family

Home From Home

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 35 Comments

Staying in someone else’s home is the topic I chose for our writers’ group when it was my turn this week. It covers a wide range of experiences from world leaders being the guests of royal families, to school children going on sleepovers, so I am expecting them all to have come up with a piece.

I have stayed in many homes, sometimes those of strangers. As the eldest in the family I was often farmed out to make way for visiting friends and relatives. Looking back now, senior me would be appalled at the thought of sleeping on a stranger’s living room floor with several friends. Last week I did sleep in an office; modern working from home means spare bedrooms have become offices. However, the sofa bed was very comfortable and I did have exclusive use of the shower room next door, except when boys were having showers or going for a …

How kind were the many people who put me and friends up on various travels. Nowadays I prefer to be the hostess not the guest and we have had many people to stay over the years.

Whether you are staying or having visitors, the bad experiences are more fun to write about.

Worst Sleepover

My younger son and his best friend, plus a boy we had never met, were taken to the speedway by BF’s Dad. They enjoyed the evening and the sort of takeaway food you can get away with when there are no mothers around – this fact is relevant to the story.  They then came back to our house to get settled into sleeping bags in our son’s room.

At 3am our bedroom door was flung open and son announced that the ‘other boy’ had been sick in his sleeping bag.

Worst Christmas – also involving vomiting.

My friend and I left Perth, Western Australia, having cadged a lift across the Nullabor Plain with a family friend. Our final destination was Tasmania. My friend being a laid back Aussie country girl assured me her various relatives would be happy to put us up. Our first stop was her aunt in South Australia for Christmas. They had an apricot farm near the Murray River and another aunt lived across the road. They also owned a shop down in the town – relevant fact.

They welcomed us in the lead up to Christmas and we planned to leave on Boxing Day. Christmas Eve proved eventful as the aunt across the road was having a miscarriage and my friend commandeered our driver to take Aunty to hospital. I was left alone to look after her other children, who I had never met before, in a house I had never been in and feed them.

Christmas Day was very pleasant, but that night my friend and I were awoken by the most horrendous noise. Our driver had food poisoning… what we subsequently discovered was that other visiting relatives had noticed one of the freezers in the family shop was dodgy and had warned each other not to touch the chicken.

We set off for Melbourne the next morning with my friend assuring our poor driver he would be fine. We made it, but I succumbed to the food poisoning the following day.

At some stage we bade farewell to our driver and went to stay with another aunt and uncle in a posh house. After a couple of nights we took a coach to Sydney where we stayed in a Girls’ Friendly Society hostel. We had to sign back in before midnight, even on New Year’s Eve. We then returned to Melbourne for a planned second short stay with the aunt and uncle before our flight to Tasmania, but they had mysteriously disappeared on holiday!

With no money set aside for accommodation we wandered into a respectable Christian bookshop in the city and asked a young shop assistant if she knew any cheap accommodation. She replied that her father had just gone away for a few days and she would be delighted to have some company to stay as she did not like to be alone.

What are your best or worst experiences of staying in someone else’s home? Take this quiz to find out if you are a good guest.

Your host is lactose intolerant, vegetarian and teetotal. Do you arrive with

A  a homemade vegan cake you have made especially

B  a lovely bouquet of flowers

C  a bottle of wine, box of chocolates and pork pies from ‘our lovely farm shop’.

One person in the family has to get up very early and catch a train to work. You always wake up early so do you

A  Check the night before what time they go out the door, so you do not get in their way. Hide under the covers not making a sound in case they worry they have woken you up.

B  Dash in the shower and hope you are out before they want to come in the bathroom.

C  Get up to make a cup of tea for both of you and take the chance to have a nice catch up chat.

Your host is cooking the evening meal, do you

A  Peep round the kitchen door say ‘You don’t want any help do you’ and retreat quickly.

B  Ask if there is anything you can do and keep out of the way of the cooker and the cook while you peel the potatoes as requested.

C  When the cook says ‘No you go and watch television, I don’t need any help’ insist on helping and showing how you usually do the potatoes and catching them up with all the latest events in your life.

All Cs, I am away that week, sorry, though I do like chocs and wine…

All As and Bs I’ll just check the calendar…

All As  You are welcome to stay

Tuesday Tale – A New Helper

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 21 Comments

Read the previous story about Elizabeth here.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Chairs

At the Cosy Toastie café Elizabeth’s friends had gathered for their regular coffee morning and eagerly listened as she shared her latest mishaps with the reclining chair her son had bought her. Nobody, including Elizabeth, was sure of the circumstances that had led to John moving in with his mother and there were mixed feelings about the benefits.

‘At least he managed to rescue my old armchairs from the tip and he’s having them professionally reupholstered; unfortunately that will take a while.’

‘But I’m envious you have someone to reach high shelves.’

‘And reach the smoke alarm to pull it off the wall when it’s beeping…’

‘Yes true, though it’s usually John that sets it off. Anyway, I’ve got my handy steps, I’ve had them for years, though I haven’t used them since John moved in. He got those boxes down from the top of the wardrobe that I’ve been meaning to sort out for years; though I had rather they stayed up there; his ideas of what to keep and what to throw!

When the taxi dropped Elizabeth home she was relieved to find a note from John saying he had been called in to work. She was grateful that whatever his job was exactly, it could not all be done from home on the computer. A nice simple cheese omelette for lunch she decided, but where had the cheese grater gone? A search of the cupboards under the countertop was to no avail so she decided to look in the top cupboards; there on the highest shelf was her cheese grater, why on earth had John put it up there? When she went to fetch her trusty steps from their usual corner they had disappeared. As she turned she stepped back into somebody and gasped in fright.

‘Oh it’s you John, I didn’t hear you come in, why do you have to creep around?’

‘I thought you didn’t like me being noisy?’

‘Never mind, now you’re back you can tell me what you’ve done with my steps.’

‘Those dreadful old things, I’ve got rid of them, health and safety.’

‘I couldn’t reach the cheese grater, I need those steps when you’re out.’

‘Remember what happened to Aunt Dorris.’

‘She was ninety nine and had dementia and those legs of hers.’

‘Well it’s best to be prepared, you’re lucky I work for such an innovative company. I’ve got you something very handy, or rather someone who can reach everything and do all those jobs you find difficult.’

‘I can manage fine.’

‘Just come and look in the dining room for the surprise.’

In the corner of the dining room stood a skeletal metal figure.

‘What on earth is that?’

‘Our new prototype, Rufus, you are very privileged to be the first to try it out.’

Elizabeth had never been quite sure what John’s work involved.

‘I thought your company made production lines for factories?’

‘That was when I was an apprentice, we’re in the Twenty First Century now. In Japan they have robots as carers in old people’s homes.’

Elizabeth shuddered. ‘Like those waiters on wheels I suppose. Couldn’t you have given this one a smiley face?’

‘It’s built for action and should transform the lives of the eld… all sorts of people. Do you want a demo?’

Elizabeth’s revulsion at the stranger in her home changed to nervous delight at the news she would have for her friends.

‘Where are his buttons?’

‘He doesn’t have any, you just talk to him like Alexa.’

‘Who on earth is Alexa?’

‘He won’t move unless you say his, um.. its name, otherwise it would be havoc.  Rufus, go into the kitchen.’

The figure stretched its arms and legs and wobbled past the table, knocking the paint off the door frame as he went into the hall. Mitsy barked at it then retreated rapidly into the garden. Elizabeth was impressed when Rufus did indeed go into the kitchen.

‘How could he know where to go?’

‘In layman’s terms I downloaded a 3D map of the house.’

Elizabeth was nervous of Rufus and avoided speaking or going near him when John was out, telling herself the dog needed time to quietly get used to its presence. She gave evasive answers when her son returned and asked her how she and Rufus were getting on. John had him pushing the vacuum cleaner and loading the new dishwasher. Elizabeth was slightly miffed that the robot was better than her at learning new gadgets.

When John went away overnight to an important conference, Elizabeth was reluctantly forced to try out Rufus so she could make dinner. John and the robot between them had put away the new weekly Sainsbury delivery and she had no idea what John had ordered or where Rufus had put it. Feeling slightly ridiculous she said to herself, now let’s see how clever you are Rufus Robot and out loud

‘Rufus, get out a tin of tomatoes.’

As he headed for the kitchen Mitsy crouched and growled, then went and hid in her bed.

The robot reached up, opened the cupboard door and clasped a tin, lowering it carefully onto the counter top.

‘Oh clever boy’ Elizabeth found herself saying until she looked at the can and saw it was raspberries.

Well he was probably just a toddler in robot terms, cleverer than John at that age.

‘Rufus, find a tin of Italian whole tomatoes.’

This time the long fingers were rifling through the tins on another shelf and he brought down a tin in each hand, placing them next to Mitsy’s water bowl. Peaches and soup. She would have one more try, with all the shuffling around she had spotted the tomatoes.  If he didn’t get it right this time she might call Fran down the road and ask if she wanted to try out that new pizza place.

She pointed up to the highest shelf.

‘Rufus get the tinned tomatoes.’

The robot headed to another cupboard and put his hinged fingers round the old flower vase, but as he lifted it down he lost his grip and it shattered on the tiled floor. Elizabeth sighed and imagined herself trying to get down and sweep up. Then she had an idea and handed Rufus the brush and dustpan.

Before she could utter an instruction he cranked into action and started sweeping. Elizabeth smiled as she imagined this story for her friends. Seeing Mitsy’s nose appear round the door she ushered her away from dangerous splinters. She turned back into the kitchen in time to see Rufus emptying the dustpan into the dishwasher.

Thursday Tiny Tale – Lottie’s Weekend

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 13 Comments

Today’s tale follows on from last week.

Thursday Tiny Tale – Have You Stayed With Us Before?

Charlotte sat by the river, the sun on her face, note book on her lap. She was living the dream; not just coping with her new life, but actually a full time writer writing. Full time because she hadn’t found a job yet, but nevertheless she was like any writer or artist on the way up… now she just had to put pen to paper. She had no idea what was in the note that Lottie received, but if she just started scribbling…

Lottie looked round the gloomy hotel room and realised she should have splashed out on a luxury room not a cosy room. Cousin Ruth’s idea of posh hotel should not have been relied upon. She opened the envelope, hoping to find out what and where was happening next on this strange weekend.

Hello Cousin Lottie, so looking forward to meeting you and it is so good of you to come after everything that happened in the past. I don’t know how much Callum told you. I hoped we would hear from him one day, but it was not to be and we had no way of getting in touch.

I’m sure they wouldn’t want us lot in that posh restaurant at your hotel so we’re meeting at a nice family pub round the corner that has a soft play area. Malc my nephew will wait for you in the hotel foyer 6.30pm.

It was already six, not much time to get ready with her things still in her case, but it was hardly a book launch or one of Callum’s business diners. She would probably be back in the cheerless room quite early so she checked the television, or at least stood there wondering how it worked. Callum used to like playing with televisions and remotes so it was taken for granted he would start fiddling with buttons while she arranged her toiletries in the bathroom. Then they would watch a bit of news while looking at the menu to see what the hotel restaurant was offering. The soulless room brought home to her how much she missed Callum and their shared life, she couldn’t even arrange her toiletries in an en-suite obviously created out of a cupboard.

Please bear with us while modernisation proceeds to make your favourite hotel even more comfortable. Read the message on the welcome card. Lottie scrolled down to room instructions and pressed the button on the television. It came on at full volume with a quiz show hosted by that bloke on TV she couldn’t stand. The numbers on the remote did not relate to changing channels. She switched off and prepared to do battle with the heavy fire door.

In the foyer a middle aged man stood looking like he didn’t want to be there.

‘I’m Malc, you must be Lottie? Come on, let’s get this show on the road.’

He ushered her first through the double doors onto the pavement where it was now pouring with rain, though he didn’t seem to notice. The place was just round the corner to her relief. Through the door past a life size model of a highland stag and Lottie wondered how much stranger the evening could get. She also wondered which of the many families eating and wandering back and forth to the carvery were Callum’s relatives. Suddenly a woman with a halo of red hair and flowing garments rushed forward and clasped her in her ample arms.

‘Well here we are at last, come this way.’

As they approached a long table laden with food the folk gathered round it seemed more interested in eating than greeting. Lottie imagined how she would describe the scene to Callum, then realised she could never tell him. Suddenly a figure stood up.

‘Lottie Lincoln, I’m so excited to meet you, I’ve read all your books.’

A young woman, smartly dressed with a sleek elfin haircut, squeezed past the others.

‘You lot make room for Lottie while I take her to the carvery and show her what’s what.’

She guided Lottie in what seemed a complicated route past tables and a strange cage containing bouncing children.

‘Soft play area, godsend, some of those kids are ours apparently. I’m new in the family, in law like you. We have something in common. I’m Tilly, my husband’s a vicar, not here yet, been called out to some pastoral emergency.’

‘Good to meet you, I am rather overwhelmed.’

‘Not surprised, but I think I can rescue you, coming to us for morning coffee tomorrow and I’ll fill you in. Must look after my favourite author.’

Lottie had found a new friend and inspiration for a new novel, her head was spinning, but she just had to get through this evening and stay close to Tilly.

Charlotte felt quite excited, what an interesting family, hard to believe she had just created them herself and what on earth had happened in the past? She had no idea.

Thursday Tiny Tale – Have You Stayed With Us Before?

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 15 Comments

While I have been on holiday Charlotte Charlington has been writing more about her new leading character, Lottie Lincoln.

Lottie nearly fell out of the train. The platform seemed a long way down and she had got flustered trying to work out whether her wheelie weekend case should go before or after her. At least she had arrived at the right station.

The invitation to visit had come from some vague cousin of her late husband; neither of them had many relatives and Callum had never mentioned a cousin Ruth. She had been lurking on the last page of his old address book, so Lottie had added her to the list of people to write and inform of her husband’s sudden death. There was no way of knowing if she was still living at the same address near Peterborough or even if she was still alive, so Lottie was surprised to soon receive a reply and an invitation to visit. Her writer’s mind suspected an ulterior motive, did they assume she was a rich widow? But her author’s mind also thought Ruth’s family could provide excellent inspiration for her writing. She had been relieved to hear the large blended family had no room for her to stay in comfort and had booked the recommended local posh hotel.

Lottie checked her phone again. The latest of several text messages said Si would pick her up at the front of the little station in five minutes. No other passengers were loitering looking out for lifts so presumably he would find her. When she saw a young man jump out of a scruffy white van she wished she had taken a taxi.

‘Hey Lottie, over here.’

Her case twisted sideways as she stepped off the curb. Husbands were so useful for dealing with luggage.

Si quickly appeared at her side.

‘I was coming over to help.’

He picked the case up with ease and slung it into the back of the van, setting a dog barking. Lottie winced. Si led her to the passenger door.

‘I hope you’re more athletic than Gran.’

Lottie hoped he didn’t think she was as old as his grandmother.

‘Step’s a bit high up, just swing yourself in, sorry about the mess.’

He swept crisp packets off the seat and made an attempt to move empty water bottles and drink cans out of the way of her feet. A larger fury head suddenly appeared between the seats. Lottie hastily moved her right arm away from the drooling mouth.

‘That’s Brutus, quite harmless. Hey Brute, you haven’t been furtling around in Lottie’s luggage have you?’

Lottie shuddered.

They swung out of the car park at full speed and hurtled through featureless streets till they pulled up at a straggling building that could be a pub, a hotel or an office block. Si left her to clamber out while he fetched her case and let Brutus out.

‘Okay Brute, you can get back in the front seat now.’

He strode up to the glass doors and Lottie hoped he would leave her at the steps to regain her composure.

‘Never been inside this place before, um reception this way, I’ll leave you at the desk. Oh I nearly forgot, Gran gave me a note for you, just to tell you where we’re all meeting up for dinner. Right, gotta go, see you later.’

A young woman behind the desk smiled then rattled off some questions by rote. ‘Have you stayed with us before? What was your name? Is it just yourself staying? Would you like to book breakfast, any allergies?’

Lottie supposed this was what it would be like, going on holiday by oneself. She didn’t count this as a holiday and hoped she looked like she was away on business. Lottie realised the girl was still talking and handing her a blank rectangle of white plastic.

‘It hasn’t got any writing on it.’

‘For security, just swipe it over the lock, the door is a bit heavy, fire door.. Through the double doors, turn left and you’ll see the lift, room 424.’

The phone on the desk rang and the girl answered before Lottie had a chance to say she didn’t like lifts. She reminded herself she was a successful author who had stayed in hotels for conferences, but Callum had always come along as well.

She pulled her shoulders back and tried to look blasé as other guests sauntered past. In the lift she pressed the button for the fourth floor, held her breath and closed her eyes. Stepping out she was confronted by three doors with room numbers and selected 413-429. She entered a dark corridor, squeezing past a trolley full of sheets and toiletries and cups. 414, 415… the corridor took a sharp turn and became darker and narrower. 419, 420… she was confronted by a set of steps and another corner. How would she ever find her way out again.

Once more she held her breath as she pressed the plastic card against the lock. On the second try there was a flash of green light and with great difficulty she pushed the door open, tripping over the case as she squeezed through, the door was determined to slam shut.

Inside, the décor was the latest in interior trends, grey. Lottie thought longingly of her little cottage, then reprimanded herself. Ladies her age were still out reporting in terrible war zones so she should cope with this weekend. She opened the note, wondering where or when she was actually going to meet Ruth.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Roses

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When I arrived, Uncle Brian was furtling around in the compost heaps.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Potpourri potential.’

He was a man of few words.

‘I can’t imagine you will find anything fragrant there.’

‘Potpourri for insects, a quick way to attract all sorts of creatures when you are rewilding your garden.’

‘The customers who come to Grandma’s rose nursery are unlikely to be into rewilding are they?’

‘Sell on the internet, besides, roses are going.’

‘Going?’

‘Yup, going same way as your gran.’

He turned his head and nodded towards the Victorian brick tool shed, behind which smoke spiralled into the air. Now he had drawn my attention I noticed the divine scent of wood smoke and wandered in that direction. My grandmother, his mother, had requested she be cremated and her ashes placed in her favourite rose bed, but the cremation was not taking place till next week. I tiptoed round into the yard to be confronted by a tangle of burning rose wood.

‘Has there been some kind of rose disease?’

I did not know much about Grandma’s beloved roses, but I knew she inspected every leaf and petal for signs of spottling.

‘No, told you, roses are going, getting a rotavator in, then let the grass grow, the seeds blow and the weeds return.’

It was the longest speech he had ever made.

‘Does Mum know what you are doing?’

‘Nope, doesn’t need to, this was left to me.’

It was true that Brian had been the one who lived and worked here and frankly we assumed Grandma left the nursery and house to him as the prospect of him working or living elsewhere was unlikely.

A few weeks later we took Grandma’s ashes with us to the Chelsea Flower Show where she had had many successes with her prize roses. We met up with her good friend Gerald, a Chelsea Pensioner who had a red rose named after him. He was wearing a ‘Captain Gerald’ rose bud in his button hole and took us to a quiet spot in a rose garden where the Pensioners liked to sit and where three of his rose bushes took pride of place. No one was around so we quickly interred the ashes in the bed and left Gerald to his memories.

A few more weeks passed and we hadn’t heard much from Uncle Brian, but that wasn’t unusual. Mum thought we should pay a duty visit soon. That evening we sat down to watch Gardeners’ World, commenting on roses that weren’t as wonderful as Grandma’s.

‘Actually, I never really liked roses in the garden,’ said Mum ‘all that trouble and most of the year they are prickly skeletons. But birthdays, Xmas, new babies what did I always get? Another rose; climbers, ramblers, patio pots, bushes, old classics, new varieties named after us….’

‘How come we have so few in the garden then?’

‘I don’t think roses liked me, they never thrived and often died. Brian had the right idea.’

As if he had heard her the presenter moved on to the next segment.

‘While many people treasure their roses, others feel the need for a change. We visit a former rose nursery in Surrey where all the roses have been dug up and the whole area rewilded. Brian Floribunda has just been recognised as holding the national collection of dandelions.’

There was Uncle Brian standing amongst waist high grass surrounded by tall dandelions waving in the breeze.

‘How long did it take you to establish this wonderful collection?’

‘Few weeks, they pop up everywhere given the chance, quick turn around, not long to breed new varieties.’

‘How many varieties are there?’

‘Fifty Seven so far, just working on creating a blue dandelion.’

‘That sounds incredible or impossible.’

‘Not as difficult as producing a true black… got to get on…’

Uncle Brian turned away and the presenter was unable to get any more conversation out of him. The camera panned round the Field of Gold.

‘Grandma must be turning in her rose bed’ I said.

‘Especially as she never managed to appear on Gardeners World’ said Mum.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – White Feather

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Sam was looking forward to a peaceful Friday evening after a busy week at the lab. The house was quiet, Jill was bound to be in the garden as it was her day off and the weather fine.

The back door was open and Jill jumped up from a flower bed and rushed up to the patio to greet him.

‘What’s the excitement, have you found a rare butterfly?’

‘Mother’s been!’

Sam was taken aback. His mother-in-law had died three weeks ago, peacefully, in her 98th year. He thought Jill was coping well.

‘Jill, what do you mean?’

‘I found a white feather.’

‘You surely didn’t believe all that stuff your mother used to talk about?’

‘You didn’t believe, I kept an open mind. Mum said she would send a sign if she could.’

‘A feather left by some moth eaten pigeon…’

‘A perfect pure white feather floated down just as I was tidying round that shrub Mother gave us. At least let me show you.’

Jill moved across to the kitchen door, reached in for the lop sided jug her mother had made at U3A pottery class and pulled out a very large snowy white feather.

‘Okay, not a pigeon but a handsome swan. Did you see any flying overhead?’

‘No, we’re miles from any river.’

‘Well, all sorts of things get blown in the wind. If she wanted to send a message why not something useful or tangible.’

 ‘I imagine its not easy being dead, especially if you’re new at it. Besides, there must be rules, otherwise we would all be inundated with messages from the other side.’

‘Jill, we don’t get messages from the dead because they are no more. It’s the Twenty First Century, we’ve grown out of all that stuff.’

‘You scientists don’t know everything, I felt so peaceful out there in the garden, knowing Mother was happy.’

‘That’s your serotonin kicking in. A sunny day in the garden always makes you happy and you were also thinking about your mother. I’m a physicalist what you see is what there is, that’s it. Your mother is still with you, but in your memories.’

‘We can both see this feather, how do you explain that?’

‘Your guardian angel flew over, ha, ha, dropped in to help with the weeding.’

‘Why don’t you test its DNA in your lab?’

‘I will, might even contribute to our current bird studies. Right, I’m going up to check my emails before dinner.’

Sam looked out of his office window at the patchwork of little back gardens below. He told himself he was appreciating the colourful display Jill had created in their back garden, not looking for swans or angels. He noticed something new in next door’s garden, a large colourful playhouse. The new young couple had only just moved in and already Jill had discovered they were expecting their first baby, a bit early to be buying expensive Wendy houses… then he noticed movement on the overgrown lawn. Chickens, so that must be a modern state of the art hen house, hopefully fox proof. Shouldn’t be any trouble unless there was a cockerel to wake them up. At that moment there was a fluttering amongst the drab brown and speckled hens as a proud rooster strutted out. A dashing snow white rooster with a scarlet cockscomb. Sam dashed downstairs to tell Jill the mystery was solved.

Jill was excited to see the new livestock, but held the long straight flat feather aloft triumphantly.

‘This did not come from a rooster, magnificent as his curling tail feathers are.’

Sam arrived at the lab early on Monday morning; frivolous use of the facilities was frowned upon and he did not fancy telling the others he was checking for angel DNA. But the quicker he could identify the feather as belonging to a swan or an albino peacock the better.

The results made no sense, the feather was apparently freshly shed, clean and undamaged so the results could not be corrupted.  The DNA looked like none he had ever seen before, certainly not belonging to any bird. If anything it was closer to homo sapiens, yet different, not to mention the fact that there were forty six pairs of chromosomes. He had already started from scratch again and achieved exactly the same results. Far more study would be needed to venture any theory as to what sort of creature this feather came from. He could be holding unique scientific information, but how could he tell his colleagues, what should he tell Jill?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Out of the Blue

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I spotted him on Facebook. He had the same surname, my maiden name, an unusual name that I never come across outside my family. Was this Brian standing on a mountain top a relative? He was gazing across a rolling green landscape. His words with the picture were ‘Fantastic trail and so therapeutic.’

I followed the link to a national park in New Zealand, well he could still be a relative. On a whim I posted a comment.

 ‘Fantastic scenery. I wonder if we could be related, I have the same surname.’

Then I realised he was probably asleep, night time in New Zealand. I pondered which Facebook friends we could have in common, how else would I be seeing his post?

The next morning there was a brief reply to my comment.

‘Could well be, I came out here years ago.’

I was soon on the phone to Mum, she kept tabs on Dad’s relatives better than he had done.

‘Brian, Brian…hmmm your Dad’s cousin Sheila had a Brian who went out to New Zealand. I always used to send him a Christmas card, only ever got one back. Dad wondered why I bothered. I guess I did it for Sheila’s sake, her only son. He didn’t get over for her funeral; sent an ambiguous letter, not sure if it was health or money, but it is a long way. I never actually met him, not sure how old.’

I was curious. ‘Do you still have his address, I mean he probably moved around and never got your cards. But I could send him a Christmas card, from all the comments sounds like he’s been having a hard time.’

‘Bring your pill round tomorrow and show me, might not even be our Brian.’

‘You mean my tablet?’

‘Yes that screen thingy you’re always playing with.’

Mum and I checked him out, certainly seemed to be the real Brian. He had led an adventurous life, looking at some of his posts and he sounded an interesting chap.

  I sent him a card, there was still time to post airmail across the world. That seemed less intrusive than trying to contact him on Messenger. Without thinking I put one of my charity address stickers on the back of the envelope.

Yesterday I had just returned from walking the dog in the rain, wet hair plastered on my face, muddy jeans and socks left by the back door, when  I heard the doorbell. I was about to dart through the hall and dash upstairs to get showered and ready for my afternoon shift. I was not expecting anyone, perhaps John had ordered something from Amazon. I put my dressing gown on and went back downstairs to check if a parcel had been left.

I didn’t recognise him at first, drenched and with a shabby rain soaked bag at his side.

‘Surprise, surprise, thanks for your card, you don’t know how good it was to hear from someone at home.’

John wasn’t too pleased to come home late that evening and find we had a guest in the spare room, a guest wearing his dressing gown. Turns out he is not as interesting as his Facebook persona and apparently has far worse problems than his posts implied. Almost two weeks till Christmas and we don’t know what his plans are, but they include Christmas with ‘his family.’

A Christmas favourite that might cheer Brian up.

Don’t Lick the Dishwasher

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 26 Comments

Holiday Guide for Dogs

Many of our humans take us to stay with their friends and relatives, which can be a bit of an ordeal, but mostly better than being sent ‘on a little holiday,’ their euphemism for dumping us in a boarding kennel.

It is important to beware of the pitfalls of staying in another house, but also to be understanding, remember, there are no bad humans, only badly trained humans.

After a testing journey in an overpacked car or crowded train, how you are greeted is a good indication of how the visit will pan out.

‘Oh he’s so adorable.’

I’m a girl!

‘Who’s a cutsie wootsie little puppy then.’

I’m two… and for goodness sake, aren’t there any humans around here with intelligent conversation?

But that’s better than

‘I hope he’s not allowed on the furniture.’

Where do they expect me to lie, surely not on the floor.

‘Oh good, you’ve brought his cage.’

‘It’s a crate not a cage Mother’ says your owner.

‘Well whatever it is, put it in the laundry.’

No you’re both wrong, it’s my personal safe space which I like to have placed somewhere nice.

After making an effort to enthusiastically greet your hosts it’s time to explore. If you smell something nice cooking be sure to head straight for the kitchen to show your appreciation. There will probably be tasty treats left on the edge of the work top for you.  

Hosts enjoy the fun of having more than one dog to visit and soon their quiet, boring house will have turned into a happy hub bub, causing much hilarity.

‘Si..monn.. come and get your dogs out of my kitchen NOW.’

I wish I had hung onto that stair gate, it’s worse than having toddlers around… DEREK, De rekkk… can you rescue Aunt Mary’s tapestry cushions and put them in the top of our wardrobe and while you’re up there shut all the doors.  Oh my god, what have they brought in from the garden, is it a dead rat? A toy squirrel? When we were children the only toys dogs had were a few sticks and a ball.’

Your host’s garden is bound to be more interesting than yours. They may have a fun paddling pool with real fish, or if they are the sort of humans who decided to have little humans as dog substitutes, there will be balls to chase and swings, slides and climbing frames for you to chase the little humans up. They will love it.

‘Mummmee, he’s bitten my football and bursted it.’

But playtime must come to an end for dinner time. If you are asked to stay in your safe space while they rather rudely eat dinner without you, be patient and stay alert for conversations such as…

‘Yes of course they can have a few leftovers, I’m not surprised they prefer roast chicken to that horrible dry stuff you give them…’

Hurrah, the host is on your side.

‘Balanced nutrition, whatever happened to marrow bone jelly and tins of chum?’

After a lovely roast dinner pop into the kitchen to see if you can help tidy up, but be careful of your manners if the dish washer is open. Strangely some humans don’t like you licking the dishwasher, even when everything inside is nice and clean.

Soon you hear the hopeful words

‘Yes okay, an evening walk in the park to get rid of their energy sounds an excellent idea, you staying here relaxing after your long drive does Not. Your mother and I are not picking up dog poo or running after escaped dogs.’

Everyone’s spirits are high as you run around and explore the local park and make new friends. Your hosts make new friends as well.

‘Oh aren’t they gorgeous, bet they’re a handful, are they yours?’

‘No they certainly are not, just visiting.’

Perhaps your humans will want to catch up with old human friends and pop into the pub on the way back. Lie quietly under the table and hopefully you will get the sort of treats you’re not allowed at home. Patience is required though as humans get so busy talking they forget about you.

‘Has he had the chop then, poor old thing, mind you not a good idea to breed from an ugly mutt like him, ha ha haa. Oh, they’re pedigrees?  Here have some hot and spicy BBQ crisps Mr. Pedigree and Miss Pedigree. Not allowed crisps? Oh oh, they’ve wolfed down two packets each.’

Finally don’t forget to protect your humans from danger when visiting all these new places. A good snarl will tell that dog under the next table to stay put. When you finally get back to your hosts’ house check the garden for foxes and cats and send them running.

‘SiMOn, what Are your dogs doing out there, they’ve set off that wretched dog next door barking.’

At last it’s time for a well earned sleep in you safe space, if you can get to sleep with that overpowering scent of washing powder in the laundry.

Thursday Tiny Tale -Last Words

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 17 Comments

Where can it be?

Goodness knows, we’ve looked in all the likely places, but there’s so much junk stuffed everywhere.

Don’t sneer, could be valuables hiding amongst the rubbish.

Ah ha, this could be interesting, Diary 1949 …

’I am determined to write in this every day, so many exciting things happening to me at the moment. Tricia had a new year’s party and her brother chatted to me!!! He is going to call me on our new telephone.’

Oh no, that’s all she wrote, bet he didn’t phone her.

Here’s a hopeful looking envelope…

‘To my grandchildren’

Bad luck on that front Mum…

Open it then.

‘I know everything is electronic now, but newspapers are a wonderful record of everyday life. I saved a newspaper from every eventful day starting with the day Giles was born right up to William and Catherine’s royal wedding; if you’re doing a school project or even a history degree they could come in handy.’

Oh that would be interesting, a newspaper from the day I was born…

Bad luck Giles, we put all those boxes of papers in the recycling bin when we tackled the loft, anyway, you can look them up on line…

Now this envelope looks a lot more hopeful.

‘If you find a pair of pink gloves I bought them on holiday. I remember taking them out of my suitcase, then I never saw them again.’

Perhaps she wasn’t joking when she said there was a secret drawer in that awful old bureau.

Oh look, our homemade birthday cards…

Never mind those, get a tape measure and work out if there’s a false back, or feel around for some secret levers.

We’re not taking it to Antiques Roadshow, let’s try that small panel with a screwdriver.

Well I never, why would she leave a letter to me hidden away?

Open it then, don’t keep us in suspense.

‘My Darling Giles, you always wanted to know the truth; the truth about your father.  I’m afraid I have to tell you, hard though it will be to come to terms, my husband was your father and the father of your younger brothers. I know he was very boring, but I’m afraid I did not have an affair with some splendidly exotic chap, goodness knows where you get your good looks from.

Oh at last, you’re no better than us Darling Giles, even if you were Mum’s favourite.

But is that it then, what happened to

‘All will be revealed in the house when I’m gone.’

She said that about ten years ago, probably forgot to leave the clues.

Now we’re getting somewhere –

 Last Will and Testament

Thought she said she wasn’t going to leave one.

Perhaps that’s the surprise we were supposed to get. Right, let’s open it

WH Smith make your own will kit

She never filled it in…

Christmas Crackers

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 31 Comments

CRACKER LIFTING

CHRISTMAS EVE – THAT GREAT BRITISH TRADITION; A CLIFF TOP WALK IN THE RAIN FOLLOWED BY MULLED WINE AND LUNCH AT THE BEACH HUT.

THE OTHER GREAT CHRISTMAS EVE TRADITION IS THE MORNING PHONE CALL… WHICH STARTS WITH ‘BAD NEWS..’ AMIDST ALL THE COVID TESTING, BOOSTING AND WAITING TO BE TRICKED BY THE PM INTO A LAST MINUTE LOCKDOWN, THERE ARE OTHER WINTER LURGIES LURKING. NOW WE ARE DEFERRING CHRISTMAS FOR A FEW DAYS UNTIL TEAM H HAVE NEGATIVE PCR RESULTS AND FEEL BETTER.

ELVES ALWAYS ENJOY CHRISTMAS
BUT SOME GET A BIT TIRED OF THEIR COMPANY…

IT’S STILL RAINING BUT WE’VE HAD A GOOD DAY, GOOD LUNCH, FACETIMED, WATCHED ‘ARTHUR CHRISTMAS’ AND EVERYBODY GOT MORE LEGO…

I HOPE YOU ALL HAD A PLEASANT DAY WHATEVER YOU PLANNED OR HAD TO REARRANGE…