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Tuesday Tall Tale – Slow Radio

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 14 Comments

And finally in breakfast news a surprising hit. Slow Radio slots have become popular as calming moments of bird song or rowing boats. The latest is a continuous live broadcast 24/7 from a quiet little road somewhere. The location remains secret to protect the inhabitants, human and otherwise. Listeners have been tuning in to hear everyday sounds of hum drum life, dogs barking, people chatting. In the dark watches of the night insomniacs and night workers say there is still plenty to hear, the haunting cry of foxes and the whisper of the milkman’s float.

As residents fetch their bins in on Monday morning there is plenty to hear so let’s drop in.

I found your food bin in the middle of the road.

Oh thanks, did you hear the wind last night?

Yes, my lid blew open, cardboard and paper all over next door’s lawn.

There’s a nurse going in over the road, she was there yesterday.

Is it him or her?

Goodness knows, haven’t seen either of them for ages.

You never know what’s going on with that high hedge.

Do you mind taking a parcel for next door?

Sure, certainly won’t fit through the letterbox ha ha.

I’m not carrying your scooter Dryden, I’ve got the buggy to push, you wanted to ride it to school. BRANDON, stop at the corner. BRAANDON WAAIT. Dryden get on that scooter and catch up with your brother.

Yes of course, I’m not using it today, still not fixed then?

Not coming till Friday now and I‘ve got to get their PE things washed, thanks so much.

Those strange people are across the road again. I call them the creepy couple, coming this way since lockdown. At first I thought they were trying to steal Truffles when I saw them squatting down poking their hands through the fence.

Pity they didn’t steal him, we would have been saved all that barking.

He ran straight in my house the other day, nearly caught the cat.

Aren’t your daffodils looking good.

Yes, despite being battered by the wind and rain.

So what do you want at the greengrocers today?

Some of those grapes as long as they don’t have pips, one banana, not too big, not green, but not too ripe. Can you manage potatoes a well… oh look he’s on the roof again.

 I don’t believe it, she must be away, surely she wouldn’t let him, what if the ladder blows down while he’s up there.

I reckon you’re right, he is rebuilding that chimney stack.

How old do you reckon he is?

Well he was retired when we moved here.

I can’t see him, hope he didn’t fall down the other side…

Truffles, Truffles, come here at once… sorry, sorry, are you okay?

I can’t talk now, I’m out in the street, no it isn’t a good time, how did you get my number anyway?

Truffles, come out of the lady’s nice garden. Sorry, sorry, yes I can see what he’s done I’ll just pop home and get a bag to clear it up, once I’ve caught him…

Oh here he is coming round to the front, he must have a ladder at the back as well. Was that Truffles running by?

The producer of Slow Street 24 is in the studio with us. Why do you think this has become so popular?

People need a break from their frantic lives, they just love to hear from somewhere where nothing is happening.

And do the residents mind being recorded, doesn’t that mean they are guarded in what they say?

Not at all, they don’t know they are being live streamed.

The Game of Death Well Played.

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 32 Comments

When my mother planned her funeral five years ago, she could never have imagined it would be streamed live across the world, but the service itself went as well as she had planned, despite Covid. As Western Australia has dealt well with the pandemic the limit was sixty people in Mum’s own church; how many of us could summon that many people to our funeral, especially at the age of 94 when many of one’s friends have already departed. Mum was also the last of her generation in our immediate family.

On the tenth of August my daughter and I were up ready to watch the funeral on her lap top at 4am British Summer Time, 11 am in Perth. The link failed just as my sister started reading the piece I had written and reconnected in time to see my brother reading his piece. Luckily the recording worked perfectly and we were able to watch that later.

This was a warm Christian funeral with the priest who knew her well, who had been visiting her in her last weeks; a sad, but happy event. Mum had been ready to go for a while. Five weeks previously my sister thought it was the final weekend. I had already talked to her on the phone not long before, laughing and putting the world to rights. She knew I would be widowed soon and would have willingly swapped places with Cyberspouse. Having outlived my father by 24 years she had been in the same situation, also with plenty of support from the rest of the family. We laughed at her memory of the mountains of paperwork they had to sort out; carefully preserved by Dad, dating back to our arrival in Australia in 1964. Mum’s hearing and mind were in fine fettle up to the end. On the ‘last weekend’ I manged to Facetime with her and my sister, a very different experience from those forced to do that with relatives dying of Covid, isolated in intensive care.

Our mother had chosen to go into a care home five years ago and made new friends, took up knitting again and started new hobbies such as card making. She had a room with its own little terrace where everyone could visit including my sister’s dog. Recently she had to move into the higher care unit, but was still watching the evening news. The care home had Covid rules and restrictions, but never went into lockdown, Mum could still have visits. After the ‘last weekend’ Mum felt peckish and carried on for those next five weeks!

It was a sad day for staff and her friends at the care home when she finally left; two of her friends there said she was the best friend they ever had.