Isle of Wight – meeting Lord Miller (part 1)

It was raining. Cloudy. But there was a glimmer – we were off to collect Jolyon and Cath from Yarmouth, a mere 25 minute journey, and bring them back to Seaview for a fish lunch and plenty of chat and wine. Carolyn had many uses, her most used being the fact she is tee total and when I am a little giddy with alcohol consumption, she can drive.  Today she would drive Jolyon and Cath back to Yarmouth after our fish lunch.  A flutter of giddiness took me over.

I set the post code into my phone and grabbed a bottle of water.  The girls were excited. I was not. Carolyn’s driving was not to my liking. It was vomit inducing.  But I should not complain.  She tapped the post code into her phone and stuck it on the windscreen. I also tapped in the code to my own phone to ensure we were going in the right direction. And off we went.

10 minutes into the journey I was alarmed. My sat nav said we should turn left. Carolyn’s said straight on. What is this fuckery I hissed. Carolyn applied the brakes and with a look that could kill pulled into a side road. We agreed to follow her directions. I sat in silence. I had run out of mints and was sucking on a Halls Extra Strong Mentho-Lyptus sweet. My tongue was tingling. I liked it. For a brief moment I was back in Germany with a butch lezza called Helga.  And then I was back.

Rather than the sea route to Yarmouth, the road swung away from the coast and took us right into the armpit of the IOW. The roads became thinner, the bushes high, the people odd and the level of car sickness rose. After 15 minutes we were still nowhere near Yarmouth. Vivien and Ruby were now whimpering. I needed a snifter.  I turned up My Jamaican Guy and listened to Grace Jones until the girls announced they hated her.

40 minutes and there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Yes it was cloudy, it was raining, it was windy, I wanted to vomit, the girls were crying, and Carolyn was not talking to me.  But we were 6 miles from Yarmouth.  I sent a text to Jolyon and Cath announcing our arrival imminent.

Jolyon, my eccentric younger brother. Jolyon who has a title of Lord Miller. Jolyon who once shared a house in Spain with 25 feral cats. Jolyon who jested loudly on my arrival to our Spanish villa with new boyfriend that he had warts on his knob and could I go and purchase some Wart cream.  Jolyon who assumes the posture of a sergeant major, marches like Captain Mannering, drinks like Oliver Reed, cooks like Keith Floyd, smokes like a ruddy chimney and only dresses in Royal Blue.

We drove into Yarmouth and headed to the George Hotel. Jolyon likes the simple things in life, ie, not having to travel far. The Ferry terminal was literally attached to the George hotel, offering a mere 25ft walk from terminal to hotel bar.

I saw the smoke before I saw Jolyon. He marched in a semi-circle, looking a little flustered, and a tad hungover.

I needed to vacate the car before I vommed. I told Carolyn to pull over. I told her again. And then I shouted. I jumped out of the car and walked towards Jolyon and Cath greedily gulping  water and breathing deeply.  As the car sickness began to wear off  I went to kiss Jolyon  – he marched past me, blowing clouds of smoke in the air, to the boot of the car and announced we were to take his antiques back to Henley as they were too heavy for him to carry.  He handed the large plastic bags to me and sniggered as the weight dragged my arms down.  He sucked hard at his cigarette – his wheeze was crackly and loud.   I noticed he was attired from head to toe in royal blue Lazy Jacks sailing clothes, even down to a rather splendid pair of deck shoes. My snigger caused a bogey to drop.  I quickly wiped in the hope nobody saw. He marched over to the girls and bent down to kiss them. The subtle waft of stale cigarette and fresh wine hit my nostrils. The girls pulled away, Uncle Jolyon was smelly and his whiskers scratched their skin.

We all piled into the car to head back to Seaview, a journey I was not looking forward to.  We drove around Yarmouth for 10 minutes, and then parked. We had decided not to drive back to Seaview but instead to dine at Jolyon’s favourite establishment. A reservation was made and we made our merry way to Salty’s.

Jolyon marched ahead, fag in hand, telling us how he had spent most of yesterday ‘ferry spotting’ from the bar in the garden of his hotel.  And that we will also partake in ferry spotting this afternoon. What ruddy joy I hissed.  The girls were still wiping away the smell of wine and fags from their faces as we strolled into the rustic restaurant.

There was a strong fish stench as we walked in. I started to tell my lesbian brothel joke but Carolyn told me no. Our table was ready. Jolyon ordered the wine. I ordered the girls drinks. Cath went to the balcony for a fag. Jolyon went out for a fag. And then we began.

 

 

 

Isle of Wight – day 3

Wednesday 26^th July – am

I was awoken by Vivien at 6am. I felt hot; my skin was red, and my forehead on fire. My left eye stuck shut, so I dipped my fingers in to my water and flicked the cool liquid onto my eyelid. I lay for a second wondering why we age. Why do we have this menopause? Why does my eye never open, what is the meaning of life and why the ruddy fuck is Vivien on a skateboard at 6am.

She whizzed into the bedroom and quickly scuttled out as I sat up and belted out a deep Noooooo from the depth of my stomach.  Carolyn shot up from her doze and looked left and right in a speedy movement I had not seen since Pans People danced on TOTP. Alas there was no sexy look upon her face – she was angry.  I pretended I was dozy and slowly lay my head upon the pillow and closed my eyes.  I heard her swear a little as she headed to the kitchen.  I coughed and asked in my ever so nice voice if she would make me a cup of hot water and lemon. She told me to bugger off.

I could hear the rustling of things in the kitchen and the faint noise coming from the sitting room TV.  I lay back and slipped into my mindfulness state.  Breathing deeply through my nose and out through my mouth. I tried to mentally ignore the noises from the kitchen, and instead focussed on my breathing. Boredom overtook me, I felt a bit light headed, giddy and panicky. I tried to control my breathing, visualising how our day would be today, sun, sea, snifter with Jolyon + Cath, I grinned a little until Vivien came whizzing up the corridor and into the bedroom  again crashing into the bedside table and spilling my water.  My one good eye opened wide as the left eye stung like fuck.  It was time to get up.

The girls were eating breakfast; their shoulders and faces were bright red after a day in the sun. We had not expected it to be so hot. Carolyn’s face was shiny red with little white circles where her glasses had sat. I ran into the bathroom and stared at my own face.  It was florid and patchy. My face resembled a baboon’s ass.

We decided to spend the day chillaxing. A word I hate but I thought I would throw it in.  The sky was grey. It was raining. The forecast for the week was no different.  To make matters worse I had only packed summer stuff.

I smothered the girls with more Hemp body cream as they watched some animated rubbish and thought about lunch today.  My eccentric brother Jolyon (Lord Miller to his family) and his g/f Cath were in Yarmouth for a few days.  The plan was to go collect them and bring them back to Seaview as we had booked a table at a rather nice restaurant.

We were all excited to go and see them.  The journey was no more than 25 minutes.

What could possibly go wrong?

 

Isle of Wight 2017 – a short break

Monday 24th July

Our lovely friends had offered us their holiday home for a week in the IOW.  We love Seaview and took up their kind offer without hesitation.  After what seems a long term for the kids a whole week with no work, no school drop off and pick up, no council meetings was just what we needed. The kids were beside themselves  – their excitement was becoming too much for me, I had to sit down and stroke Misty my faithful yet crusty cat. Her purr was deep and then it stopped. She looked at me in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I fear she knew we were going away, and she was fucked about it. I continued stroking, sucking at my extra strong mint and fingering her crustations that had gathered around her ear.

The hallway was packed. 2 suitcases, bags of food, bags of crap that the kids wanted to take. How the fuck is it possible that we will need all this ‘stuff’ for one week in England. I had nevertheless packed very conservatively. I had it on good authority the weather was to be good for the entire week; I had therefore packed my summer garments, and a cardi just in case.

Misty stared at me from the bedroom window as we packed the Landy. I felt a little sad for a second and then pulled myself together.  The furry fucker would be fine, my old mate Lou Lou was in charge of my pussy whilst I was away.

As Carolyn sat in the car, I could see her anger building as I was doing the last minute check of the house, my OCD kicking in once again. I grabbed my extra strong mints, my phone and bag and jumped into the car.  At last we were off.

The journey was horrid. Carolyn’s stop start driving made me feel quite sick. I sat in silence humming Jerusalem and praying our arrival imminent. Hurrah! We’ve arrived.

I watched the family in the car next door stuffing their florid faces with cheese sarnies and crisps as a slither of dribble took a journey down my newly hairy chin. Clearly a menopausal development. I wipe quickly, aware they have noticed me staring. I suck hard on my extra strong mint and hope to myself that the family to my left, right and in front are not staying anywhere near us. They are not my sort.

A sudden jolt and we’re boarding the ferry. Goodbye. For now.

 

 

I’m not in the ruddy mood

 

At 05.30am I was awoken by my ginger ninjas. They screeched and wailed in unison from their bedroom like banshees – I joined them screaming in pain as I found, to my despair, my left eyelid was stuck shut!! I tried to open it slowly but the pain was immense. I swore loudly. And then again. I believe this glue eye is a casualty of the menopause. Along with hot flushes, headaches, short fuse, dryness between your garden of Eden and a whole history of other ailments I won’t go into as it just makes me so ruddy angry!! I sprayed my eye with some special liquid I had purchased from Boots, it had cost me £7 ruddy quid, and continued to try and prise open my eye. Vivien, aged 4, sat staring at me. Ruby, her twin sister ignored me. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat was kneading me violently, her purr deep, her breath foul, and her scabs falling. I flicked them onto the floor, managed to open my gluey left eye and sipped my tea. Vivien was still staring at me. She announced sadly and in a whisper I could barely hear that I was not her friend. I was too old. I hissed, kicked off the cat and went to my bathroom to read Diva. I heard Carolyn scream I’d been on the loo for fucking ages and she was now leaving for London. I was informed, rather rudely may I say, that I needed to dress the children, feed the children, brush their teeth and take them to nursery. I cursed her silently as the front door slammed and sighed heavily. I couldn’t even have a shit in peace these days! Peppa Pig had been replaced with My Little Pony. I could hear Viv & Ruby squealing with delight as they jumped up and down on my bed. I approached the room as Misty shot out like a bat out of hell, eyes wide, tail fluffed up. I went to grab Ruby and trod on one of the wet pull up nappies on the floor. My reptilian toes squelched in their urine and I found myself skidding. I stopped myself head butting Ruby and pulled her off the bed to dress her. 30 ruddy minutes later we are all dressed and ready. I stuffed toast in their mouth. Brushed hair. Brushed teeth. Tripped over Misty. Drop kicked them into the car. Started the car. Turned off the car. Dragged them both back into the house. Sat both on potties. Back to the car. In car and off to nursery we go. At 08.10 I am driving to work. The sky is blue and the day looks promising. And then I hit Reading! The start of the Festival brings in all kinds of people, strange hippy type children who have never heard of America, Cat Stevens or Mr Dylan. Yet they wear the t-shirts proudly. I narrowly missed a dirty looking man with dreadlocks and a vicious looking dog who decided to cross the road in front of me. I had to apply the brakes and as I drove around him I wound down the window and called him a fecking Plonker! Feeling rather nervous and adrenalin pumped I wound up the window and hit the accelerator. 100 yards along the road the traffic light hit red. I hit the deck and made out I was searching for something as the dreadlocked man I had just abused slowly approached the car. I fingered the dirt on the car floor slowly and then hurrah I found an old extra strong mint which I popped into my mouth whilst praying to the Almighty me dreadlock man didn’t recognise the car. When I emerged he was by my window rolling a fag. He looked at me as he licked the rizzla. The lights turned green and the car behind me was tooting. I looked at the man, grinned, hit the volume on the radio and sped away to the sound of the Nolan’s singing I’m in the mood for ruddy dancing. I did not look cool and felt a prat! But I was alive.
I spent the next 20 minutes trying to avoid festival revellers and screaming abuse to all that got in my way. I really did not like Reading at all.  And I dont like Woodley but thats another story altogether.