Petals, Kettles and Decals

I used to have a picture book garden, with church bells,  seas of flowers,  dells suitable for summer gin-drinking and a garden swing you could see the sea from if your tummy could take the oomph.  I traded it all for being happy instead, and now I live in a house in town which shows every one of its 130 years.  Not quite what Howard Jacobson calls a ’sunshine semi’, it’s a  three-storey Victorian ‘villa’ as they were known back then. The back garden is fenced off (don’t ask) and I have a growing number of pots at the front which are slowly encroaching on the steps and soon we won’t be able to get in.  Here are some of them.  It’s been a good year for the roses, and the lobelia and the geraniums and especially, the fuchsias.

I had a meeting at work this week. The lady running it was lovely, very empathetic and professional, and it was all going well, until she said the following:

‘And this can be very helpful when you are delivering your support to the student’.

I am not a milkman. I am not a UPS driver. I do not carry a load which I distribute or hand over in any way whatsoever. Why must those in education take perfectly good words and use them in a different context altogether just to make themselves sound important?

And whilst we’re on the subject, since when was impact a verb and not a noun? I make an impact, I do not impact upon! And ring-fencing, what the hell is that and why must we bandy it about when we mean put aside?

Also, while my blood pressure medication gets a grip, I do not like hubby one single bit. I have a husband, thank you very much. He is not, nor ever will be, my partner. We are in a marriage, not a business. Well, ok, we have a business, but he is not my bloody partner. And we have not, and never ever shall, drink cuppas. I really, really hate that one.

No offence intended to anyone who uses these words. Just don’t use them near me. I have strong feelings.

If proof were indeed needed.

There is supposed to be an advantage to not doing paid work in the summer months and available reading time should be it.  Here is this week’s stash.  Armistead Maupin is a wonderful writer; when we studied novels containing homosexual activity at university my very proper and conservative fellow student friends gasped in indignation and embarrassment.  But I love gay novels and said so, especially male ones.  And Armistead is so frank, and easy, and warm.  He is the sort of person you’d really like to live next door to.  I’m not so sure I’d want to live next door to Richard Ford.  His Pulitzer-winning character, Frank Bascombe, is unlikeable - a hypocrite with a smart mouth and contradictory personal politics.  Just as addictive as Armistead though.

What I learnt last week:

• Not to wear a white t shirt when having a noodle lunch at Wagamama

• Not to provide a wastebin in my son’s room when he visits from university - he’s just going to use the whole room

• That I will never understand Leonard Cohen.  What does he want with Manhattan anyway?  I’ve been there and frankly it sucks.

I was reminded today of our late cat, Teddy, who was Eric’s brother. He was a beautiful Bengal/Burmese and died at eight months of Feline Infectious Peritonitis and broke our hearts. Here he is, sleeping in the sun with his brother, and his other pals. He had such HUGE toffee-coloured ears.

I have just had my hair cut by a little girl who sat next to my son at school. As any woman will tell you, the hairdresser’s can be a terrifying experience. I made the appointment over the phone and expected the mature lady with years of experience to be there BUT I GOT THE CHILD. It’s a mark of life’s lessons that she surprised me by doing a really good job and exhibiting much more maturity and good sense than my son of her age.

I come from a long line of red-heads: grandma and grandad, my parents, aunt, my sister and my youngest son all bear (or bore) the mark of Gilgamesh. Boudica, Genghis Khan, Lizzie Borden, Emily Dickinson, Salome, Nero - we are in some interesting company…

Leroy enjoys late evening sunshine in a way only he can…

Eric has featured in many tv programmes - here he is in Grand Designs.

William is a sneezer - not good considering he sleeps on my head.

Eric follows the sunshine at any cost to comfort.

This is my collection of pussy cats, some whittled in wax and carved in wood by my son, others made of crystal and porcelain. They are in chaos because the subject in the following photo likes to stick his paw in and stir them around. I think he likes to see himself doing it in the little mirror at the back. Clearly it’s a wearing activity.

In response to those who wanted to know what the words on my fridge say, I offer the following. Being a purist, I’ve changed nothing, so it’s quite random and cheesy. Dear reader, I expect reciprocity.