said, pointing to a photograph of an ancient Greek statue. ‘It’s crap. It’s not even good and I am supposed to wax lyrical about the carving of the drapery. And look at this one. It’s rubbish and that one’s just plain scary.’
I said I liked the discus thrower and that I liked Hera’s hairstyle.
‘Oh, that’s OK.’ she said ‘But apparently the torso’s all wrong on the discus thrower.’
Abigail is doing her homework because I said she couldn’t go out on Saturday night unless I saw some ‘demonstrable evidence of serious revision’.
‘I do work.’ she said ‘In my bedroom.’
‘Well do it on the landing where I can see you.’ I replied. ‘I want you to make a serious effort to get those predicted three As.’
Abigail said ‘Why? I can’t really be bothered. I only need three Bs for Stalybridge. You always said that school is about education not exam results.’
I did say that, but actually I meant it was about both education and exam results.
I said ‘ If you don’t do any revision then you won’t go out on Saturday and that’s final.’ I know I am pushing my luck talking to an 18 year old like that but luckily Abigail didn’t notice. So John, Maisie, Zac and me all went to Canary Wharf without her.
Canary Wharf isn’t very nice. There are no water features in the shopping centre. There are no plants and there is a huge police presence. We went to the Dockland’s Museum which seems to be largely about the history of black gay men, which seems strange and we went to Waitrose where you can buy some wine in a pretend wine cellar and sit on a barrel to drink it. We didn’t do that. John bought a Versace suit and then we came home.
Abigail was still on the landing hating classical statues when we got home and showed me all the revision she had done. Later she got ready and went out looking like a little witch. ‘Has Abigail gone?’ asked Maise.
‘Yes.’ I said.
‘Well, tell her to eat something tomorrow. Maisie said fixing me with an ice blue stare. ‘She looks all thin.’
19th February 2008
Ski ing
TK Max
I am still pretending that I am going ski ing with Zac. All Zac’s friends went ski ing at half term.
‘ All except Ned and Angus and the vomiting twins.’ I pointed out.
‘ Everyone else did. We never do anything. Why do we never do anything ? Angus is going to Paris and the vomiting twins have been to Japan and they’re not even rich.’
Anyway I am going to TK Max to see if there is any cheap ski wear. It would be very bad to buy a load of ski wear and then find that I can’t find a holiday but I think I really ought to go and see what’s available.
I went to the biggest TK Max because according to Ellis they have the largest selection of ski wear. I love TK Max because it’s like an auction house, mostly full of rubbish with the odd gem secreted away in a dark corner. I like bargain hunting and I also like being chatted up by sexy black men.
The best way to get chatted up by sexy black men is to look for designer coats in the L and XL section, that way you can be sure that the man will be tall and also interested in designer wear and therefore rather stylishly dressed. The best way to ensure that the man is black is to be me because they are the only sort of men who chat me up.
I thought, initially, that my attractiveness lay in the well known fact that black men prefer the ‘fuller’ figure which would explain Vanessa Feltz’s many conquests. However, since my ski wear expedition and dramatic weight loss combo I have decided it’s because they are much less fussy than their white counterparts about the ‘fuller age’ which also explains the Vanessa effect.
Anyway, there I was looking at giant ski wear for Zac whilst checking that none of it looked at all ‘ gay ‘ because Zac has an aversion to anything that could be construed as ‘gay ‘ i.e. having any detailing, flashes, pink colouration, toggles e.t.c. when a lovely black man sidled up and said.
‘Hey, I think you should buy this.’ He held up a gorgeous pale pink number with lime green flashes and silver pocket flaps.
‘Mmmm.’ I said, pulling a great big black fur coat from the rail and holding it up ‘I think you should get this.’
He said ‘Why?’
I said ‘Well, because it’s gangsterish.’
He said ‘And does that do it for you? Gangsta ?’
And I said ‘ Umm, I think I’ll go and look at shoes.’
And he said ‘Can I come and look at them with you?’
And I said ‘Errr no.’
I wish I’d said ‘ Errr, yes.’
20th February 2008
Ill
I am so ill. After Christmas I went to the doctor with a mystery illness and she gave me some antibiotics. The illness became much less mysterious and I began to vomit like the vomiting twins. Bella was fairly sure that I had been poisoned and asked if I had drunk any tap water in the West End I said that no I hadn’t, because John always orders Chardonnay.
I phoned the doctor who said that endromicine often had that effect and that why didn’t I send someone along to the surgery to pick up some others that were much less upsetting ?
The replacement antibiotics only made me feel slightly ill and the underlying systemic bacterial attack subsided but I don’t think it was entirely wiped out because now I am very ill and I can’t go to The Brits.
I am very annoyed about The Brits because I had asked John to invite our friends Fran and Bill to be on our table as buffers against the terrifying Republic Media PR and they had agreed to come. Also Amy Winehouse will be singing and I love Amy Winehouse and afterwards we were going to a Sony BMG party.
We would get into the Sony BMG party because Bill was on East Enders and John has a name in the music press and Fran used to work for Virgin and has contacts and John said not to worry he reckoned they could ‘ blag me in.’
Infact I wasn’t looking forward to being ‘ blagged in ‘ because one has to adopt exactly the right combination of insouciance coupled with quiet confidence to impress the bouncers. This is quite difficult after a few tequila slammers when I am more likely to adopt the attitude of midshipman on the Cutty Sark running down wind in a stiff breeze with all sails set.
Anyway I am not going, because yesterday I awoke at 2.am. I would not normally wake at 2.am, I tend to favour 5.am, but John came in from a gig at the Roundhouse with his friend Digby Ogg and woke me up.
Upon waking I realised that the sore throat that had been developing during the day had morphed into the most extraordinary neck pain and ear pain and that I couldn’t swallow and had to dribble. I also couldn’t speak. It was very bad and I needed to have some Chloraseptic quickly because that is the only thing that could possibly help. There was no Chloraseptic which is incomprehensible because (a)I know that there was some last time I looked in the medicine cabinet. (b) no one in the family has had a sore throat recently and (c) it’s too disgusting for recreational drinking unlike Benylin. I shouted at John, even though I couldn’t speak, and he found me some pills called Dihydrocodeine so I took some of them and spent the night sitting up in bed, dribbling and feeling very spacey.
This morning I went to the doctor and showed her my throat and she gave me some antibiotics. I have to take 8 every day for two weeks and if my throat closes up I have to come back and get some other antibiotics. If I go to hospital I will get C Diff and die because I am now officially immune to all antibiotics.
I have just phoned Fran and told her that I can’t come to The Brits and she was very sad. I am sad too and I also feel very spacey and weird. The antibiotics have not made me feel sick though which is good. I feel very very sleepy. I think I’ll go to bed now and have a little rest....
9.00pm. Oh God I have just woken up. I think I have missed The Brits. Where is Maisie?
Abigail informs me that Maise is fine and that she had given her supper, that Zac is watching a Champion League, or some such, at Otto’s and that she tried to wake me when she came in from school but I didn’t stir and ‘Why?’ she asks am I taking Dyhydrocodeine?
‘I am not taking Dyhydrocodeine.’ I say, ‘I am taking antibiotics. These ones actually.’ And I show her the box which is lying on my bed. Gosh, I do feel weird I am slurring my words and my hands feel all heavy.
‘Those are Dyhydrocodeine.’ says Abigail beginning to look concerned. I like it when she looks concerned, she gets this dear little frown line between her eyes just as she did when she was about 5. I feel quite relaxed really, perhaps I should go back to sleep.
‘ Nope, I say blearily ‘Those are penicillin. If they were Dyhydrocodeine I would be dead, because I’ve taken 8.’
‘You’ve taken 6.’ says Abigail and shows me the blister pack. 6 are missing. I feel a bit ill, the pack looks exactly like my antibiotics and I wasn’t wearing my glasses when I took them.
Now I know what happened to Heath Ledger, perhaps I should go and get my stomach pumped. Ooh, in The Sun today I read about a man who went to the doctor with a sore throat and that very evening he died !
I must be careful.
Ha ! I didn’t die of massive drugs overdose. I think John might die of massive alcohol overdose. He went to the Sony BMG party and drank mojitoes. Ha ! I didn’t drink anything and my sore throat is nearly gone. I love my immune system, I also love penicillin although obviously I haven’t had quite as many of those as I should have done.
Sylvie came and stayed the night and she and Raffy watched The Brits on Telereplay Television. You get a much better view on television than you do on one of those round tables. I was quite jealous of John and Fran and Bill though. Sharon Osbourne was so shy-making. I must remember never to be drunk when presenting a national awards ceremony, one’s children would be mortified. Amy Winehouse has a lot of hair like a Barbie and was very thin.
Maisie and Sylvie told me about a game they play at school called Rehab. Billie gives out drugs and Maisie hands out brochures to The Priory and Sylvie just pretends to be drunk. Cool.
21st February 2008
Survival
Playground Games
22nd February 2008
Nails
I took Sylvie and Maisie to Wood Green Shopping City to get our nails done.
It was fun at Shopping City. We parked in Iceland carpark and bought some ‘Buy one, get two free’ pizza slices to take home with us. Abigail says that Iceland is single handedly responsible for the obesity epidemic in this country.
After that we went to get our nails done. My nails are very bitten and the girl putting my new false ones on, said that in Vietnam where she came from a mother would slap her child for biting her nails like that. I am glad I am not Vietnamese. My nails are very long with white tips I think they look quite interesting, Maisie’s nails are dark blue with green palm leaves and Sylvie’s are purple with blue splashes like a tropical sea.
Sylvie told me that sometimes, at school, she gets called a ‘loner’ and that when she asked her mum what a ‘loner’ was her mum told her what a ‘boner’ was instead. She laughed so much when she was telling me, that the girl painting her nails had to stop while she recovered herself. Later Maisie asked me what a ‘'boner’ was. I told her what a ‘loner’ was instead and she said ‘Now you’re just being silly.’
When we came home Maisie showed her nails to Abigail who said “ OK, Maisie actually is a black woman.’ She also said, ‘Do you know there are 400 calories in this pizza and that each slice contains half of your recommended daily saturated fat intake ?’
John says my nails look horrible.
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