Spooky Antics in Nearby Garden

Tags

gravestones, graveyard, hallowe'en, RIP, skeletons, skulls, spooky

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Photo by Candia Dixon-Stuart

Happy Hallowe’en from Pompeii

Tags

Ashmolean, hallowe'en, mosaic, Pompeii, skeleton

@ The Ashmolean, Oxford

Photo by Candia Dixon-Stuart

Happy Hallowe’en!

Tags

Frankenstein, hallowe'en, pumpkins, skeleton, witch

This gallery contains 4 photos.

Photos by Candia Dixon-Stuart    

Trick or Treat?

Tags

clown costumes, ducking for apples, Frankenweenie, guising, Guy Fawkes, hallowe'en, Mars Bar, Milton, Paradise Lost, Trick or Treat, trug

(A seasonal re-blog, folks- enjoy!)

It was Hallowe’en and Carrie’s children were hyper-excited.  Tiger-Lily was

in charge of her siblings.  She had dressed as a witch and her brother,

Ferdy, was carrying a plastic trident and sported horns.  Ming had a

black plastic cape and his smile was rather disconcerting as he had

managed to retain plastic fangs from a Christmas cracker in his mouth,

in spite of the additional dental obstruction of a brace.  The whole effect

was akin to Frankenweenie.

Bill was a white-faced zombie with fake blood dripping down his jaw.

Edward’s face was green and he had a screw sticking out of his neck.

Rollo was a Ghostbuster.  Dressing up in clown costumes had been

verboten.

All carried pumpkin lanterns and empty, be- ribboned mini-trugs, for

the reception of donated goodies.

Now be polite, children, and only visit the houses on High Street.  Ring the

doorbells once only and say thank you if anyone gives you fruit.  You

mustn’t accept money…

Edward looked disappointed. I’ll wait round the corner in The Peal O’

Bells with the other mummies.  Stay together and when you’ve finished,

knock on the window.

Let’s go to Grandma’s first, said Ferdy. She won’t be scared of us.

Yes, let’s get it over with, said Tiger.

They rang the doorbell and stepped back politely.

Suddenly a white-sheeted figure with two black holes for

eyes opened the door and shouted: Boo!

Little Edward was terrified.  He seized his sister’s hand and

dropped his trug.

It’s only Grandma, silly, said Tiger, annoyed at the naughty

nonagenarian.

Trick or treat, Grandma?

Ginevra pulled the sheet off and smoothed her hair.

We’re not having that American nonsense here, she lectured.  When

your daddy was small he had to do guising properly.  We’re a traditional

family. 

So, who’s going to do the first turn?

Turn? quailed Rollo.

Yes.  A  recitation, dance or song.  You don’t get owt for nowt as

they used to say.

What’s a recitation?  asked Ming.

Come in.  I’ll show you, said Ginevra enthusiastically.  Ola! Have you

put the apples in the basin of water?

But Ola wasn’t there.  She had run off to Bric-a-Brac with Jean-

Paul, the opportunistic widower from the twinning visit.  Ginevra

had forgotten her new carer’s name.

Sorry.  Magda, then.

They all trooped into the sitting room and Ginevra moved her

case of Dewlap Gin for Discerning Grandmothers off the sofa, so that

they could sit down.

She took a deep, somewhat juniper-scented breath and launched

forth:

Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the world and all our woe…

Sing, Heavenly Muse!…

Two hours later Tiger had to shake Edward awake as their

grandmother uttered the final words:

..through Eden took their solitary way.

Ginevra bowed with a huge flourish and pronounced:

Paradise Lost: now that’s poetry!

She then proceeded to help herself to a bag of Mars bars which

Magda had been instructed to purchase for the children.

Now..

Grandma, we’ve got to go.  It’s past Edward’s bed-time, said Tiger-Lily

firmly.

Oh, what a pity.  We didn’t get round to ducking for apples, said Ginevra,

disconsolately.

There’s always next year, replied Tiger, scarcely banishing a rather

un- grand-daughterly thought: If the old bag is still around.

Carrie was frantic:  Where have you been all this time?

Blame Grandma, said Tiger.  Give her any opportunity or a platform and

you’ll be there all night.

You should have taken the crucifix and the garlic, like I told you, said

Carrie, bundling them into the 4×4.  She’s always been a monster.

Even to Daddy? asked an exhausted Ming.

Especially to Daddy.  Never mind.  We’ll have good fun at Clammie

and Tristram’s Guy Fawkes Party.  Burning effigies is so therapeutic!

Trick or Treat

Tags

Frankenweenie, garlic and crucifix, Ghostbuster, guising, Guy Fawkes, hallowe'en, John Milton, Mars Bar, Paradise Lost, pumpkin lantern, Trick or Treat, trug, Zombie

(A seasonal re-blog, folks. Enjoy!)

It was Hallowe’en and Carrie’s children were hyper-excited.  Tiger-Lily was in

charge of her siblings.  She had dressed as a witch and her brother, Ferdy, was

carrying a plastic trident and sported horns.

Ming had a black plastic cape and his smile was rather disconcerting as he

had managed to retain plastic fangs from a Christmas cracker in his mouth,

in spite of the additional dental obstruction of a brace.  The whole effect

was akin to Frankenweenie.

Bill was a white-faced zombie with fake blood dripping down his jaw.

Edward’s facewas green and he had a screw sticking out of his neck.

Rollo was a Ghostbuster.

All carried pumpkin lanterns and empty, be-ribboned mini-trugs, for the

reception of donated goodies.

Now be polite, children, and only visit the houses on High Street.  Ring the

doorbells once only and say thank you if anyone gives you fruit.  You

mustn’t accept money…

Edward looked disappointed.

I’ll wait round the corner in The Peal O’ Bells with the other mummies. 

Stay together and when you’ve finished, knock on the window.

Let’s go to Grandma’s first, said Ferdy. She won’t be scared of us.

Yes, let’s get it over with, said Tiger.

They rang the doorbell and stepped back politely.

Suddenly a white-sheeted figure with two black holes for eyes

opened the door and shouted: Boo!

Little Edward was terrified.  He seized his sister’s hand and dropped

his trug.

It’s only Grandma, silly, said Tiger, annoyed at the naughty nonagenarian.

Trick or treat, Grandma?

Ginevra pulled the sheet off and smoothed her hair.

We’re not having that American nonsense here, she lectured.  When your

daddy was small he had to do guising properly.  We’re a traditional family. 

So, who’s going to do the first turn?

Turn? quailed Rollo.

Yes.  A  recitation, dance or song.  You don’t get owt for nowt as they

used to say.

What’s a recitation?  asked Ming.

Come in.  I’ll show you, said Ginevra enthusiastically.  Ola! Have you put

the apples in the basin of water?

But Ola wasn’t there.  She had run off to Bric-a-Brac with Jean-Paul,

the widower from the twinning visit.  Ginevra had forgotten the new

carer’s name.

Sorry.  Magda, then.

They all trooped into the sitting room and Ginevra moved her case of

Dewlap Gin for Discerning Grandmothers off the sofa, so that they could

sit down.

She took a deep, somewhat juniper-scented breath and launched

forth:

Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the world and all our woe…

Sing, Heavenly Muse!…

Two hours later Tiger had to shake Edward awake as her

grandmother uttered the final words:

…through Eden took their solitary way.

Ginevra bowed with a huge flourish and pronounced:

Paradise Lost: now that’s poetry!

She then proceeded to help herself to a bag of Mars bars which

Magda had been instructed to purchase for the children.

Now…

Grandma, we’ve got to go.  It’s past Edward’s bed-time, said Tiger-Lily

firmly.

Oh, what a pity.  We didn’t get round to ducking for apples, said Ginevra,

disconsolately.

There’s always next year, replied Tiger, scarcely banishing a rather un-

grand-daughterly thought: If the old bag is still around.

Carrie was frantic:  Where have you been all this time?

Blame Grandma, said Tiger.  Give her any opportunity or a platform and

you’ll be there all night.

You should have taken the crucifix and the garlic, like I told you, said

Carrie, bundling them into the 4×4.  She’s always been a monster.

Even to Daddy? asked an exhausted Ming.

Especially to Daddy.  Never mind.  We’ll have good fun at Clammie

and Tristram’s Guy Fawkes Party.  Burning effigies is so therapeutic!

 

 

 

Bug out

Tags

Apocalypse, armouredcockroach, Arne Dahl, Arto Soderstedt, Bear Grylls, bivvy bag, bug in, bug out, dehydrated snacks, Elastoplast, Enid Blyton, Fatty, hallowe'en, kirby grip, mushroom cloud, non-PC, parador, preppers, rhetorical questions, Sawyer Water filter, sizeism, The Secret Seven, zombies

(Bear Grylls photo by jamiegrayphotography.co.uk)

Augustus looked at his ex-lover, Diana Fotheringay-Syylk

and raised an eyebrow.

He then glanced towards his current enamorata, Virginia

Fisher-Gyles and she shrugged.

Murgatroyd was prevaricating as usual. They were all ready

to go out for a walk and he was fussing around with some

man bag, or other.

Surely you don’t need that?  Gus was good at rhetorical questions.

He very rarely had the opportunity to use them in teaching as they

were open, rather than closed questions.  He quite liked the control

they gave him, if delivered with heavy irony, but he had been

advised at his appraisal that sarcasm was out of fashion in current

classrooms. What a pity.

I won’t be a moment.  I just have to fit the Sawyer water filter in-

somehow.

But we’re going to the pub eventually.  We won’t need water, Virginia

pointed out, sanely.

You can’t tell him, groaned Diana.  But I draw the line at taking the

one man tent.  It is big enough for both of us, but, even in a

nuclear incident, I wouldn’t want to be so close to him!

Oh, bug off! Murgatroyd was becoming irritable, as he felt they were

laughing at his expense.

Diana was starting to enjoy teasing him when the others were giving

her moral support.  I don’t think there are too many zombies around

here, darling. Just some SNPs.

Zombies?  It’s not Hallowe’en yet, Virginia commented, perhaps too

freely, considering she was addressing her host.

No, zombies who would steal your supplies while you were bugged in-

before you bugged out after the mushroom cloud, replied Diana, who

knew the lingo.  Or after we’ve been forced to leave the Union.

I don’t fancy these dehydrated snack things you’ve got in there, said

Snod.  I thought we were going to have a pie and a pint.

Murgatroyd knew he was dealing with unbelievers and not his fellow

preppers.

Hang on! Snod said suddenly.  Maybe you could take the mosquito net

with us.  I bags it if we encounter a cloud of midges.

Don’t unwrap it! shouted Murgatroyd.  It took me ages to roll it up and

fit it in to my bivvy bag.

I used to read ‘The Secret Seven’ when I was a kid, reminisced Virginia.

Fatty advised everyone to have an emergency tin with a piece of string, a

safety pin, a folded up piece of paper, a kirby grip, an Elastoplast and a

coin for the phone.

What was the kirby grip for? asked Diana, while Murgatroyd struggled

to put on his boots.  His back was still bothering him after all the scything

he had done.

Well, it worked in conjunction with the paper.  You see, if someone locked

you into a room while you were doing your detective work, you could put

the paper under the door and knock the key out from the other side and

slide it towards you and, hey presto! explained Virginia.

I bet Arto Soderstedt hasn’t thought of that one! laughed Diana.

Enid Blyton meets Arne Dahl, guffawed Snod.  Oh, come on!  It’s

going to rain and you haven’t got a brolly in there, have you?

Just leave it! Diana ordered.  If you hurry up we will get a table

and if you are very good you can let them watch armouredcockroach

on Youtube this afternoon, for some light entertainment before

supper.  Come on, Bear.

You know, it’s a bit odd.  Dru hasn’t been in touch since they went

to the parador, remarked Virginia, who carried a mobile phone in her

handbag, like a good PA and considered that her main piece of kit

for any emergency, or unforeseen event.  I hope they are okay.

Well, I don’t think there has been an Apocalypse in Spain, or we’d

have heard about it, sighed Diana.  It’s more likely that Murgatroyd has

had his phone blocker switched on.  He’s very anti-government, aren’t

you, darling?  Anyway, it serves him right as he blocked an e-mail from

the pub about their two- pies- for- one offer.  Shame.  Personally, I feel 

you have to trust the zombies sometimes.

Two pies for the price of one?!  Snod was intrigued and enthusiastic.

Come on, Fatty, Virginia quipped, linking arms, but Diana thought she

might be going too far towards sizeism and the non PC.

Delta NC Wikipaedia

Trick or Treat?

Tags

Frankenweenie, garlic and crucifix, Ghostbuster, guising, Guy Fawkes party, hallowe'en, John Milton, Mars Bar, Paradise Lost, pumpkin lantern, Trick or Treat, trug, Zombie

(A seasonal re-blog, folks- enjoy!)

It was Hallowe’en and Carrie’s children were hyper-excited.  Tiger-Lily was

in charge of her siblings.  She had dressed as a witch and her brother, Ferdy,

was carrying a plastic trident and sported horns.  Ming had a black plastic

cape and his smile was rather disconcerting as he had managed to retain

plastic fangs from a Christmas cracker in his mouth, in spite of the

additional dental obstruction of a brace.  The whole effect was akin to

Frankenweenie.

Bill was a white-faced zombie with fake blood dripping down his jaw.

Edward’s face was green and he had a screw sticking out of his neck.

Rollo was a Ghostbuster. All carried pumpkin lanterns and empty, be-

ribboned mini-trugs, for the reception of donated goodies.

Now be polite, children, and only visit the houses on High Street.  Ring the

doorbells once only and say thank you if anyone gives you fruit.  You

mustn’t accept money…

Edward looked disappointed. I’ll wait round the corner in The Peal O’

Bells with the other mummies.  Stay together and when you’ve finished,

knock on the window.

Let’s go to Grandma’s first, said Ferdy. She won’t be scared of us.

Yes, let’s get it over with, said Tiger.

They rang the doorbell and stepped back politely.

Suddenly a white-sheeted figure with two black holes for

eyes opened the door and shouted: Boo!

Little Edward was terrified.  He seized his sister’s hand and

dropped his trug.

It’s only Grandma, silly, said Tiger, annoyed at the naughty

nonagenarian.

Trick or treat, Grandma?

Ginevra pulled the sheet off and smoothed her hair.

We’re not having that American nonsense here, she lectured.  When

your daddy was small he had to do guising properly.  We’re a traditional

family. 

So, who’s going to do the first turn?

Turn? quailed Rollo.

Yes.  A  recitation, dance or song.  You don’t get owt for nowt as

they used to say.

What’s a recitation?  asked Ming.

Come in.  I’ll show you, said Ginevra enthusiastically.  Ola! Have you

put the apples in the basin of water?

But Ola wasn’t there.  She had run off to Bric-a-Brac with Jean-

Paul, the opportunistic widower from the twinning visit.  Ginevra

had forgotten her new carer’s name.

Sorry.  Magda, then.

They all trooped into the sitting room and Ginevra moved her

case of Dewlap Gin for Discerning Grandmothers off the sofa, so that

they could sit down.

She took a deep, somewhat juniper-scented breath and launched

forth:

Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the world and all our woe…

Sing, Heavenly Muse!…

Two hours later Tiger had to shake Edward awake as their

grandmother uttered the final words:

..through Eden took their solitary way.

Ginevra bowed with a huge flourish and pronounced:

Paradise Lost: now that’s poetry!

She then proceeded to help herself to a bag of Mars bars which

Magda had been instructed to purchase for the children.

Now..

Grandma, we’ve got to go.  It’s past Edward’s bed-time, said Tiger-Lily

firmly.

Oh, what a pity.  We didn’t get round to ducking for apples, said Ginevra,

disconsolately.

There’s always next year, replied Tiger, scarcely banishing a rather

un- grand-daughterly thought: If the old bag is still around.

Carrie was frantic:  Where have you been all this time?

Blame Grandma, said Tiger.  Give her any opportunity or a platform and

you’ll be there all night.

You should have taken the crucifix and the garlic, like I told you, said

Carrie, bundling them into the 4×4.  She’s always been a monster.

Even to Daddy? asked an exhausted Ming.

Especially to Daddy.  Never mind.  We’ll have good fun at Clammie

and Tristram’s Guy Fawkes Party.  Burning effigies is so therapeutic!

 

 

 

Trick or Treat?

Tags

Carrie, Ferdy, Frankenweenie, Ghostbuster, Ginevra, Grandma, hallowe'en, Magda, Mars Bar, Paradise Lost, Tiger-Lily, Trick or Treat, Zombie

It was Hallowe’en and Carrie’s children were hyper-excited.  Tiger-Lily was in

charge of her siblings.  She had dressed as a witch and her brother, Ferdy, was

carrying a plastic trident and sported horns.  Ming had a black plastic cape and

his smile was rather disconcerting as he had managed to retain plastic fangs

from a Christmas cracker in his mouth, in spite of the additional dental

obstruction of a brace.  The whole effect was akin to Frankenweenie.  Bill was

a white-faced zombie with fake blood dripping down his jaw.  Edward’s face

was green and he had a screw sticking out of his neck.  Rollo was a Ghostbuster.

All carried pumpkin lanterns and empty, be-ribboned mini-trugs, for the reception of

donated goodies.

Now be polite, children, and only visit the houses on High Street.  Ring the doorbells

once only and say thank you if anyone gives you fruit.  You mustn’t accept money…

Edward looked disappointed. I’ll wait round the corner in The Peal O’ Bells with the

other mummies.  Stay together and when you’ve finished, knock on the window.

Let’s go to Grandma’s first, said Ferdy. She won’t be scared of us.

Yes, let’s get it over with, said Tiger.

They rang the doorbell and stepped back politely.

Suddenly a white-sheeted figure with two black holes for eyes opened

the door and shouted: Boo!

Little Edward was terrified.  He seized his sister’s hand and dropped his trug.

It’s only Grandma, silly, said Tiger, annoyed at the naughty nonagenarian.

Trick or treat, Grandma?

Ginevra pulled the sheet off and smoothed her hair.

We’re not having that American nonsense here, she lectured.  When your daddy

was small he had to do guising properly.  We’re a traditional family.  So, who’s

going to do the first turn?

Turn? quailed Rollo.

Yes.  A  recitation, dance or song.  You don’t get owt for nowt as they used to

say.

What’s a recitation?  asked Ming.

Come in.  I’ll show you, said Ginevra enthusiastically.  Ola! Have you put the

apples in the basin of water?

But Ola wasn’t there.  She had run off to Bric-a-Brac with Jean-Paul, the

widower from the twinning visit.  Ginevra had forgotten the new carer’s

name.

Sorry.  Magda, then.

They all trooped into the sitting room and Ginevra moved her case of Dewlap

Gin off the sofa, so that they could sit down.

She took a deep, somewhat juniper-scented breath and launched forth:

Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the world and all our woe…

Sing, Heavenly Muse!…

Two hours later Tiger had to shake Edward awake as her grandmother

uttered the final words:

..through Eden took their solitary way.

Ginevra bowed with a huge flourish and pronounced:

Paradise Lost: now that’s poetry!

She then proceeded to help herself to a bag of Mars bars which Magda

had been instructed to purchase for the children.

Now..

Grandma, we’ve got to go.  It’s past Edward’s bed-time, said Tiger-Lily firmly.

Oh, what a pity.  We didn’t get round to ducking for apples, said Ginevra,

disconsolately.

There’s always next year, replied Tiger, scarcely banishing a rather un-

grand-daughterly thought: If the old bag is still around.

Carrie was frantic:  Where have you been all this time?

Blame Grandma, said Tiger.  Give her any opportunity or a platform and you’ll

be there all night.

You should have taken the crucifix and the garlic, like I told you, said Carrie,

bundling them into the 4×4.  She’s always been a  monster.

Even to Daddy? asked an exhausted Ming.

Especially to Daddy.  Never mind.  We’ll have good fun at Clammie

and Tristram’s Guy Fawkes Party.

 

 

 

Black Swan Event

Tags

Behemoth, Black Swan event, Brassica, Carrie, Dan Snow, David Cameron, Elle McPherson, FameDaddy, Ferdy, global weirding, hallowe'en, John, La Senza, Leda and swan, Philip Schofield, Richard Dawkins, Roger Federer

Brassica and I were in Costamuchamoulah must-seen café, looking for liquorice spiders for Hallowe’en, when Carrie rushed in.  We made our ghoulish edible purchases and then all sat at a corner table to drink some coffee.

You will never guess what Ferdy told me after school? That awful John in his science class has been stirring things again, Carrie moaned.

Tell me about it, said Brassie, ruefully.

I was just going to, continued Carrie, who privately loathed Brassie’s

use of that expression.

Well, he sidled up to Ferdy and said, Why doesn’t your Mummy get fixed up with ‘FameDaddy’?  Ferdy didn’t know what he was talking about.  I think John’s mum must allow him to watch trashy ITV programmes as I Googled the name and it transpires that some CEO called Dan Richards was on a programme with Phillip Schofield, presenting a soon-to-be-launched-service, offering women who wanted to bear children with quality DNA to avail themselves of their sperm bank of celebrity donors.

Brassie looked interested, but she had already asked to be regaled with the facts, so she bit her tongue.

Yes, said Carrie, John then insulted Ferdy and his brothers-and, by implication, Gyles- by saying that if I had applied to ‘FameDaddy’, I wouldn’t have produced such useless kids and I still had time to produce a decent one.

How rude! What did Ferdy say?

He reminded him that he had beaten him at science and so John’s daddy couldn’t exactly have been Richard Dawkins.

But two wrongs don’t make a right, I interjected.  Neither paid the slightest attention.

And then Ferdy- how can I put this?-punched his lights out.

Brassie clapped her hands and then desisted when she caught my disapproving look.

Was John all right afterwards?  She feigned concern.

Oh, after he came round he said that he saw stars and Ferdy said, ‘Well, you always were on a different planet.’  Then he walked out of the locker room.

What did Mr Milford-Haven do when he discovered the boys had been fighting? I thought I’d try to bring some order to this exchange.

He took Ferdy aside and gave him a commendation and a mini-Mars bar, I believe.

But surely that was immoral? I insisted.

Yes, said Carrie. We don’t encourage sweets at home, so Ferdy brought it to me and I ate it for him.

No, I was becoming exasperated. I meant the violence.

Carrie looked a little discomfited and sipped her coffee which was tepid by now. Ferdy explained it to me.  He said that it was the same as a burglar breaking into your home.  John had invaded our privacy and stuck his nose into our business, so he had used proportionate force to repel him.  David Cameron said that was okay.

Brassie looked wistful.  I must say, Carrie,  that I sometimes wish I had dipped into the gene pool of Dan Snow, or Roger Federer, instead of subjecting the twins to a possible genetic link to Cosmo’s mother.

I’d call that a black swan event, said Carrie comfortingly.

Brassie looked confused.

I mean, there may be a pattern and there may be a rare chance that they will fulfil a prediction, but it is unlikely. 

More likely than you sharing your genes with Dan Snow, I added unkindly, before I could stop myself.

Carrie tried to draw attention away from my inappropriate remark:

Black swan events are linked to global weirding, she continued. You know- sunspots, extreme cyclical weather patterns, with rogue element exceptions.  You can’t predict whether you will get out of a snow-bound Heathrow or not in the Christmas holidays.

I saw Horizon too, I remarked.  She was beginning to sound like the tiresome John of the black eye.  They said that you can’t really make 100% accurate predictions.

So, I might have a chance with Dan..

No, that’s a certainty: you won’t, I interjected firmly.

Well, what about that twenty five pounds that I paid Sonia to look into her crystal ball for me? asked Brassie, shaken in her simple faith.

That’s probably gone down a black hole, or gone up in a puff of smoke, I laughed caustically.

Carrie added, I think you would have been better advised to refer to a satellite, or to that meteorological computer, ‘Behemoth’, that generates 100 trillion predictions a second.

No wonder they get it so wrong all the time then, said Brassie naively.  Yesterday they said it would be dry and I got soaked right down to my ‘La Senza’, standing in the yard, waiting for the twins to come out of their music lessons.

You have to take an umbrella with you at all times, laughed Carrie, then it will never rain!  But, what’s all this obsession with spreading your genes, Brassie?  You aren’t seriously thinking of having another baby?  I thought you had enough on your plate with the twins?

The FameDaddy thing just sounded interesting, she said.

It was a hoax, Brassie, I laughed.

Oh, it’s just that you both have girls and I just got a little broody.  It would be a black swan event if Cosmo and I got together.  The chances would be about a trillion to one. He might as well be on a space station for all the likelihood of a conjunction between us.  He’s taken to sleeping in the observatory in the garden.

I was sobering up.  She seemed genuinely upset. I tried to comfort her.  Have you heard of Leda and the swan?

What are you talking about, Candia?  Carrie flashed me a warning look.

Just that swans can impregnate you when you are not expecting it, I muttered lamely.

The only genes I’m really after are Elle McPherson drainpipes. She tried to throw us off the scent.  These are getting too tight.

Maybe you are already…? we both spoke simultaneously.

Brassie looked horrified.

Who’s the father? we enquired.  Three more lattes, we instructed the waitress.

 

Equity Release

Tags

aphrodisiac, Calvados, Charente, equity release, hallowe'en, Jeremy Clarkson, line dancing, Monster Trucks, Northanger Abbey, Richard Hammond, Skype, Top Gear, vide grenier

Gyles Brewer-Mead called in to see his mother, Ginevra, just before her bedtime.  She was ninety-three, but managed fairly well with the help of her carer.  Lately they had had to contact another agency, as her previous live-in assistant, Ola, had gone to live in Normandy with Jean-Paul, a widower whom she had met during Suttonford’s twinning exchange.  Jean-Paul had been billeted with the ladies. Gyles thought he’d drop by unannounced, to see how Magda, the new helpmate, was coping.

Gyles!  Help yourself to a ‘Dewlap’, his mother said.

No thanks, Mother.  I’ve got to go home and help to check the boys’ prep.  Have you had a good day?  How is the new carer doing?

Oh, Magda?  She’s all right.  Pretty strong.  This afternoon she carried two cases of ‘Dewlap’ and a couple of bottles of ‘Jane Austen’s Secret Tipple’ all the way from ‘Pop My Cork!’ and she didn’t even need the shopping trolley.  Mind you, she didn’t know who Jane Austen was!  I read her ‘Northanger Abbey’- just to put her in the picture with a bit of Gothic before Hallowe’en.  It took all afternoon. Actually, she didn’t know what Hallowe’en was either.  She asked if it was like Walpurgis Night.  Wrong time of year, I told her.

Maybe that’s a bit stretching for her, Mother.  She’s only been in England a couple of weeks and the form said that her English was basic, or foundation level. 

Well, that’s why she’s here: to learn! said his mother, draining her glass and looking around for a re-fill.  At any rate, she knows how little tonic I take, so I’ve no complaints as yet. Oh, by the way, I have had two letters today- both from France- and a package.

Oh, from whom?  (Gyles always was somewhat pedantic, his mother thought).

One was from your sister, Victoria.  She complains about having to use escargot mail.  But I’m not getting Skype at my age.

How is she?  (His sister lived with her partner in the Charente and sold cloudy mirrors and rusty garden furniture to make ends meet.)

In Cloud Cuckoo Land, comme d’habitude, said Ginevra.

And the other one?  From anyone I know?

Yes, from Ola.  She’s moved into Jean-Paul’s converted bakehouse.  They sent me a lovely bottle of ‘Calvados’.  We drank it while we were studying ‘Northanger Abbey.’  Ola says Jean-Paul loves line dancing, vide greniers-apparently that’s French for car boots- and they adore Monster Truck races.  It’s so cultural out there.  I’ve seen those Monster Trucks on that programme with Jeremy Clarkson.

I didn’t know you were a fan of ‘Top Gear’, mother.

Well, I really only like Richard Hammond, she pronounced.  You know how one shrinks with age, so he’s more my size.  They call him the Hamster, you know!

Really?  Gyles was always amazed at his mother’s undiminished mental capacities.

Anyway, she continued, they’ve asked me over in the New Year when it’s their turn to offer hospitality to us.  They say the oysters are aphro…I was going to say Caribbean, but that’s not the word I want.

..disiacs, supplied Magda who now entered the television room.

You see!  I thought that ‘Northanger’ would improve her vocabulary! Ginevra crowed.  Magda, you’re going to help me on the ferry and with the steps up to the coach, aren’t you?

Simples, said Magda.

Well, that’s a few months from now. There might be a lot of water under the bridge by then, cautioned Gyles.

They don’t have a bridge over the Channel, silly.  Oh, stop being such a spoilsport, said his mother.  You and your sister are provided for in the will, so I intend to go out on a high and, if I spend it all, that’s my prerog..

..ative, supplied Magda.

Right.  I want to regret rien. 

Indeed, said Gyles, rather taken aback.  We wouldn’t want you to stint yourself or to have to take equity release on your property in order to live comfortably.

But Gyles, that’s just what I’ve done!  What do you think has been paying for my drinkies and carers?

Gyles was shocked.  He would have to break it to Carrie.  If anything happened to the old girl they might have to send the boys to one of the perfectly respectable academic comprehensives in the area and Tiger-Lily would have to leave St Vitus’ School for the Academically Gifted- not that she seemed to value her opportunities.  She was more interested in fake tan as far as he could see.

I think I’ll have a ‘Dewlap’ after all, he said, sinking into the pouffe.

Bottoms up! said Magda.