Happy Febmas everyone, how long is it since we were all together? Are you glad to be back in the country Danny, back to civilisation?
Is that what you call it? Thank goodness I renewed my contract.
But I thought…
I don’t know how you live with your conscience, raking in all that money in a repressive regime while their citizens suffer.
Ahhem how was your holiday Lydia?
Remind me not to listen to Charles next time he suggests an adventure holiday. I’ve never been so cold in my life.
What did you expect at base camp darling?
For the money we paid, a lot more than a frozen solid tent.
Some of us can’t even afford a holiday to Bognor, mortgage and buying food…
You’ll be glad in the long run son, your mother and I never had a penny to spend on ourselves.
But you were happy ha ha…
Yes we were, we had fun with you all when you were young and you never went hungry like those poor families on television.
Humm, they just need to get a job and learn to cook proper meals like Mum did.
Not that simple Danny.
Let’s dwell on more cheerful things. Isn’t Jodie’s news wonderful.
What news?
The baby of course.
BABY!
I thought you knew, Danny.
Obviously not. How on earth did that happen? I thought you were with Annya?
I am.
Baby? I thought Jodie was a, you know, is she better now, got herself married?
Oh are you awake Aunty?
I thought you said Aunty Mable had no idea what’s been going on for the last five years.
Ssh, she has moments of lucidity.
Usually at the worst moment.
Annya and I really wanted to have a baby.
Don’t you need a chap for that, or did you get an anonymous donor?
Remember Joseph at school? He’s been wonderful and so thrilled to get the chance to be a father.
At last we get to be grandparents.
Not actually biological grandparents, but it will be just like the real thing.
What do you mean?
We used Annya’ egg, she couldn’t mess around being pregnant with her work.
My Arthur wasn’t up to it, that’s why we didn’t have children.
Oh Aunty that’s sad, did you want them?
Always used to blame the woman in those days, no such thing as low sperm count then. Though in our case Arthur just wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.
Wel, well family secrets coming out. Was he gay?
How should I know, we didn’t talk about that stuff.
Anyway, nothing wrong with my sperm count, but Avril and I have made a conscious decision not to have brats and I can’t think why Jodie would go to all that trouble to have one.
I didn’t expect any support from you Danny, after all, you did break the leg off my baby doll, that’s why I didn’t bother telling you.
You always bring that up, it was an accident.
No it wasn’t, you were always breaking our toys.
And stealing my Lego.
What about you Scot, are you still seeing Kamala, we thought you might have invited her here.
No, yes, I mean yes Kamala and I are an item and no I didn’t invite her as I didn’t want to put her through this. I knew exactly what it would be like.
Yes, who else would it be, why didn’t you answer before?
When?
Half an hour ago and several times before that.
I did get some caller unknown calls so of course I ignored them. I only answered this time accidentally. Why aren’t you calling from your phone?
Because I lost my phone, didn’t you get my text messages?
Was that really you, I thought it was one of those scams, I’m not daft. I’m certainly not going to be like those old people on You and Yours who lose all their money.
I wasn’t asking you for any money.
Good, because I’m certainly not sending any money to Morrocco. So are you enjoying your holiday?
I was till I Iost my phone.
Where did you lose it?
If I knew that I would probably have found it by now.
Where are you calling from?
I’m borrowing someone else’s phone so I can’t be long.
Whose?
A new friend.
Where’s Caroline?
Gone off on a trip with some bloke.
What, so you’re all on your own?
Mother, I’m 39, you don’t have to worry about me.
I obviously do if you’ve managed to lose your phone.
I just need you to go on line and get hold of my bank.
Can’t you phone them?
No, all that security stuff is on my phone.
I told you it’s not safe to do all your banking on your phone. How am I going to contact your bank, they closed my branch.
You just go on line.
But I don’t do on line banking for myself, let alone for anyone else and they would be suspicious. Come to think of it, how do I know this is you?
Of course it’s me, I’m your daughter.
But it could be one of those AI thingys cloning your voice…
The scent of the wood smoke brought back a memory. We were having a wood burner installed, my mother’s latest idea, all the rage then. No chopping wood as we do now, neatly bound stacks of suitable timber, factory sawn into identical chunks. They were delivered straight into the new designer wood store which provided enough cover to keep it dry, but still visible to impress the neighbours. It was my twelfth birthday and I took for granted our nice house, loving parents, good school and a host of activities. I was not spoilt, just happy, with everything to look forward to. Life was led at a frantic pace, but my friends’ families were just as frenetic. Our parents took turns ferrying us around to ballet classes, riding lessons, sleepovers. Several of us had auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent and were busy rehearsing, making our parents’ lives even busier. I felt a mixture of excitement and frustration that rehearsals were impinging on my precious riding lessons and the chance to go to the jumping competition. All that was missing was a pony of my own. Would I get one for my birthday?
Was I to blame for not caring about the rest of the world? My parents did not either. Later on, my mother would claim they were too busy working and looking after us. Chloe my sixteen year old sister did enough worrying for all of us, Eco Warrior Dad called her. She would inspect the Waitrose delivery to check if the food was healthy and correctly sourced. That week she was insisting she no longer flew and would not be coming on the plane with us for our Easter holiday. Dad retorted that the plane was going anyway so what difference would her absence make to the environment.
The camp fire crackled and I looked at my twelve year old granddaughter in the firelight. A love of horses was all we had in common, but she jumped raging streams and thorny hedges, not painted poles in a show ring. When she was little she adored stories of my childhood, now my memories bored her. I suppose they were always just fairy tales to her.
I didn’t get a pony for my birthday, unless they were keeping it as a surprise, but I did get lots of gifts, gaudy colourful teen stuff that I can’t recall now. Chloe had donated her pocket money to the children of Gaza instead. I knew about Gaza, but I did not see how her money would get there or help them. For my eleventh birthday she had given on my behalf to the children of Ukraine and that hadn’t stopped the war.
Those places were far away and my Piza party was what my friends were thinking about. Wood fired pizza, another smoky irony; tonight my seventieth birthday treat was on a spit, the young deer my grandson had shot.
I felt laughter suddenly well up. Chloe had not remained a vegetarian for long after it all happened. She was gone now of course. I was the only one left to remember those times. Dad had come home early; the only thing that was useful about his job in the media was that he was aware sooner than most of what was about to happen.
‘We’re leaving in half an hour, up to Cheshire, meet up with Uncle Alex, he’s found a salt mine.’
‘What the hell are you talking about’ said my mother.
‘What about Britain’s Got Talent’ I said.
Dad’s brother Alex was a scientist, Chloe’s favourite relative. Dad gabbled a few curt explanations in between his exhortations to get ready.
‘Shelter, safety, get out while we can.’
Chloe cheered and hugged Dad. ‘At last, one of my parents is going to break out of this smug middle class life and break into reality.’
She had her rucksack ready, packed a year ago to prepare for any and every emergency, war, pandemic, wild fires, floods…
Reality was far worse than Chloe could ever have bargained for, but she toughed it out and survived. My riding skills turned out to be invaluable. I got my pony, but not in the way I had dreamed of.
All I have are memories now. It has been a harsh life, but not all bad and I have been very lucky to survive till the agreed limit. Lucky to survive at all, there weren’t many of us. The human race always finds a way, but individuals have not been important for most of our history. Tomorrow they will break camp again, but this time I will not be going with them.
And in tonight’s news Storm Zelda has arrived. Red warnings remain in place for the whole of the British Isles. Experts say it is unprecedented to have had twenty six named storms in the first month of the year. Travel plans have already been thrown into chaos. All flights are being diverted to Reykjavik and many train journeys have been cancelled after landslides on several mainlines. The M1, M3, M6 and other motorways have experienced flooding and the RAC is advising drivers not to travel, even if it is absolutely necessary.
The RNLI is warning people to stay away from coastal areas. Mandy Mariner is speaking to us from Cornwall.
‘We are a volunteer organisation and no crew will be volunteering to go out tonight in this weather. People don’t realise that you can be sucked out to sea in seconds by wind and waves, so please do not go sightseeing, Instagram and Facebook are not worth risking your life for.’
His Majesty’s Coastguard has reinforced this warning, especially as all their helicopters are now grounded. In an emergency call 999 Coastguard, better still, avoid emergencies.
And in a dramatic move Deliveroo have suspended all deliveries.
For more details on tonight’s weather we go over to Gail Macleod who is on the end of the pier at Easton-super-Mare.
‘Wind speeds of up to 150 miles an hour have been recorded here this a…ft..er…noon an~~ emr~~~gen~~ ser~~~ ha~~ wa~~~
We seem to have lost Gail for a moment and we apologise for the sound quality of that report. So let’s go back to Sonny Dai in the studio and take a closer look at the weather map.
Welcome to Point of View and we start with your views on coverage of Storm Zelda. Delia Baxter sent us this email
‘How reckless of the BBC to send reporters out in Storm Zelda. Gail Macleod was out in the elements and not even wearing a hat, what sort of example is that?’
We managed to contact Gail, at present sheltering on an oil rig in the North Sea. She sent us this message.
‘I was wearing a nice warm hat, but unfortunately it blew away, along with my umbrella.’
‘A customer I presume, we find them sometimes in the morning, can’t find their way out and settle in for the night.’
‘But surely security do the rounds at closing time?’
‘Well it’s a very big store and five floors… ‘
The new young manager of LIKE stared at the customer care assistant, he was beginning to get an inkling why his predecessor may have resigned.
‘And when you find live customers in bed what do you do?’
‘Wake them up and give them a voucher for breakfast in the restaurant.’
‘That sounds fair enough.’
Live customers were so much easier to deal with. The manager wondered what the protocol for dead customers was, probably too late to try out the new defibrillator. He looked at the time, the store had been open for five minutes already. Sweet Dreams was on the top floor, but unfortunately so was the customer entrance from the car park.
‘Does anyone else know about this?’
‘No, only Val the cleaner, she skedaddled up to the staff canteen to have a cup of tea and get over the shock.’
‘Er, um ‘ Dean isn’t it,’ he tried to surreptitiously read the chap’s badge ‘get yourself right back there and head off any customers while I call security… Oh what did the bo…the customer look like?’
‘Very peaceful, with the LIKE swan down king sized duvet tucked up round his chin, could even have been part of the display.’
‘Security? Benson here… Jeremy Benson, no I’m your new manager, who’s in charge today? Suspended, so who is in temporary charge?… Brian? Jeremy Benson here, get up to Sweet Dreams immediately, we have a problem, I’ll meet you there. How many bedroom displays? Twenty seven, well look for the one with an occupied bed.’
It was Saturday morning and the store was buzzing already, just how he had imagined his dream job, but now a busy store was a nightmare. If news got out of this in the town or to their competitors it didn’t bear thinking of.
Two security women confronted him, he flashed his ID card and they looked vaguely embarrassed and very amused.
‘Is Brian here? Good, show me where the incident took place.’
Benson vowed to get to grips with the store layout as one of the women led him through a maze of three walled bedrooms and voluptuous bedding.
‘Good morning Brian, thanks for being so prompt.’
‘I presume you have called the police?’
‘NO! … I mean let’s assess the situation first.’
He stared at the luxury faux bedroom, which was much nicer than his own humble abode; who wouldn’t want to stay the night. He had never actually seen a dead body, perhaps this was a joke, a dummy from the Love Living show rooms.
‘Are we sure he is actually dead Brian?
‘Of course he’s bloody dead, I was with the ambulance service for twenty years, I thought this job would be nice and peaceful.’
‘So what is your normal security procedure?’
‘Usually the customers are not actually dead; they drop with exhaustion or have a panic attack when they can’t find the way out. Though we did have a heart attack victim the other week, first aid officer attended, paramedics came promptly and worked on him, that was when it was decided to get defibrillators.’
‘And did the customer survive?’
‘No, but luckily LIKE were cleared of any blame, natural causes.’
Benson looked around for inspiration as to what should be done. He spotted an assistant pushing a large trolley full of duvets and pillows.
‘Well Brian I think our first priority is removal. We don’t want to spoil our customer’s day by suggesting anything is amiss.’
The day got off to a bad start when I put the remote control in my bag instead of my phone.
As John was away on his business trip to Taiwan I was taking the car to work. Oliver rushed out the door saying ‘Bye Mum, don’t forget we’re all going round Roache’s tonight and I’m staying over ready for the match tomorrow.’
I had forgotten and had no idea who Roach was or where he lived. Since we moved to the new house Oliver spent even less time at home and frequently reminded us he had not wanted to move. But as John said, Oliver would be off to uni. next year and we couldn’t miss the opportunity to move to a place that was perfect for us, with room for John to work from home. The new estate was a good few stations further out from our old house and the town, but Oliver could get to school and me to work on the train.
I looked forward to a peaceful Friday evening. I could get a big shop on the way home as I had the car, a bottle of wine perhaps and Piza delivered.
I didn’t notice my mistake till I was in the office and went to check if John had left a message. The others thought it hilarious when I brandished the remote control.
‘Well it’s either the menopause or the stress of moving that’s done my brain in.’ I joined in their laughter.
I was always complaining Oliver never put his phone down for five minutes, so I was sure I could cope without my phone for one day.
At lunchtime I started to realise the implications of my mistake. How would I pay for lunch in the canteen? In my phone case was my bank card, but half the time I didn’t use that, I paid for things with my phone. ‘No one carries a purse around these days Mother’ Oliver had said frequently. Annie offered to pay. If I had known what lay ahead I would have had a good hot meal instead of a sandwich. Shopping was off my agenda, but I didn’t need anything urgently and why waste my precious evening going round the busy supermarket.
I drove home in a good mood, no waiting on a chilly platform for a train that might not come because of strikes or yet another landslide with all this rain we had been having. The sat nav came in handy because now it was dark I was not so sure I knew the way to our new house. Finally I was on the dark road by the common, home was not far and I would be glad to spot the street lights of the estate. But what I spotted were blue flashing lights, red flashing lights, yellow lights… what was going on? A yellow jacket flagged me down and I noticed barriers across the road. I was not sure who or what the yellow jacket was. A woman’s voice spoke.
‘Good evening Madam, police, I’m afraid we have set road blocks up, there has been an incident, or rather there is an ongoing incident, or I should say we are preparing for a major incident.’
‘What do you mean, it’s so quiet here. Which way shall I go, I have to get home.’
‘I’m afraid several roads are in lockdown, are you a local?’
‘Oakdene Avenue.’
‘I am sorry, but Oakdene Avenue is at the centre of the incident.’
‘What sort of incident?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.’
‘But what am I supposed to do, my husband’s in Taiwan.’
‘The other residents popped to friends’ or to the Harvester I think. Are you in the Oakdene Neighbourhood Whatsap group?’
‘No, we just moved in, I don’t know anybody.’
‘Give me your phone number and I will add your name, then you will get update messages and we can let you know if we have to arrange overnight accommodation for residents.’
‘I left my phone at home…’
Before I could say any more another car pulled up behind me and she left to give them the bad news.
On the pavement I saw a poor old lady standing alone. More to comfort myself than her I got out and went over.
‘I just got off the bus, oh dear, do you know what’s going on?’
‘No idea, we just moved into Oakdene Avenue and my husband’s in Taiwan and my son’s gone round to Roache’s house and I left my phone at home…’
‘Never mind, you can borrow my phone and call your son, or a friend.’
That’s when I realised I knew no one’s numbers, family or friends. Numbers stored in my phone, just tap the name you wanted to call…
‘I suppose you don’t remember the numbers, modern technology’ she chuckled ‘never mind dear, why don’t I call our local taxi company for you, they are very good.’
Where would I go, even if I had any means to pay the driver I had no idea where Roach lived. I heard a car draw up.
‘Oh here’s my lift, lucky I had my phone, I called my brother. My sister-in-law will have a good hot dinner waiting.’
And there she was gone. More emergency vehicles kept arriving, but I couldn’t see my police officer. I got back in the car to warm up and scrabbled around in the glove box for the car park purse. There should be enough change to buy a cup of coffee, perhaps even some chips in the café at that Tesco superstore a few miles back up the road. I could sit in the warm, restore my equilibrium then drive back to see if it was all clear. There should be plenty of change, we always paid for car parks with our phone these days… I couldn’t find the purse. I recalled John tidying up the car ‘Don’t know why we still keep this old purse in here.’
Plan, plan, think of a plan. The logical thing would be to drive back to where we used to live, though it was a good distance and not an easy drive in the dark. Who would I call on? Cassandra and Dan were in Australia. Other friends, a bit embarrassing as I had failed to send any Christmas cards in the madness of moving and hadn’t even sent any text messages. Nobody wants to be disturbed on a dark winter’s night when they are all cosy at home. What on earth would I say, the whole situation sounded ridiculous. On this dark cold lonely night I wondered how many real friends I had back in the old neighbourhood. Probably only Cassandra. There was only one way to find out who was in and who might offer a welcome.
I started the engine and various warning lights started flashing. I recalled John’s parting words ‘I’ll miss you Darling, oh by the way, the tank’s nearly on empty so make sure you fill her up when you leave in the morning.’
I was reading a story on Annika Perry’s blog and one of the phrases sounded familiar. When I reached the end she revealed
‘The above story celebrates some of the 80 books I read in 2023 and it’s fun to create a short narrative featuring a few of the titles.‘
The familiar phrases was the title of my novel ‘At The Seaside Nobody Hears You Scream’ and Annika had written a five star review. It’s always great to get a good review, especially if the reader ‘gets’ the story and style.
Congratulations to the author for this superbly crafted and original book that had me hooked from the very start. Toby Channing by accident became a private investigator following the disappearance of his girlfriend, Anna. A year later, he is still an unconfirmed police suspect in her disappearance while personally he is determined to find her. In the process he has set himself up a business in his camper van, travelling around the U.K. to areas special to Anna and helping people along the way, people who have lost someone close to them.
I love the dual aspects of this book, the unusual cases taken on by Toby, the original people he meets along the way and that even an amiable hyperactive robot and the supernatural flow seamlessly into the storyline. It shows the skill of the author how certain cases overlap with his search for Anna.
The story behind Anna’s disappearance is slowly revealed and takes on an even darker national secret.
I loved everything about ‘At the Seaside Nobody Hears You Scream’ and look forward to picking up more of Janet Gogerty’s books in the near future. Highly recommended.’
Available to download on Kindle or as a paperback.
The novel was not Toby Channing’s first appearance. In my collection ‘Someone Somewhere’ he features in a short story and in the two novellas that are linked to the novel and tell the full story behind the hyperactive robot and a supernatural romance.
This collection is different from my previous short story collections. As well as two novellas it includes a look at flash fiction from 75 words to 1000.
When Selina’s son tells her he is bringing someone for the weekend the guest is not what she is expecting. A summer solstice weekend at Durlswood House promises to be very pleasant, but events occur that will change the lives of two people forever. Someone is somewhere, but are they where they should be and who are they? Enjoy two very different novellas. How long is a story? How short is flash fiction? Four topical short stories and two chapters of flash fiction round up this collection and take your mind to somewhere you may not have been before.
Also available for kindle or as a paperback.
I am currently enjoying this collection of short stories by Annika Perry.
I can’t believe it’s my great grandson’s 100th birthday, seems like only yesterday I was saying ‘I can’t believe I’m a great grandmother.’
I was on the way out by then, several of those conditions eliminated or curable these days. Hanging around was not what I wanted and I set about applying on line to go to Switzerland. I’m still not sure what went wrong, but instead of signing up for Dignitas I had volunteered for Digitass; basically I was downloaded onto a home computer, stuck in my son’s living room forever. Though he’s long gone and I have been moved around a lot since then by various descendants.
Like Concorde and the space shuttle, oh you wouldn’t remember them, anyway Digitass didn’t last long before it was uninvented on moral grounds. I’m one of the lucky ones, not homeless. Those without family or descendants, or family that got fed up with them, were put in storage, staring at blank walls or switched off. That’s been hushed up for decades.
In answer to your question, nobody else in my family was downloaded before it was halted, they had a fair idea what it would be like. I have seen so many of my family die and it never gets any easier. It’s still rare for someone like my great grandson to reach a century, especially now it’s so easy to opt out.
I don’t really get bored; the ‘great-great-greats’ bring their friends like you to talk to me, ask me questions for homework, or just dead curious, ha ha, Dead curious, I can still make jokes. On the rare occasions the family are not too busy, they take me out for ‘a bit of fresh air.’ The irony lost on them that I can’t smell the fresh air. I am glad to see the outside world though, strangely the first quarter of the 22nd century looks very much like the world we were promised in the early years of the 21st century.
Do you know what I miss most, apart from independence? Food. When I see them sitting round stuffing their faces I can almost recall what taste was like. The days are so long without meal breaks and the conviviality of the family dinner table. And what wouldn’t I give for a cup of tea.
The nights are even longer of course as I need no sleep. I have considered applying to be switched off, but that is still against the law and my family don’t approve.
Dilys opened her freezer to discover a bottle of vodka in the top drawer. When she opened the fridge door she did not recognise any of the contents, oat milk, tubs of strange coloured dips and cans of drinks she had never heard of. ‘So This Is Christmas’ she hummed to herself. Well, she wanted to be taken out of her comfort zone.
She opened the back door to check on the weather and was alarmed to see clouds of smoke. Stepping out she was overwhelmed with memories of the little sweet shop.
‘Is it okay if we vape out here Aunty Dill, don’t want to do it indoors and have the little ones see us.’
‘Oh um yes, so that’s what vaping is, I didn’t think it would smell so sickly, I mean sweet.’
‘Different flavours.’
For years Dilys and Joan never saw any family at Christmas, or any other time. The nephews and nieces had their own busy lives to get on with and apparently assumed the two sisters were happy going to church on Christmas morning and having Mr Baxter next door round for lunch. But they were not church goers and Mr Baxter would leave the usual tin of Quality Street for them and fly off somewhere exotic till it was all over. Dilys much preferred Roses chocolates.
When Joan died, leaving Dilys the only survivor of that generation, the families of her late brothers suddenly became aware of her existence and decided she must not be alone at Christmas. They assured her that having three generations to stay in the big house would be no trouble as they would bring all the supplies and do the cooking.
After what happened with Gerald, Joan had insisted she return to the family home they had been brought up in. Joan had stayed on in the house after the death of their parents, the home left solely to her as she had cared for them. It had only been for a few weeks as father had died unexpectedly and mother suddenly deteriorated. Presumably they also left Joan the house as Dilys and her older brothers were all settled in life; they could not have predicted what would happen with Gerald. Dilys had intended it only to be a temporary stay, but there was plenty of room in the large family house and she never worked out how to earn enough to get her own place. There had been a plan B to go travelling, but that never materialised.
With Joan gone she realised she now had the independence she had sought for so long. Dilys quickly established a new community for herself, new friends and interests. Most women seemed to end up on their own at this age, it didn’t matter how they got there. New friends and acquaintances were uninterested in her past and if they did enquire, her enigmatic references made what happened with Gerald sound far more interesting than it actually had been.
There were now things to do and places to go other than the dreaded evenings of Bridge Joan insisted on. Once back indoors Dilys found she was not lonely as she explored the internet on the new home computer the silver surfers class had helped her install.
The young relatives had bought her an iPad and iPhone for Christmas and installed some aps, whatever they were. She was nervous about using the iThingy, but if she got stuck, Mr. Baxter or the silver surfers would help her. Dilys was determined to advance into the future with her new independent self and prove Joan wrong that all this modern stuff was not for them.
Her family seemed to include cooks, computer experts and DIY whizzes so her home was getting a lot of improvements. She had taken a deep breath and tried to laugh it off when she trod on Lego, not cringe when the antique dining table suffered various spillages and not worry as unrinsed beer cans and worse were tossed into her recycling bin.
A couple of days after Christmas Dilys ventured into the living room where her nice new television, installed by that friendly chap from the family run business in the high street, had taken on a life of its own. Dilys could work the remote, switch it on and off, change the few channels she watched and even record programmes. But it seemed the television was a computer gone mad. The older children asked her questions like ‘Have you got Netflix, where’s your Amazon firestick?’ She had no idea what they were talking about. Now there was no one in the room and the television was blaring out advertisements followed by frightening cartoon characters who loomed out of the screen. Tentatively she turned the set off and settled down to do her crossword. Suddenly a toddler came hurtling into the room, stopped in surprise then screamed out ‘Mummy, Mummy, Mr. Bobbly Bod’s gone.’
The house was no longer her own, when did they say they were all going? She crept up to her bedroom, the only sanctuary she had and searched for her tablets and library book. Her once calm pretty room was now stashed with all manner of things that had been rescued from the toddler.
Dinner that night was delicious, a dish she could never have made herself, though it was hard to relax and enjoy it with the toddler throwing food on the floor and a baby squishing food all round its face and all over the high chair, baby led weaning this was called. Of her many regrets at what happened with Gerald, never having children was not one of them. The presence of the little ones and stroppy pre-teens confirmed this. She looked around the crowded dining room. Her mother had always loved filling this big room with family and visitors and would have known exactly who was who. Dilys could identify her nephew and niece, but their partners were different to the original ones she and Joan had met. She was confused as to which babies belonged to who. One great niece had a wife, but who gave birth to the baby with whose egg and who the father was, no one seemed to know.
A great nephew was having his turn with the children for Christmas, but they had to be whisked off to the airport tomorrow and returned to their mother in New York. The way they behaved, she imagined this would be a great relief.
Dilys was too tired to contribute much to the conversation, they were all absorbed in discussions about new kitchens, Veganuary and child care. She smiled to herself. What tales she would have to tell the ‘gals’ at their next coffee morning and post Christmas debriefing. As she mused on the past, present and future of her family she detected a change in topic.
‘Yes we might as well stay on till New Year’s day at least, then we could all go out on New Year’s Eve, Aunty Dill won’t mind babysitting.’
Why they pinpointed our house I have no idea. I have no interest in celebrities and would not recognise one if they were on my doorstep. Which is why I did not recognise the celebrity on my doorstep this morning. I could not even tell if they were man or woman, girl or boy, but that was okay because nor could they. Apparently they are non binary and like to be referred to as they, even though there is only one of them.
I was on my doorstep in my dressing gown this morning because it was bin day and I was about to fetch the wheelie bin off the pavement before Betty came by with her rollator.
There they were with one foot on my doorstep and camera crew, microphones and blindingly bright lamps squeezed onto our narrow front path. I hadn’t even brushed my hair because it’s still dark these December mornings and I was not expecting to see anyone. If Roger hadn’t had his DIY accident he would have already fetched the bin in and gone to get his paper.
‘Good morning, six days till Christmas, how are you feeling?’
At that moment the front door slammed behind me; we still have a yale lock.
‘Trapped’ was my terse reply.
‘Ha ha, just like I was, but congratulations, you are the winner of today’s Christmas Cheer. Your decorations certainly brighten up this road.’
‘All my husband’s doing, he gets a bit carried away, that’s how he had his accident on the ladder.’
Our house did stand out, mainly because nobody else in our little road bothered. Why the celebrity and this team from Cheerful Cornflakes Channel had come to the dullest town in Britain, I had no idea.
By now the neighbours across the road, who never talk to anybody, were at my front gate, grinning like idiots, while Betty was caught in the spotlight like a frightened rabbit. I should have been in the shower getting ready for work.
When I finally did get to work I didn’t have to explain, they had all seen me on Cheerful Cornflakes Christmas special. It seemed Roger and I were the only people on the planet who had never watched I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of the War Zone. My celebrity was famous for not doing anything and being famous. They had won the competition, though as they had to be rescued by the SAS I don’t think that should count.
They were quite nice actually and came in for a cup of tea. Roger was bemused as he had no idea what had been going on outside. They asked him about his lighting arrangements, but it wasn’t a very interesting interview. Roger’s not a very interesting person. He isn’t on Facebook so nobody knows about our house and we don’t raise money for charity. Now everybody knows about our house.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 