nose.
Janice looks up and catches my curious stare.
‘Face painting.’ She reaches for a biscuit.
‘Oh. Do you have children?’
‘No. Why should I?’ she asks truculently.
Suddenly feel as if a huge chasm has opened up between me and Janice. There must be about ten years difference in our ages yet she is making me feel like her grandmother.
I try an impatient, worldly sigh, ‘Isn’t face painting generally associated with children?’
‘No.’
‘Well it is to me.’
She shrugs, ‘We had a druid party at the weekend.’
Note the ‘we’. ‘Was it fun?’ which seemed an inadequate question.
‘Yeah, it was. So, what’s on the agenda for this morning or should I go my own sweet way?’
In businesslike fashion I pick up my cup and march out into garden. Cannot imagine that Janice was as (offensively) laid back with Deirdre as she seems to be with me. For some reason my face, including my ears, feels hot. I’m certain they’re scarlet. Climb steps to the gravelled terrace and look up at the sloping area. A fair bit of heavy digging still to do. After several minutes Janice follows me up, no doubt having first made notes for her following week’s television viewing. I say firmly, ‘You’ve still got quite a bit of digging to do.’
‘That’s a killer on my back.’
‘I’m sorry about that, but it was a killer on my back.’
‘You can understand my point of view then.’
‘Janice if you don’t want to do the job...’
‘I just don’t want to do that bit of the job...’
‘But I can manage most of the other bits. I didn’t need any help with them.’
‘What if you helped me?’
‘But I’m paying you to do the job.’
She shrugged, ‘I better get on with it then. I can’t afford to lose the money.’
Which was awful. I couldn’t afford to pay the money. But could I afford it, more or less, than Janice could afford to lose it? In the past Georgie paid for food and many of the bills because she earned vastly more than me but I’d had no money from her during the whole time she’d been away. Janice walked dispiritedly down the steps, left her mug on the window sill and went round to the shed. I looked at my watch. I looked at the slope. It was steep. And yes, if I had a bad back, then why shouldn’t she have one as well, particularly after lifting all Deirdre’s sacks of cobble stones?
‘Get out both the forks,’ I shouted down to her.
She looked over her shoulder, ‘Why?’
‘Because...because it’s my garden and I want to be a part of turning that bloody slope into something fabulous.’
April 21st :
Miriam very low. Has recently given up smoking. The day before yesterday in fact. This lunchtime stood on back step of TM Accountancy for ten minutes without saying anything.
I tried. Described plans for my hillside meadow in unnecessary detail. Finally Miriam cut loudly across my description saying, ‘It’s no good. I’m not interested. Your hillside meadow could be swept out to sea for all I care. The only words in my head are, I WANT A CIGARETTE NOW! If I can’t smoke, my life is not worth living.’
‘Then smoke.’
‘I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘Mrs Ferguson and my mother have rightly pointed out that I’m ruining my complexion and my voice is at least three octaves lower than it should be.’
Am amazed that Miriam worries about loss of complexion and personally rather envy her low voice. Wonder how many cigarettes I would have to smoke to lower my voice three octaves.
Miriam leaves me on the step and goes back to her desk where I hear her unwrapping another piece of Nicorette chewing gum.
Also a smoking ban in place at Corner Coffee Shop . Martin has been under siege. For several days Coffee Shop staff made allowance for him to continue smoking unobtrusively, keeping his cigarette concealed beneath the table top. Manageress arrives back from skiing holiday and says regretfully this can’t go on. Concealed cigarette is an increased
Janice looks up and catches my curious stare.
‘Face painting.’ She reaches for a biscuit.
‘Oh. Do you have children?’
‘No. Why should I?’ she asks truculently.
Suddenly feel as if a huge chasm has opened up between me and Janice. There must be about ten years difference in our ages yet she is making me feel like her grandmother.
I try an impatient, worldly sigh, ‘Isn’t face painting generally associated with children?’
‘No.’
‘Well it is to me.’
She shrugs, ‘We had a druid party at the weekend.’
Note the ‘we’. ‘Was it fun?’ which seemed an inadequate question.
‘Yeah, it was. So, what’s on the agenda for this morning or should I go my own sweet way?’
In businesslike fashion I pick up my cup and march out into garden. Cannot imagine that Janice was as (offensively) laid back with Deirdre as she seems to be with me. For some reason my face, including my ears, feels hot. I’m certain they’re scarlet. Climb steps to the gravelled terrace and look up at the sloping area. A fair bit of heavy digging still to do. After several minutes Janice follows me up, no doubt having first made notes for her following week’s television viewing. I say firmly, ‘You’ve still got quite a bit of digging to do.’
‘That’s a killer on my back.’
‘I’m sorry about that, but it was a killer on my back.’
‘You can understand my point of view then.’
‘Janice if you don’t want to do the job...’
‘I just don’t want to do that bit of the job...’
‘But I can manage most of the other bits. I didn’t need any help with them.’
‘What if you helped me?’
‘But I’m paying you to do the job.’
She shrugged, ‘I better get on with it then. I can’t afford to lose the money.’
Which was awful. I couldn’t afford to pay the money. But could I afford it, more or less, than Janice could afford to lose it? In the past Georgie paid for food and many of the bills because she earned vastly more than me but I’d had no money from her during the whole time she’d been away. Janice walked dispiritedly down the steps, left her mug on the window sill and went round to the shed. I looked at my watch. I looked at the slope. It was steep. And yes, if I had a bad back, then why shouldn’t she have one as well, particularly after lifting all Deirdre’s sacks of cobble stones?
‘Get out both the forks,’ I shouted down to her.
She looked over her shoulder, ‘Why?’
‘Because...because it’s my garden and I want to be a part of turning that bloody slope into something fabulous.’
April 21st :
Miriam very low. Has recently given up smoking. The day before yesterday in fact. This lunchtime stood on back step of TM Accountancy for ten minutes without saying anything.
I tried. Described plans for my hillside meadow in unnecessary detail. Finally Miriam cut loudly across my description saying, ‘It’s no good. I’m not interested. Your hillside meadow could be swept out to sea for all I care. The only words in my head are, I WANT A CIGARETTE NOW! If I can’t smoke, my life is not worth living.’
‘Then smoke.’
‘I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘Mrs Ferguson and my mother have rightly pointed out that I’m ruining my complexion and my voice is at least three octaves lower than it should be.’
Am amazed that Miriam worries about loss of complexion and personally rather envy her low voice. Wonder how many cigarettes I would have to smoke to lower my voice three octaves.
Miriam leaves me on the step and goes back to her desk where I hear her unwrapping another piece of Nicorette chewing gum.
Also a smoking ban in place at Corner Coffee Shop . Martin has been under siege. For several days Coffee Shop staff made allowance for him to continue smoking unobtrusively, keeping his cigarette concealed beneath the table top. Manageress arrives back from skiing holiday and says regretfully this can’t go on. Concealed cigarette is an increased
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