Keeping The Peace

She must have spotted the Tesco delivery van pulling out of my drive, besides, she never knocks, so I couldn't pretend to be out even if I tried. I bid her to stick the kettle on as I continue to unload.

"Oooh, grapes - l can never buy those when my lot are here."

"Really? Why?"

She shrugs, "Well, they eat them.."

(Is it just me?) I place the bowl in front of her, leaving her to help herself.

"Good thing for you, you got your delivery today, Ben-Ma-Chree's not sailing tomorrow."

I agree. Ben-Ma-Chree is our only food supply route from the mainland, as well as passengers, it ferries the shipments that stock most of our Supermarket shelves. Our local produce of meat, dairy and bread gets stretched pretty thin when the storms blow in. It's not unusual to receive a phone-call to say all Tesco home deliveries have had to be cancelled.

I wonder if hubby's flight home will make it over on Friday, being only a hundred seater, it's often grounded when the weather turns sour. Heading to the utility room, I leave her scoffing grapes as I re-stock the freezer.

Returning, I grab my ciggies en-route, and usher her through to the conservatory, opening the double doors for a smoke.

"Actually, I've come over to ask you a favour.."

She waves her hand in front of her face as I light up, nose wrinkled. Resentfully, I Step out into the garden.

"What's that, then?"

"Um, well - you know Andy?"

"Your married toy-boy?"

She giggles.

I don't know him, I've never even set eyes on him, but I certainly know of him. He lives with his wife and two kids, just a few streets away. When she is on the island, which admittedly is not that much now - not since she drained the joint bank account of her errant, absent husband's life savings, she and this guy (two years older than her son) have been having this rampant fling together.

I say rampant. He comes over during the day to get his leg-over. They can't be seen out together, as she's a "friend" of his family, and people might talk.

"Well, I was wondering.."

"Yeah?"

"Would it be alright if he parks his car in your drive when he comes over?"

What??

Clocking my face, she rushes on, "Well, no one can spot it from down here, can they? He can't park up at the top, everyone sees.."

I'm gob-smacked. No one can ever accuse her of being the most sensitive of souls, granted, but even I am surprised at her audacity. Separated from her husband, it's up to her what she chooses to do with her dubious love-life, but I'll be damned if she's dragging me in there.

"You nuts? You do realise I'm the one with the husband who works away?"

She shrugs, grinning. "But, you know hardly anyone anyway, it's different, I mean, everybody knows me over here, and well, it's not like your drive isn't shielded from the road, is it?"

Darn cheek! She is happy for me to look the scarlet floozy, just so long as it deflects any gossip away from her door. Do I really have "mug" tattooed across my forehead? This is rich, even coming from her!

Truth is, I never befriended this woman, she just took me over. I don't even like her. She never has a good word to say about anyone, myself included (as I indignantly discovered from a mutual acquaintance). So, why do I put up with it? I'll tell you why, because I hate unpleasantness, and we are neighbours, I tolerate her to keep the peace, and besides, she is a person known best not to cross. But not this time, nu-uh, there is a line, even for me.

Sheesh!

"Sorry, no can do. He'll just have to jump on his bike, and hope for the best."

It sailed clean over her head. She left genuinely puzzled as to what the big deal is.

Hmn. Human relations, complex, aren't they?

Reason For Justifiable Homicide ( # 1)

I am beginning to wonder if hubby hasn't in actual fact left home, he just hasn't plucked up the courage to tell me yet. After arriving back late on Friday night, he flew straight back out to London on Saturday morning. Back late again in the evening, he left early on Sunday, apparently to Dubai for the next two weeks.

Nice work if you can get it, huh?

At least I can't complain he's getting under my feet, eh? Still, as he tries to put me under an internet curfew when he's home, (emphasis on try) even being brave enough to hide my laptop upon occassion, I guess it all levels out. The only problem with not having him around is that, in his absence, I find myself picking up the slack as chauffeur to the multitude. Although it's less than a two mile run into town, we don't live near any public transport, and teenagers have this really annoying habit of having friends.

So it was, a few weeks back I found myself ferrying my two eldest kids (plus mates), to a disco (I'm sure that's not what they might term it, but before my slide into decrepitude, it's what I used to call it). .

Neither my eldest son, nor my eldest daughter had realised they would be sharing a ride. This is on account that they usually avoid attending any social gatherings together like the plague. Matt likes to play big bruv' and cramp her style, she likes to get even by telling his potential date of the night that he's already taken - you get the picture. So naturally, they were mortified to discover they had both purchased tickets to attend the same venue. Add their friends in to the mix, all of whom found it hysterical, you can imagine I was pretty darn relieved to finally dispatch them all off on to the pavement until the appointed collection time. Matt slammed off in a huff, rattling the door behind him. Not that I heard it, I'd earlier cranked the volume up full to "Beck" in hopes of drowning out the bickering.

You would not believe what an odious, sanctimonious, jumped-up excuse for a jobs-worth, aspiring Hitler that I then had the sad misfortune not to squash flat beneath the tread of my wheels! Blooming, power hungry, would be dungeon keeper. what the hell was his problem?? Jeeeesus. Give them a fluorescent jacket, they rule the world. No, he wasn't a policeman, he was a car parking attendant. Not that I was in a car park mind, I'm double parked on the busy promenade, trying hard to pull out between any let up in the crowd. It's a Saturday night and the place is jumping.

As Matt got out of the car, apparently our door knocked against a parked car. I didn't see this, but as I went to pull away, this little streak of vomit masquerading as a human robot stepped out in front of me and pulled me over. Yes, still being a good girl and respecting (even dubious) authority, I recognised his vest and didn't mow him down. (Little shit must be made of rubber, countless others before me must have done.)

He pointed out my error. I was polite, I pulled up, got out (in my bare feet and thin t-shirt in the dark, freezing night) and went to examine the other car. There was not a mark on it. I went back and informed him.

"You still should leave your number."

"Why? There's no mark there."

"Still, the decent thing to do."

"Come and look."

"Not for me to judge."

"Just look!"

"It's dark, there might be a mark in the morning,"

"Fine, give me a pen."

"Don't have one."

"Neither do I."

"Try one of those Pubs -"

"I'M IN MY BARE FEET, THERE IS NO MARK ON THE SODDING CAR, IF YOU CARE TO LOOK YOU WILL SEE."

"Decent thing to do."

I should go on to repeat all of the above several times over to give you the flavour of our repartee (adding in, the more adgited I am, the more my arms take on a life of their own, so now pointing, shrugging and flinging my elbows about in every which way, we are drawing a wee bit of crowd).

Deciding to appeal to my jury, I toss out, "Does anyone have a pen here??"

No takers.

Finally, feet frozen, I give up, and uttering the best witty, sure to be nominated as the most original put-down line ever, I tell him, " Go to hell!" (Gimme' a break, let's see you invent something better sporting a set of frost-bitten nipples).

I got back in the car and drove off to see the slimy prime example of a syphilitic birth taking my number down WITH A PEN.

Should have reversed (would surely have been the decent thing to do).

Dancing to a fine tune

I have two sisters, I'm in the middle. My baby sis' is much younger than me, my big blister is far older. Maybe it's because of the age gap we remain close. Or perhaps being raised by lunatics made us circle our wagons tight.

Shrug.

Either way, despite the busy lives we have to tend, on the rare occasion we do manage to sit under the same roof, it is always a quality, funny and replenishing time. Big sis' lives on the mainland, she flies over to visit with us only for one week a year. It's precious - and exclusive - husbands and children be damned, this is supposed to be our time. Sure, we'll make small talk with the clan, but it's only token, we're treading time to take off to the beach, or to slip out for lunch together - fact is it hardly matters where we go, so long as it's a safe place away from prying ears, a place where we can gossip, cuss and remind each other of our glory days. Frivolous, flirtatious, and outrageous, we laugh ourselves silly into mascara panda's, returning home damp-knickered and endorphin high to plot out our next day ahead.

Which is why I am so pissed off that my niece has lumbered us with her son, yet again.

The poor kid is alright, but being young, he's demanding, and like most six-year-olds, totally all-consuming. As an only child, he loves an audience - we don't get a minute's peace.

We can't get tipsy, I have to disappear when I want a smoke, and his ears are constantly flapping. I resent the hell out of him cramping our style. We've served our time, including sitting his own mother. It's just not fair! This is our turn.

Hey-ho.

Well, I mean, we can't exactly drag him along to the Comedy Club, to the Pub or even to the cinema with us, now can we? (Well, not to the kind of films we happen to like.) Forget a sitter, he's welded to his Gran's leg - if she so much as picks up her coat to leave he fusses and frets like hell. As she has been the only constant in his life, you can hardly blame him. (Oh, I'm sure he'd settle eventually, but the thing is, sis' wouldn't. The night would be ruined anyway.) And he won't as much even look at regular food, if it doesn't come with ketchup, chips and spaghetti hoops, just forget it. His doting mother doesn't stretch much to home cooking. He never stays in bed at night, yet he's up and about jumping for his cocoa pops by 5am (or so it feels). Worse, my lot have usually discovered this aforementioned sugar fix and scoffed it down by then (deprived bunch), resulting in us all waking to the dulcet tones of a full blown melt down.

Bless, eh?

"So," I hear you ask, "Why don't you simply have a talk with your big sis', tell her how you feel?" Because I love her, her other little sister loves her too, and the both of us know she has no choice but to take him along. Our darling niece sees to that.

Selfish bitch.

Where to start? She was an adorable kid until her family fell apart. Yes, blank slates are written upon, and mistakes are made - she wasn't born bad, but she sure as hell turned out that way. Big sis' has been paying the price forever since. I've lost count of the amount of blokes her grandson has had to call daddy. He even had a step-father for three whole months (his gran picked up the bill for the full white wedding and first class honeymoon to Venice, babysat him for the entire duration, and is still paying off the debt for the brand new house and furnishings her daughter - unemployed at the time - coerced - nay demanded, she sign up to). Yes, you may be right that sis' has made the rod to break her own back, but it's far too late to shut the stable door, the horse has long since bolted.

J hasn't one maternal bone in her body. Pregnant at 17, she put the wrong name on the birth certificate and claimed maintenance for the first two years (until the paternity test). My sis', (re-married), happily let J and her grandson live rent free with her and her husband for the first two years, placing her relationship with her second husband under a considerable strain. J spasmodically resumed her studies - she actually qualified as a teacher this year. In the interim, she dragged home a string of violent drug addicts to shag, used sis to raise her child, and hurled abuse and threats she would take her son away and disappear forever, should sis' dare to attempt to lay down any ground rules. The police were always at the door, the house often trashed. It was an absolute, pure living hell for everyone.

J is her only child, and J's father walked out on them when J was only five, sis' has always carried the guilt of that around, made excuses for her. Both my younger sis' and I have tried to be there, in fact both J and my big sister lived with me for a couple of years in the early days. But in reality, we all finally settled in different towns and our actual contact thereafter was spasmodic. When J acted out as a teenager, I took her on holiday with us to give my sister a break. It ended with us chartering a flight to fly her home again. Cost us a kings ransom, but we had no choice. She was completely out of control, and I truly feared for my children.

Sis' knew to seek help for her, and she did. Nothing seemed to work.

And, of course J is a master at hitting the right buttons to get what she wants from her mum. Although she has somewhat cleaned up her act, since moving out she still relies on her mum to bail her out and to virtually raise her son, sis' still works from home solely to support the pair of them.

This visit over here is my sister's one and only break, to come over here and to chill and relax. But J? She simply sees it as a golden opportunity to have a child-free week (she has a new man in tow). The sad truth is, my sis' is afraid to leave her grandson behind. J will do as she darn well pleases, regardless of whether he's there or not.

It's unnatural to detest someone of your own flesh and blood with such a vengeance, but so help me God, I honestly and truly could happily throttle this little cow.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!