Diary of a Suburban Squeen

A few minor things before bed:

♥ I have dyed my hair. It was inevitable. Will hopefully be a cheery shade of auburn come morning (currently it is too wet to tell), but may be radioactive orange. Qui sait? I will keep you updated throughout the day.

♥ NCIS tonight. Tiva ftw.

♥ As probly everyone knows, am off to France next week with Katie and Xanthe. Today purchased fabulous new weekend bag for hand luggage (as laptop does not fit current editions). Have also discovered that I already have travel insurance with Natwest. Huh. Will buy my euros tomorrow, probably. Or maybe I will leave it to Friday. Could go either way.

♥ I have once again forgotten to watch Hollyoaks. This is shocking, as my grandfather will doubtless be anxiously awaiting news of same. I have however won grandparental points by finding a reasonably priced hardback copy of the book of Turner's paintings that Grandma allegedly borrowed from Mike Bacon and now cannot find, though there is some doubt as to whether she actually ever borrowed it, but she's been in a tizz wanting to replace it anyway. Go eBay.

...And so to bed.

♥ Yum – Katie made the most delicious paella last night with chicken and chorizo and peas and stuff – glorious! Will be added to our stock inventory of recipes (we only have about five, routinely circulated).

♥ Mon grandpère was in hospital for a few days prostate cancer troubles, and he has to have an operation, which is a bit worrying, though Mummy says it’s very routine etc etc etc, but still pants, frankly. I hate it so much that my grandparents are getting ill and going to hospital all of a sudden. I mean, they’re nearly 80, I know it’s only to be expected, but I really, really hate it. I love them so much (even though Grandma is going completely mental these days over the Rosie thing, quite annoyingly so), and have so many happy memories of my time with them because, basically, all my memories of them are happy. Getting dressed up in an old bridesmaid’s dress and Grandma putting my hair in rags… playing with the old wooden play cooker in their back garden… Grandad showing us his old RAF uniform (complete with vee dashing hat)… painting pansies with Grandma in Ditch End, sitting in the window corner… lying around in Sunny Cove while Grandad built us sand cars and sand boats… helping Grandma make her famed sherry trifle, and being allowed to make the fork patterns in the cream AND put on the maraschino cherries AND very carefully lay down the roasted almonds with a grapefruit spoon… taking me down to the open day at St Hugh’s because my parents were away…

It was funny, I was talking to my parents when they came down the other weekend, and apparently Grandma had been saying what a star I was, and ooh, wasn’t I like her, and all this, and Daddy said it was like he’d had nothing to do with the making of me (skate over this people, don’t think about the specifics, for the love of God), and I feel a bit dishonest sometimes, because I always present myself to my grandparents in the way I know they want to see me, if you see what I mean. And superficially I am quite like Grandma, because we like a lot of the same things, and that’s what I focus on. But really, we are not at all alike, because I am, basically, my father. But a girl. And Grandma doesn’t get that, because I choose not to show her, because I know she wouldn’t get it. She doesn’t understand Daddy at all. Seriously. AT ALL. And she doesn’t really understand why Mummy married him, when he’s so unlike Grandad (yeah, cuz look how that worked out for Rosie), which presumably led to the famed “We never would have expected this from Miles… Martin, yes, of course, but…” comment, which was incredibly rude and hurtful, but it’s like Grandma has these freaky-weird blinkers on about my parents which lead her to suppose that saying things like this is fine, and it’s not, because she really upsets my mother, which is not on at all, because she’s lovely. Anyway, enough of such meanderings.

♥ I am off to Kathye’s for the weekend. My role: entertain the baby while the grown-ups do sensible things. I can do that.

There are many things I love about my maternal family, but one of the most satisfying is the sense of family history we have. My grandmother is an inveterate story teller, and since I was little I have been regaled with tales of generations gone by and all the slightly mental things they have done. This is my grandmother’s family, after all. *g* Nobody’s *actually* mental or in any way particularly interesting. Anty (sic, in order to emphasise the proper northern pronunciation of the word) May, who was the eldest of Grandma’s aunts, used to swan around in pretty frocks, play the piano and have ‘presentiments’ (usually used as an excuse not to run errands); Doris, my great-grandmother, used to do all the work because she was very quiet and obliging (but prone to hysterical laughter in times of trial, something that has sadly been passed down the distaff line), but once forced a factory owner to give the girls a pay rise; Anty Pat, who as far as I can tell didn’t give a flying fuck about anyone and used to wander about playing the violin very badly, and Anty Olive, who was the youngest, and I’m sure there was something slightly off about her, but I can’t remember what it was and Grandma now denies any knowledge of having said anything. I am suspicious. But anyway, it’s nice to have all that, to be told stories of your family, even the people you’ve never known.

And we have about a million photographs, including the absolutely priceless one of Uncle George as a baby. He was Anty Annie’s husband. Anty Annie was a crony of my great-grandmother’s, and also prone to hysterical gales of laughter. I *think* (there’s a lot of family; I often get confused) she was Little Grandad’s sister. Little Grandad was GG’s husband who died long before I was born. GG was also referred to as Little Grandma, to differentiate her from Grandma Hallatt (Grandad’s mother), who was more the scary cake-on-the-head type grandmother. But yes, so Anty Annie married Uncle George, and we have a photo of him as a baby wearing the most giant frilly white dress in the world. He looks darling. But I suspect that photo would have been the bane of his life. Somehow, Grandma’s ended up with all the bits from all the family (we have GG’s and Anty Annie’s wedding dresses), and we occasionally go through it all and I get the stories all over again.

My mother laments that she never recorded GG telling all *her* stories, but I don’t think that’s necessary. Of course some stories get lost by the by, but I don’t think it matters, because they will always be replaced with new ones (ah, Rosie falling down the drains at a camp site, and getting tea leaves in her knickers because she’d had a strop and insisted on wearing the frilliest pair she owned…), and all that matters really is the continuity of passing on stories, whatever the stories themselves happen to be.

On my father’s side, there are very few stories, mainly because, like me, he has forgotten most of his childhood. I have about four anecdotes, none of which have been told by him.

1. When he was little, they were on holiday and he was getting on Grandma’s nerves, so she told him to go away. So he did. Being my father, even at about six or however old he was, this involved going off on a hike by himself. They didn’t find him for a very long time, Grandma was frantic, it ended up in the local newspaper. He’d been larking about in a cave on the beach, happy as Larry.

2. In a similar vein, he went camping on Arran with the Scouts, hated it miserably, and attempted to build a boat and flee the island. I think he even managed to set sail…

3. When he was a teenager, he forced David, his younger brother (by about five years) to listen to The Who until he agreed they were the best band in the world.

4. When he was in the sixth form and going out with my mother, one of the teachers warned her off him. Because he was a bad lot. *giggles* That one always makes me laugh.

Well, it’s been about fifty years since I updated, so here goes. More or less. I will have forgotten anything LJ-able by the next paragraph, but c’est la vie.

1. Cinema Outings
Saw Little Miss Sunshine and Talladega Nights: the Ballad of Ricky Bobby, both of which were jolly, jolly funny, though Little Miss Sunshine by far the funnier (and indeed better) of the films. We are off to see Children of Men next week, and hopefully The Devil Wears Prada after that. All hail Orange Wednesdays, frankly.

2. Visitors
Katie’s chum Liz came to stay with us for a week, which was very jolly. We had the world’s giantest pizza on Thursday. Just to share. Plus, first time for delivery food in the PF, so a bit of a milestone there, I think.

Then we had the grandparentals this weekend. Which was rather fine, because, as old folk go, they’re rather nice, though obviously my grandmother is stark staring mad, bless her little cotton socks. There was quite a bit of affectionate mocking going on. Once again, there was a noticeable theme of my family being *convinced* that I don’t know anything. It’s actually quite odd. It’s Grandma’s birthday tomorrow, and I have found her a card that is a painting of two naked people cavorting in front of a washing machine. It seemed oddly appropriate.

But yes, we took them off for a tour of our local Sainsbury’s on Saturday morning (always a riveting outing), then trained into London, had lunch at the Giraffe on the South Bank, then walked to the National Gallery and had a wander (Baby Jee! Baby Jee all over the shop!), and then tea. Then we went home and we made our patented lasagne (not actually patented, obviously, but I like a bit of hyperbole with my afternoon biscuit). Yum. Sunday: pobbling round Richmond and then onto Ham House for a spot of NTing. Lost Grandad (still not sure where he’d disappeared to); bought some books. Went home, had a very nice tea, watched Jane Eyre.

3. Work
Got so stressed on Wednesday (am having bad week) that I went home and had two glasses from the bottle of wine that has been lurking in our fridge since Easter. This got me quite, quite drunk, *despite* the fact that I sensibly consumed a biscuit to line my stomach in between glasses. It’s funny, actually, because in the last sentence I first typed ‘quite, quiet drunk’ which would, of course, have been a complete lie. I was very giggly and silly, and I’m quite surprised Katie didn’t abandon me at the side of the road. Hangover on Thursday. Not to be recommended. Am never drinking again.

4. Guides
Guides on Tues went pretty well, although there was some confusion with the instructions about their dashing around at Scout’s pace delivering messages aspect of the evening, so it took longer than planned. Still, it all seemed to go reasonably well. I’m running next week’s meeting, and must, thinking about, burn the CD I’ve put together for their funky music quiz (guess the decade: they’ve got Kaiser Chiefs for the 00s and Spice Girls for the 90s, and I would imagine ABBA for the 70s will be obvious enough, but I wonder how they fare with the others (80s – Eurythmics; 60s – Animals – House of the Rising Sun; 50s – Blue Moon; 40s – Vera Lynn – White Cliffs of Dover (have to check that it is actually 40s and not 30s); 30s – Glenn Miller – Sentimental Music; 20s – Al Jolson). And then they’re doing performy things themselves. All this, of course, is in homage to the Big Gig next Saturday, which obviously they’re getting quite excited about. The adults, less so, mun be said.

There’s other stuff, but I’ve forgotten it.

The US has new Supernatural. I’m so jealous. I wonder if it’ll be up on You Tube this weekend?

Oh yes. Anyone else see The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive? Interesting, n'est-ce pas?

Went to the theatre last night (Voysey Inheritance at the National) but more on that at a later date.

Bought a very pretty new lasagne dish, capable of holding lasagne for more than 4 small people. It's pink and had 20% off in House of Fraser. Yay. Have also acquired about four new v-necked three-quarter-length-sleeved jumpers, mostly in shades of green. Well, three green, one pink. And a new bra. And the following DVDs: Pleasantville, Tristan + Isolde, Sky High, Lady Jane, The Three Musketeers, Twelfth Night, Mansfield Park, Parent Trap (with the Quaid) and Devour (which I know will be shite but was only bought for Teh Pretty, so whatever). Am DVD ho. Have also bought t-shirt which says "a constant source of disappointment". I shall wear it with pride.