Love, Nina (15 page)

AB: What did Mr. Johnson
think
he was drinking?

Me: Coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon.

MK: (
shaking head
) And what did he do to deserve that?

Me: Lots of annoying things.

MK: Such as?

Me: He was a snob.

MK: (
still shaking head
).

Me: How come you're so concerned about Mr. Johnson?

MK: It's you-being-a-psychopath that concerns me.

Told them about Nunney's trick. Makes
one
cup of tea, then he asks if anyone (at 57) wants one. They say no (politely) and he gets the credit for offering but doesn't have to make and gets to keep the tea. Added to which, he gets the thrill of the gamble (his words), meaning: they might suddenly say yes (they do want one) and then he'll have to hand over his cup.

MK: Why doesn't he just make himself some tea?

Me: He likes the gamble.

MK: Crikey, he's living on the edge.

I haven't had a cup of tea made by MK for months. I avoid it. First, she doesn't pour water onto the bag soon enough after the boil. Second, she only fills the cup halfway. Third, she makes heavy weather of it.

She calls a cup of tea “a teabag.” She offered Pippa a cup once.

MK: Would you like a teabag?

Pippa: Lovely—if you're making one.

MK: I'm not making one. But I will make one if you'd like one.

Pippa: Oh, well. No thanks, then.

MK: Suit yourself.

I don't offer to make her tea very often either. It's not worth it.

Me: Do you want a cup of tea?

MK: I don't know. Not in that cup.

Me: Is that no, then?

MK: No, it's yes but don't give me Derby County.

Prince Charles drove past Nunney and me in Trafalgar Square on Saturday in a Daimler and looked straight at me. Ordinary, brown hair. Looked a bit like Dad (parting too far back).

Nunney did a rant (because I'd been slightly excited) and sitting there in the Breadline Café he lectured me about the royals and their awfulness throughout history. He cleverly linked it to Chaucer to get my attention. It could have been a turning point Chaucer-wise, but I just haven't got the time.

Will's started another novel (writing one) about a wild dog lost in a hostile city. It was going to be called Fang, but there's already a lost literary dog called that, so he's switched to Scooby to be going on with. Scooby eats leftovers from outside Maxwell's and people are always shouting at him to clear off.

He was busy on the novel plan but had urgent homework to do (geometrical shapes), so I took over (the homework).

Nunney: What are you doing?

Me: Cutting out shapes, it's Will's homework.

Nunney: (
cross
) Why isn't Will doing it?

Me: He doesn't like paper craft and he's writing a novel.

Nunney: Cutting out paper to exact measurements is maths…Will should do it—it's a life skill.

Will: I'll never need to measure paper in real life; I'll buy it already measured.

Nunney: (
to Will
) Don't let her ruin your life.

Will: She's helping me with my novel.

Nunney: (
shakes head
) Fucking hell.

Me: Stop judging us, go and judge them at 57.

Nunney: They don't need judging, they self-judge.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Funny. Jez told Sam (who told Tom) that the FA Cup final was going to be a Subbuteo game, not a proper match.

Sam: Why?

Jez: Players' legs are too tired, but their fingers are OK.

Sam: So it's the same players, but doing Subbuteo?

Jez: Yeah.

Sam: Will it be on telly?

Jez: Yes, lots of close-ups of the fingers and action replays.

Sam: How will I know which finger plays for which team?

Jez: They'll wear colored rubber bands.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Dreading exams as I haven't got to grips with the Seamus Heaney. I like/love it, but not sure I
get
it and it's a bit late to get to know the man behind the pen. I don't even think he'd want anyone getting to know him behind his pen. In my opinion, his pen is an embarrassment to him for not being a spade (like his dad's and his dad's dad's).

And the rest of the syllabus is too unbearable to even think about. Why do people like Shakespeare? I wish I did. I've tried but I don't. Maybe you need a jokey teacher to bring it to life.

Nunney has kept saying I made a big mistake in focusing on the Hardy when I would've enjoyed the Heaney. MK has said exactly the same thing.

I reminded Nunney it was him who rejected the Heaney at the outset.

Me: You said you didn't fancy the Heaney.

N: Yes, but I'm me, and you're you.

Me: Not when it comes to the syllabus.

Nunney's off soon to hitch-hike round France/Spain (on his own) for a couple of weeks. He's going to take
The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to Europe
and Chaucer's
Canterbury Tales
(the whole thing) with him so we can thrash it out when he gets back. I don't want to thrash Chaucer out really. But mustn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

I must make sure I've read the Heaney by the time he's back, to make up for not reading the
Canterbury Tales,
which I won't have.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Trying to read the Chaucer so I can impress Nunney when he returns. I'm still not liking it that much.

Me: He's going to come home and be au fait with Chaucer's entire
Canterbury Tales.

MK: He won't even have looked at it.

Me: Hope not.

MK: He'll be having far too good a time.

Me: God, that's worse.

MK says the secret is to
get
it (Chaucer)—you don't have to
like
it. And though I'm not 100% liking it, I am beginning to get it. Especially the
Wife of Bath
. She's unreliable—i.e. she says she's voracious (for sex), but also says she has sex for money (via strategic marriages). Anyone truly voracious would do it for free, or even pay to do it.

Knowing she's vice-ridden and unreliable, and that I don't
have
to like her, actually makes me like her (a bit).

Exams soonish. Here is a summing up.

R&J:
Romeo and Juliet hardly know each other, but think they're in love and both kill themselves. The nurse is an irresponsible idiot. The Friar is a moron. It's a ludicrous story.

Return of the Native:
Egdon Heath (a heath, not a person) is the main character. Eustacia is a slag. Clym is a wimp. Wildeve—landlord of the Quiet Woman—has got wandering-hand trouble.

Winter's Tale:
King is mentally ill. Queen is a fool.

Chaucer: W of Bath is an unreliable old bag but not a hypocrite. Marries for money but likes shagging, thinks woman should be in charge.

Prioress. Dislikes and mistrusts Jews but feels sorry for trapped mice and weeps if someone hits a dog.

Seamus Heaney:

He loves the land—its peaty features,

and likes the sound of farmy things.

Creel, he writes, and flax and furrow.

But when effing winter brings

a stubble-face with peaceful eyelids

the whole thing starts him worrying.

Love, Nina

PS Brutus isn't in
R&J,
you might be thinking of Tybalt (Juliet's aggressive cousin, dies at the end).

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Kids at UCS (Will's school) are making homemade chewing gum with Blu-Tack and toothpaste. Will had a go but it wouldn't blend. I think you have to heat it, but didn't tell Will that.

Me: Has it worked?

Will: (
chewing
) It's not blended—I'm blending by chewing.

Me: Don't swallow it.

Will: I'm not going to (
coughs and looks shocked
).

Me: What?

Will: Nothing.

Me: Where's the Blu-Tack?

Will: I swallowed it.

Me: God, Will, do you feel OK?

Will: (
shudders
) Yes, minty fresh.

Rang Amanda for advice.

Me: Will's swallowed Blu-Tack.

A: So?

Me: Will he be all right?

A: I don't know.

Me: Should I induce him to vomit?

A: No, that's for poisons. Better to sluice it down, make him drink some warm milk.

Me: That'd make him vomit.

Discussed it with Will.

Me: Could you vomit it back up?

Will: No, it's gone down fine.

Me: How big was the Blu-Tack?

Will: About as big as a bean.

Me: What kind of bean?

Will: Baked.

Me: How do you feel now?

Will: Stupid.

Sam was down to two pairs of PJs. Reason: we've left a few pairs behind at Great Ormond Street. Plus one pair of bottoms got used in an emergency when “someone” forgot to put the petrol cap back on. They couldn't go back to being pajama bottoms after being the petrol cap, due to smell—even after three washes. Got him a new pack of two from Woolies, with a Man-in-the-Moon motif (it was either that or a teddy in a nightcap).

Sam: I don't really like these (
new pajamas
).

MK: Why?

Sam: I don't like the hard thing in the middle (
embroidered Man-in-the-Moon motif
 
).

MK: It's the Man in the Moon.

Sam: I hate space.

Me: Ignore it, then.

Sam: You can't ignore space.

Me: Would you have preferred a teddy in a nightcap?

Sam: Well, yes, I could've ignored it.

More bad news.

Washing machine was sticking on the main wash and not moving on. Therefore it was just washing and washing and washing (going round and round). And you had to nudge it on, via the dial, which doesn't do it any good in the long run.

Once neither of us nudged it and it went for hours and everything came out all matted. AB suggested it was something to do with the water not heating up to the target temperature and therefore not moving on to the next part of the cycle. It's amazing how much AB knows about appliances (when you consider he's a writer and pretty much just writes all day.)

Me: You're good with appliances.

AB: (
proud
) Well, I don't know about that.

Me: You sorted out the car, the fridge, the phone, bike tires and now the washing machine.

AB: I don't think I'm particularly good.

MK: But it's nice to know you've got something to fall back on.

Anyway, it's fixed now, a bloke came round and it was what AB said (temperature thing).

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Something from ages ago. I asked Michael Neve if he or MK had ever been in one of Stephen Frears's films and he said, “Yes. Wilmers and I did star together in a long-running drama.” Something along those lines.

And so I asked MK what thing of Stephen's she was in and she said she never was in a thing of Stephen's (unless I counted the marriage).

At the time I thought either Neve was lying to impress me (unlikely) or MK was being modest (likely) and didn't want me going on about it. But now I've got the hang of things, I know they never were in a film, it's just Neve's way.

The chicken thing was nice (thanks for recipe) but I overdid the tarragon a bit, which proves AB right on the subject (tarragon can overpower a chicken).

The reason I overdid it (the tarragon) was that the dish is called Tarragon Chicken. Why call it that if there's only a tiny bit of tarragon in it? You may as well call it Onion Chicken—there's loads of onion in it, which doesn't get a mention in the title. I don't even like tarragon.

They liked the banana loaf. I'll leave raisins out next time, Sam took his out and they went through the wash in his pocket. Will put Flora on his but scraped it off again.

Sam has raffle tickets from school to sell. Prizes (donated by parents and local businesses) include frozen pork (half a pig) and a meal for four at Beckett's fish bar and a dozen bottles of assorted wines and spirits to the value of £50. And many more.

Strange. A glass of fizzy water I've got by my bed (now) that's been there for an hour suddenly just bubbled up noisily.

Love, Nina

PS MK has now bought some tarragon vinegar (vinegar with a clump of tarragon in it).

*  *  *

Hi, Vic,

Thanks for recipe. Not our cup of tea really but did your potato thing. Sam loved it. Also did the lentil dhal thing you got off R Patel. V good.

My version was: red lentils, onion, celery, water, tin toms, Patak's curry paste. Yoghurt and cucumber on top. Served with basmati rice.

Me: It's R Patel's recipe.

MK: It's very nice, tell R Patel.

Sam: It's too spicy.

AB: Strictly speaking, it's a side dish.

Me: R Patel serves it as a main.

MK: Nice rice.

Me: Watered by the snow-fed rivers of the Himalayas.

AB: Oh, very nice.

Misty has started a frog collection. Like your geese and Elspeth's pigs, G's giraffes, Nunney's mother's Afghans, AB's lemons and the penises in Rhodes.

Bought her a paper clip holder (made of two frogs, for her collection) but it turned out to have a sexual aspect. So donated it to the kitchen dresser.

Will: Why is she collecting frogs?

Me: It's a thing people do, they collect stuff in the shape of a thing.

Sam: It's instead of supporting a football club, for women.

Me: Yes, and they buy mini soaps and everyday items in the shape of their chosen thing.

Sam: What's yours?

Me: I don't have a chosen thing.

Sam: How about a sea horse?

Will: Or shark?