What a tangled web

Marjorie Stewart reminded me that David and I were invited to “drinks and nibbles” on Saturday night as she collected the weekly Lottery money. I had been practising all day a carefully deliberated response of “I don’t think we can make it actually, we’re seeing some old friends”. It sounded cool and not at all made up when I was practising in the kitchen whilst marinating several chicken limbs in coconut and chilli milk. I’d even managed to add in a theatrical roll of the eyes as if to suggest we’d much rather be at the Stewarts than conversing with old chums. I was quite proud of myself. Naturally, when it actually came to the crucial moment, I buggered it up. Well, what else would you expect me to do?

Marjorie jangled her bag of pound coins and uttered the fateful words. I blushed, dropped my purse and mumbled something about not being around. “Seeing, erm, friends. Old ones, you know, ones we’ve known for ages. On Saturday night. Well late afternoon on really.” If she thought I was lying she didn’t pick me up on it. She suggested that I bring them over. “Oh, going to them, not coming here. David arranged it, didn’t tell me. They live in, erm, north London so will be back far too late to pop in. Sorry” I gave a sickly grin and half shut the door on her “Oh well, another night then perhaps?” “Okay, yes, let me know!” I squealed, shut the door fully and slid down the wall where Junior and Middle Dog joined me. I was still there when David got home.

I explained the problem and solutions as breezily as I could as I made the tea. “Let me get this straight” he said darkly, opening a packet of digestives “on Saturday, late afternoon, we’ve got to go out and to be seen to go out, all dressed up, to see some friends in North London and not get back until very late, whilst making sure that everyone knows we’re back very late. Have I got that right? And do we know anyone in North London?”

I must admit it did sound rather stupid - and no, we don't. “Why can’t we just stay in and bugger the Stewarts?” he said, dunking a digestive rather vigorously. My eyes watered at that suggestion but a little light bulb was pinging over my head. “What, just pretend we’re going out you mean? Brilliant! We can move the car to the next street in case they check, keep the dogs out of the garden and only walk them when the Stewarts have gone to bed!” I was clapping my hands with glee. My husband was watching me rather cautiously. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” he queried.

I outlined my concerns about the Stewarts (amazingly, he hasn’t picked up on any of this) and the fact that they got very excited when he mentioned swinging at the TANA meeting and that I thought that they thought we were up for a little bit of “their” kind of fun. I also mentioned what Cheeky Window Cleaner had witnessed.

He thinks I'm being ridiculous but I did at least stop him from going to the Stewarts to accept their kind invitation and explain all about the mix up about "seeing old friends". He says that I watch far too much daytime television and - with a very pointed look at the book on the counter - am reading far too many Jilly Cooper novels.

Harumph!

Swinging

I feel like I'm living in a Carry On film. I'm Barbara Windsor and David is Kenneth Williams, Marjorie Stewart is Hattie Jacques and her husband Frank is Sid James. We had double entendres, saucy comments, a few utterances of "ooh, Matron!" and an assorted cast which included Ruby Over the Road playing the Joan Sims role.

David and I both attended The Avenue Tenants Association meeting tonight thanks to Saskia's insistence that she wanted to be out of the house because her incredibly dull boyfriend kept ringing her and she didn't have the heart not to answer the phone and she'd keep an ear out for Mac in between ogling England footballers. David had been playing golf today and was complaining of a sore shoulder "due to all the swinging I've been doing today". Frank choked on a mini sausage and Marjorie came over all unnecessary and insisted on hearing more. David dug himself in deeper, despite my shushing him. "It was really hard, I kept going up and down and my arms were aching so I got one of the boys over to carry it for me."

Of course, he was talking about the rather hilly golf course that he and Matthew found in Surrey and he had to ask one of the gofers at the club to carry his golf bag.

Frank and Marjorie didn't know that and were appraising me thoughtfully. And they've invited us to "drinks and nibbles" on Saturday night. On the way out of the house, Jane Opposite thoughtfully offered to babysit Mac as long as I came straight over afterwards to tell her what happened.

Hm.

Popcorn

Not such a bad day today. Amelia wants a new "three piece suite" so we spent the morning trailing round DFS and Furniture Village insulting all that they had to offer. Amelia did the insulting, Mac and I did the trying-every-seat-in-the-place thing whilst David pretended not to know any of us. I fell in love with a leather corner sofa that was so deep my feet didn't touch the floor. Mac wanted the wooden giraffe ornament from Furniture Village and was building up into a good old tantrum because I said no when Amelia pronounced all of the suites on offer as "uncomfortable, like sitting on yours" with a pointed look at me. As I am inordinately proud of my sofa and wonderfully marshmallow like armchairs I huffed off to the burger van parked outside and ordered a bacon baguette. Annoying Amelia ("is she happy eating things from vans when she has no idea if they have a toilet and handwashing facilities") and a bacon sarnie - my Saturday wasn't going too badly so far.

Bea rang just as we were heading home - she'd wanted to know if i would book Enormous Au Pair a riding lesson (Bea has enrolled EAP on Weight Watchers, booked five weeks of aqua aerobics and bought a stairmaster - more to follow) to see if the horse could "gallop some of the weight off her". I advised Bea that the stables were closed today as they were all at a horsey event in Gloucestershire but that I'd do it on Monday. Bea seemed quite miffed at this "but what am I going to do with her, she's eaten four crumpets and half a pound of butter for breakfast". I left my sister gnashing her perfect teeth in leafy Dulwich and tuned into the conversation that Mac and Amelia were having behind me. "Granny has never seen Titanic mummy!". I expressed minor disbelief at this. "She hasn't seen Finding Nemo either mummy!" he added but this time with a hopeful note in his voice. Amelia, slightly miffed that her role as film buff was being attacked, retreated into a sulky huff.

"After dinner mummy, can we watch Finding Meno (my baby still gets that wrong sometimes) and then Tanic (sometimes that too)?" After a glance at David, I agreed we could. Mac then proceeded to summarise both films : "Meno gets lost and meets a shark and big fish called Doris (it's actually Dory) and a lady and man kiss - yuck - and it sinks". Amelia said she was looking forward to them both and would buy the popcorn. I made David stop at Sainsburys before she could change her mind.

Sushi and kippers

Amelia rang yesterday evening to invite herself over for the weekend. She caught me off guard, I hesitated for just a few seconds and – bang! She was in. “I’ll get the train first thing and so will be with you just before nine thirty.” she said, live and exclusive from Sevenoaks, asking me what that funny noise was. That funny noise was me choking. There was very little I could do, it has been a while since she were here so I couldn’t even trot out my usual line of “why don’t you leave it a few weeks so that Mac has even more to tell you?”. Mac was itching to tell Granny all about his holiday and immediately went upstairs to get all of his mementos together to show her. The dogs, picking up on my mood, skulked out to sunbathe on the patio. David was resigned to his fate and promised to keep her occupied. His hangdog expression matched that of Middle Dog. My weekend fate was sealed

Imagine then, my horror when the doorbell rang at twenty five to ten this morning and Amelia was standing on the doorstep. She did not look in a good mood. “Erm, I thought we said Saturday” I said weakly as I took her (rather heavy) suitcase. Apparently I don’t listen to a word she said, she specifically said Friday and why I am being so awkward? There was very little I could say to that so I put the kettle on. She had issues with every single person she had met that morning – but especially the businessman on the train that held a long and loud conversation on his mobile. Mobile phones, according to Amelia, are the devils own work. Yorkshire tea bags were taken from her hand bag “I can’t stomach that stuff you drink, it gives me heartburn”. Just as I had settled her into her favourite armchair, tea and custard creams by her side and a nice nature programme on the television, David rang.

“No!” he said when I informed him that Amelia had arrived through clenched teeth and fake smile (I was in the same room as her). “Yes!” I said firmly. There was a sound like David was slapping himself on the forehead and he promised to be home as soon as he could. I felt the need to rally the troops – there really is safety in numbers. Calls to Charlie and Saskia were fruitless – Charlie’s too far away to pop in for lunch and Saskia has a job interview this afternoon. Lydia openly laughed at my fate and said she’d try and come over but that she’s really busy at work. Bea offered to send Enormous Au Pair. I could have rung Katie but I wasn’t that desperate (she’s only ringing twice a day now, mid morning to discuss Jeremy Kyle’s programme and about 8.30pm cos she’s been stuck into the vodka since six and is crying). I went for broke and rang Janey. She and her five month old bump would be with my by “half one, I’ll bring a stun gun”.

But I had three and a half hours to kill before then. So I did what I had planned to do today. I was going to be brave and stand up for myself. I was an adult in my own house. I was going to clean the house with Amelia standing judgement on me. I got a raspberry brulee cheesecake out of the freezer – if I was going over the top I needed something to fall back on. I tried to do it quietly and without letting her know. But she caught the whiff of lemon Cif and joined me in the kitchen where she sneered at my surfaces, mocked my microwave and openly slated my hob. Apparently, if I cleaned every day it “wouldn’t build up to the state it’s in now”. I wasn’t sure what aspect she was talking about so I took it to mean the whole house. I was right.

My hall carpet would come up much cleaner if I banned the dogs from the house and put some runners down. My paintwork wouldn’t look so dingy if I had paid for it to be painted properly instead of doing it myself. The bathroom wouldn’t smell so “damp” if I opened the window after each time it was used. Mac’s bedroom wouldn’t be “such a tip” if I encouraged him to help me tidy it instead of doing it myself. She nearly had a seizure in my bedroom.

Laminate flooring makes a room “cold”. The wardrobes were “far too flimsy, how do you not worry about them collapsing”. Voile curtain panels offered “no privacy” – here she gave me a Look to suggest that privacy was essential. David’s drawer space fell woefully short of “what he’s used to”. Oh, and flowers in a bedroom suggested “slatternly tendencies”. Coupled with my voile curtain panels, my bedroom was telling my mother-in-law I was a complete trollope. I sat down on the edge of the bed to get my head round the assault on my home. Amelia prodded the mattress and sniffed “you should get a coil sprung one”

By the time Janey arrived I was on my knees. My cousin was dressed in skinny jeans, skimpy white T-shirt and spindly heels, her bare baby bump proudly displayed along with several platters of sushi. Amelia later described her as “an angel dressed as a tart”. “I’m craving weird things” she said as she shovelled half of one platter down her neck. Junior Dog is partial to a bit of salmon skin roll and hung around hopefully. Amelia railed against raw fish and said you couldn’t beat a nice kipper. I took this to mean that she’s been rummaging around the fridge and had found the kippers I myself planned to have for lunch. While I cooked them for her (I had to give them to her, I’d never be able to forget it otherwise) Janey had a moan about her overprotective family – her mum Ivy is ringing her twice daily for updates - “I’ve started making stuff up now, just to get her off my back. Darren’s mum’s just as bad”. Lou, it seems is planning a tattoo in honour of her grandchild and is designing it herself. “Have you thought of names?” Amelia asked, as she upended a bottle of vinegar onto the poor kippers. All three dogs were salivating. “Cassia Scarlett James Anastasia, it’s a girl” Janey said. Amelia looked down her nose and burped delicately. “What are you having? A baby or a Z list celebrity?”

Things got worse. Janey wanted to abandon me and go and collect Mac from nursery. Amelia thought this was quite sweet but she wanted to go and collect Mac from nursery. I agreed that they were both very good ideas, bundled them both out of the door and attempted to get my breathing back to normal. They were back within five minutes having failed to find the nursery – Janey screeching “Remind me where it is again?” from the drivers seat of her new car. I clambered into the car with them and told her to go to the end of the road and turn round. “Nah, I’ll do a three point turn” she said, throwing her Focus here, there and everywhere. She hit the tree and didn’t even seem to notice. Mac was overjoyed to see his Granny and Cousin Janey and started to talk nineteen to the dozen to both of them, only stopping when Janey cut in front of a White Van Man and proceeded to yell abuse out of the window at him. “Can’t these people drive?” she asked me as she zoomed away from the lights with a squeal of brakes. We arrived home shaken and were deposited on the pavement before Janey zoomed off to have her nails done. It was at this point that I remembered I had no door keys with me.

I could describe the agony of ringing the doorbell of Jack Next Door, climbing over the fence, ripping my linen skirt on a rogue nail, opening up the back door only to be leapt on by several snarling hounds who thought I was a burglar, fighting them off and coming face to face with a disapproving Amelia who had been let in through the front door by my husband who had arrived to rescue me.

But I won’t.

Hot in the kitchen

Despite looking like a Rambo-follower in his bandanna and his sweaty hair and manky trainers, Marco Pierre White has entranced me and am addicted to Hell's Kitchen on ITV. I much preferred it when Jean Christophe Novelli strode around the place, smouldering and brooding. I also quite like their food too!

I've vowed that this autumn I shall get busy in the kitchen and cook more adventurous food than my usual "safe" receipes. I've done it before (my January shopping budget went sky high!) and had a whale of a time. I've cooked recipes from White Heat and also Your Place or Mine. I've dipped into Nigella's Feast (oh, the Chocolate Malteser Cake!), Jamie Oliver's Jamie's Italy and Anthony Worrall Thompson's Weekend Cookbook and have just discovered The Saturday Kitchen Cookbook with my all time favourite TV chef....James Martin!

Do you have any favourite receipe books I should take a look at?

The Queen

I have just watched ITV's The Queen starring Helen Mirren and a scarily accurate Michael Sheen playing Tony Blair and have been compelled to post on it. As I've said before in this blog, I was never a "Diana supporter" but I was unbelievably touched by her death, the week leading up to her funeral and the funeral itself - even if I did feel on occasion that the whole outpouring of grief was a tad over the top. A girl at the firm I worked in at the time was signed off for a month by her GP due to "stress over Diana dying, like. I just can't stop crying, like". She seemed remarkably cheerful a week after the funeral when I saw her at the theatre but that's another story.

What struck me most about watching The Queen was that HRH really did not have an idea of the depth of feeling of the Great British Public - you could of course argue that she was out of touch with her subjects in her gilded cage or that her generation didn't know how to show their emotions. You could also say that she was fed up to the back teeth of Diana ruling the roost as the People's Princess and saw this as yet another (rather final and hardly planned) ploy by her ex daughter-in-law or, as Saskia has just said via text, "petrified that Wayne Sleep wanted to dance at the funeral".

However, what stood out for me was that the Queen seemed to be more upset about a merchant banker from a neighbouring estate killing a stag that her shooting party was stalking. She visited him soon enough, hanging upside down with his antlers off. The stag, not the merchant banker.

The scarily accurate portrayal of Tony Blair showing his frustration - torn between his Sovereign and the people that elected him. Mr B must have felt like giving the royal person a right good shaking but no doubt feared The Tower or at the very least a good mauling by the Royal Corgis.

On the whole though, a worthwhile two hours snuggled on the sofa with a bag of Minstrels and a snoring husband. The way that footage of Diana and of the mourning crowds interlinked with the actual film was magnificent - but two points. Firstly, HRH put two labradors into her 4x4 as she headed off into the bracken but three got out. Secondly, how fabulous would it have been if the television minion that advised his Queen that she was "going out live in one minute" as he bustled up to her before she had her face powder touched up had actually said "One minute Yer Madge, break a leg duckie!"

Sun, sea and school reunions

The holiday in Hamble le Rice was lovely: David had de-stressed by Bank Holiday Monday, Mackenzie has gone from being a babe in arms to master at sea, Senior Dog discovered he quite liked all manner of shellfish and became a regular at the stall on the quay side, Middle Dog discovered rock pooling and eating seaweed and Junior Dog quite liked endangering the lives of several boatmen and his owner as he took daily flying leaps into the sea. A "proper" holiday.

We travelled into Southampton to revisit David's past and further afield Portsmouth to visit Southsea Castle and Brighton for a stroll along the promenade and time for me to indulge in the smell of the seaside: candy floss, donuts and chips covered in vinegar. I spent my time hoiking dogs out from the briney and stopping them from eating crabs, watching Mac and David sail past and reading, reading, reading, oh and eating the most gorgeous cakes, home made by the local shop owner.

As a result the dress I had decided to wear for the Class of 1987 school reunion was decidedly tight. Hm. No matter, I threw a pashmina around the worst bits and tottered out in my heels leaving David to unpack and start the washing. I felt almost glam as I strolled in through the front gates of my old school but was immediatly beseiged with the glum feeling that I always got as I passed through the wrought iron monstrosities: freedom curtailed, head down and get on with it.

The Assembly Hall (far grander than I remembered it) was bedecked in streamers and bunting and those chairs you only even seem to see in schools - wooden, chipped and destined to catch your tights/skirt/dress as you stood up. Trudy came screeching towards me and slapped a sticker onto my bosom that gave my name "as was", the name of my class (5L) and the name of my Head of Year (Mr Jarvis). Monica Travis (now Monica Travis-Hunt), she of the jumping out of window fame, peered at my bosom and we were off. Our fellow classmates were dissected "wonder what Tracy Baker's up to now, stuck up cow" and "I heard that Cheryl Clarke has had her whole body lifted".

The unfortunate side-effect of having your names on your bosoms meant that we were leering at passing women quite unashamedly. "Lisa Morris!" Monica and I both shrieked at first sight of a tall, slim blonde. "No, Angie Taylor" said the blonde as the "real" Lisa Morris stepped out of the shadows - still tall but seemingly the same width as height with mousey hair and a sunburnt face. I felt almost Kate Moss-like and began some serious hair tossing action. Oh, and the memories. We fell into our old class groups almost immediatly, we were set to eat in our class groups which suited me fine. Twenty minutes surrounded by my old classmates and I was enjoying myself immensely.

5W were the Glamourpusses and had the likes of Becca White (now a catalogue model) and Caroline Wilkinson (Head Housekeeper at a Royal Palace) in their class. 5A were the Goody Goodies: Angie Taylor (who simpered "just a housewife and mother" all night) and Ann-Marie Anderson (accountant and knows of David). 5V were the Geniuses and everytime there was an award to win, someone from 5V won it - Lorraine Morrison is a member of MENSA and Maria Antyanlou owns and runs her own restaurant in Cyprus but "came back for tonight, wouldn't have missed it".

5R were the Worthies with Artie Devereaux the lead Do-Gooder. No surprise to learn that she's somebody high up in social services now. Tessa Simpson is a bona fide nun. Seriously. Complete with mini wimple. My own form, 5L were known as the Rabble which will surprise you not at all dear friends! Louise Fisher now runs her own tattoo parlour but is remarkedly ink free herself, Monica Travis-Hunt is a police officer in CO19 and me, well I go through life - as my fellow classmate Amelia Johnson put it - "like an unrestrained labrador, keen to do everything and anything, all at the same time". And last but not least, 5Y were known quite simply as the Yawnmakers. Boring to a fault they were. Roberta Rowlinson is another "just a housewive and mother" and didn't move from the door all night and Desdemona Hawkins is a vegan and railed against the "destruction of the ozone layer". Everyone was still giving 5Y a wide berth, 20 years on.

And the teachers - they looked so old! Miss Williams, forty one when she took us for music, is now a glamourous 62 year old, complete with LBD and cigarette holder, her once girlish voice now "ruined by gin and ciggies darlings" and married to a "gorgeous Italian man called Claudio". Her fourth husband. We all gathered round her and, despite 20 years and the fact that nearly all of us had changed names, she identified nearly all of us. "Louise Fisher - such a glorious singer" and "Amelia dear girl, such a talent for the piano". Amelia revealed that she herself now teaches music and Miss Williams wiped her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief. Of me she said "Darling, what you didn't have in tune you more than made up for in style".

All of the forms were mingled up for lessons and Mr Pollard fondly remembers his Thursday afternoon art classes "double period, last lesson of the day". "I remember quite clearly the trauma of getting a class of either pre or post menstrual girls to sit down and do my life class" he said as he gave us all his haughty look. Caroline Jamieson and I exchanged glances at this - we were the main culprits in the tale he was about to recount. "The girls from 5W were more concerned that the male model would find them the most attractive, the 5A ladies were appalled that I had introduced a male model for the afternoon's activities, 5V were busy sharpening their pencils as were the one or two from 5R" Caroline and I tried to escape at this point but, as always, Mr Pollard's booming voice stopped us in our tracks. "The only two young ladies from 5L," he continued as all eyes turned to Caroline and I "were hysterical with laughter at something that would become quite clear whilst 5Y huddled behind their notepads in terror".

"And then it happened" Mr Pollard smiled. "The male model took up his position (let me just say at this point Dear Reader that he was in his early 60's and wearing a flesh colour pair of tight pants "to show muscle definition"), facing away from the multitude of giggling girls - it was at this point we all spotted the large mirror, propped up on the desk opposite him so that everyone in the class could see not only his back but his front as well." It took Caroline and I half an hour to get the mirror off the wall in the toilets and we got a week's worth of detention - but it was worth it!

For those that wanted it, there was a tour of the school but it didn't take in the bikesheds, the back of the English hut nor the alleyway alongside the canteen - they're the bits I remember most!

Our then headmistress, Miss Wilson, had sadly passed away (a tree had been planted in the main courtyard in her memory) but the current headmistress welcomed us back to the school that nurtured us, taught us, cossetted us, protected us and made us what we are today.

I left with a handful of phone numbers, promises of lunches and a tour of Scotland Yard for me and Mac. School reunions are just like school - you don't necessarily always want to go but you have a good time while you're there.