Love, Nina (28 page)

I looked at my hands and it was comforting. And I thought this: I know these hands very well. They're not perfect and a bit rough, but I like them. I have to admit the thumbs are nicer than the fingers and look nice with polish.

I expect this is what it's like having children.

Told MK about the hands/children thing. She ignored me and said she was going back to her mother's salad dressing recipe (it's less intrusive than the balsamic). She does that sometimes (ignores a philosophical thing in favor of a practical thing).

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Went to Will's sports day which was held at a sports ground miles away from his school, practically up the M1. Not knowing its location, I got there a bit late and lurked on the edges for a while thinking I might be at the sports day for the wrong school (kids looked different not in stripy blazers).

Then I wandered into a no-access area and got yelled at by a teacher. Later, Will said it looked as if I'd had nit lotion in my hair—which I had, but denied (it needs 24 hours for effectiveness).

Later, at supper, talking about Will's individual events, running, jumping and javelin.

Me: Sports day was fun!

Will: It looked like you still had nit lotion in your hair.

Me: Will! Do you really think I'd go to your school sports day with nit lotion on my hair?

Will: No, s'pose not, but you did stand in a corner on your own for ages and then suddenly march across the cricket pitch in the middle of a match.

Me: Did I?

Sam then remembered he'd volunteered for the tug of war at his (sports day) next week. AB said the trick is to wear non-slip shoes and gloves and to have a proper stance from the outset.

AB: (
to Sam
) You really need to get a good grip.

Will: That's true.

AB: Tug of war is all about the grip.

Will: Whereas the javelin is all about the letting go.

I bought MK a bread knife from Camden Market. A crafty kind of thing, wooden handle. She liked it, “very nice, very handy.” Later AB said it was actually a cake knife, not a bread knife (you can tell by the rounded end). I pointed out the wheat sheaf (ancient symbol meaning “bread”) and the word “Bread” carved into the handle, but he wouldn't have it and said, “It's a cake knife, it'll not cut bread well at all.”

MK used it to cut the bread next morning and it was rubbish—cut at an angle. MK said it might do better with cake. The thing is, it might've been MK, not the knife. The poor performance of the knife might have been a self-fulfilling prophecy. A concept Nunney has told me about where you make something happen because you think it might (happen). He says just because something happens doesn't mean it was definitely going to happen (type thing). Nunney's interested in all that human behavior stuff. Hence him always commenting on things people say/do. Annoyingly.

Agree about the Euthymol tooth powder. I think people who like it are either old, old-fashioned or anti mint flavor (possibly because of it making orange juice taste horrible).

Will found his toothbrush bobbing about down the toilet.

MK: (
to Sam
) Do you know how Will's toothbrush got into the toilet?

Sam: Why's it always left to me to explain these things?

MK: Do you mean, “Why do I always get the blame?”

Sam: Am I getting the blame?

MK: Yes!

Later, discussions about toothbrushes.

Me: Sensodyne Searcher is the best brush in my opinion.

Will: What's so good about it?

Me: Small head.

Will: Why is a small head good?

Me: It reaches the teeth, even the grooves.

AB: Let's not talk about bacteria again.

MK: I thought bristle was best.

Me: Bristle?

MK: Yes, real bristle.

Me: Who told you that?

MK: I read it.

Me: Where, in Samuel Pepys's diaries?

AB: I read about a rinsing device that
rinses
the teeth clean.

Me: I've never heard of it.

AB: Bubbles implode on the teeth.

MK: I heard about that.

AB: Yes, apparently rinsing's the thing.

Me: I've never heard of it.

MK: You're out of the loop.

Saw Pippa today. She said I shouldn't wear red and that I should “stick to blues and greens.” Also, her Gran is going to the fjords for two weeks but hasn't asked her to dog-sit. She's offended.

Pippa wants to do a pottery course at Haverstock. Wants me to as well. Not sure. I might have agreed if she hadn't said I should “stick to blues and greens.” So I'm quite glad she did.

When people say you suit blues and greens, it means they think you're pale.

By the way, am going to try out the Plumstead snooker club job. Stella says I have first refusal and if I don't accept, Ruth the hippie has next try. Apparently the hippie has a part-time job already, but is being cagey about what it is. It must be something she's ashamed of—like a prostitute or in a deli.

I'll let you know how snooker club goes.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

For your supper night I suggest the following: grilled cheese (Greek stuff) with Greek salad, then pumpkin ravioli (buy it fresh and boil it for 4 mins) with butter and herbs (sage), and some sort of lemony thing.

Don't do meat and you can't go wrong.

Egg mayonnaise doesn't really count—it isn't a recipe, it's just boiled eggs with mayonnaise on top. If you insist on serving egg mayonnaise, sprinkle red paprika on top and at least make it look as though you've made an effort. Which you haven't.

Annoying that R Patel doesn't like potatoes. It might be the calories thing, but more likely it's because they're not fashionable at the moment.

It's all pasta and couscous nowadays, in London anyway.

Good luck with it.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Gossiping with the Student from Luton about a new bloke that Stella's hanging around with.

Me: (
to S from L
) Stella says he's perfect, apart from a bad walk.

S from L: (
winces
) A bad walk can mean bad feet and that can be indicative.

Me: Of what?

S from L: Problems further up.

Me: How high?

Later, investigating:

Me: (
to SH
) What's the walk like?

SH: Awful, off-putting.

Me: How?

SH: Like a cow.

Me: A cow's walk is OK—isn't it?

SH: The hind legs?

Me: Ooh.

The bloke's name is Gunter, which seemed unusual (to me).

Me: Gunter?

SH: Stop saying it.

Me: Gunter.

SH: Haven't you heard of Gunter Grass?

Me: No.

SH: He wrote
The Tin Drum.

Me: You're going out with the bloke who wrote
The Tin Drum
?

Stella's Gunter didn't write
The Tin Drum.
She was just pointing out how common the name is. He's doing a science doctorate focusing on horse semen and its ability to travel (outside of the horse) for breeding purposes.

Anyway, saw Gunter at the Poly BBQ thing but he was sitting down in a chair most of the time and I missed the walk.

Spoke to him though and found out he's got a canary called Sandy that lives in a cage in his flat. Stella played it down.

Me: I hear Gunter's got a canary.

SH: Oh, he's exaggerating.

Me: He either has or hasn't got a canary.

SH: Well, he has, but he was given it.

Me: He could've refused it.

SH: He didn't like to.

Me: So he's got a canary.

Told MK and S&W about Gunter and his canary and they all thought I was being judgmental. They never slag people off (except me, for slagging other people off).

MK: What's so bad about having a canary?

Me: It's strange.

Sam: You're being horrible.

Me: No, I'm just saying it's strange to own a canary—at his age.

MK: She's being horrible.

Me: Why are you pretending it's normal to own a canary?

MK: To see what happens.

Will: How old
should
you be to own a canary?

Me: Young, or very old.

Sam: He could have got it when he was a kid.

Me: That would mean the canary is in its teens.

Will: Could it be?

Me: I've never met it but I'll ask.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Shadowed Stella in the so-called café at Plumstead snooker club. I watched her speak to some punters and prepare a microwaveable snack sandwich, wipe a table and help herself to a gin and lemonade. Then it was my go.

I didn't mind heating up the snacks or opening the bottles but I really hated going out into the dark space and calling, “Ron, could you come forward?”

Apparently a few punters have been self-conscious about food items being named and have asked staff to be less specific. The snooker club manager came up with “Ron, could you come forward?” (if their name is Ron) and the punters are happy with it.

Stella said if I couldn't face calling blokes to come forward for their microwaveable snacks, then I might ask myself the question: Am I temperamentally suitable for this job?

Walking home I admitted to Stella that I really couldn't face asking men to come forward for their snacks—I blamed it on being brought up by a single mother and not being used to seeing that kind of thing—and that therefore I must decline the job offer.

Stella was really disappointed. She said she'd been looking forward to swapping stories of our evenings and maybe even having a “Who sold the most steak sizzlers” competition. But even that didn't make the job any more appealing. Less so, actually.

Hope all's well with you.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Love the picture. Have you had a perm or just let it go curly?

MK (fully straight hair, not even a kink) has started using an Afro comb (purple).

Me: What's that?

MK: A comb.

Me: Yes, why're you using it?

MK: It's less pully than the other sort.

Me: It's for people with perms or curly hair.

MK: Is it?

Me: It won't work on you. The teeth are too wide apart.

MK: What? You even know about comb teeth.

Light bulbs are a big deal because MK likes lamps and the lamps get through light bulbs like wildfire (ditto the ceiling lights), especially the 100-watt bulbs which are bright enough. 60-watt ones last a bit longer, but even I admit they're a bit gloomy. Anyway, MK used to change the bulbs when necessary. But now she seems to hate doing it. So I do it.

MK: I don't
hate
it. I just don't
do
it.

Sam: She doesn't enjoy it.

Me: No one
enjoys
it.

MK: You seem to.

Me: It's just that I'm eager to help.

Sam: She just likes getting up on a chair.

Will: Like some people like directing the traffic.

Sam had tea at a friend's house.

Sam: The pudding was nice.

Me: What was it?

Sam: Don't know its name, you just add milk.

Will: Angel Delight.

Sam: Yes! How did you know?

Will: I've seen it around. You just add milk.

Pippa looked after Ted Hughes again (after all) while Gran was in Norway. Ted was “off his food” and only nibbled at some boil-in-the-bag cod. Pippa has stopped calling him Ted Hughes and just calls him Ted now. She says he responds to Ted better than Ted Hughes. He prefers a single syllable. She's found out that all dogs do—a single syllable mimicking a bark.

Pippa says she's not going to have Ted to stay again.

Will: Why not?

Pippa: It was like looking after a poorly actress, he's gone too needy.

Me: So, if you're not having Ted Hughes again, you can get a kitten.

Pippa: I've gone off the idea of a kitten.

Will: How come?

Pippa: Too aloof.

Me: You want something between needy Ted Hughes and an aloof kitten.

Will: Try Sam.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Did you know GM and Auntie X have been to stay at 55?

They came to see the comedy play
Noises Off,
and decided
not
to stay in Le Meridien Piccadilly as usual, but
here.

It was a nightmare. The minute they arrived, they asked if I could introduce them to AB. I tried my best to put them off, not that AB would mind, just that I couldn't face the embarrassment of it.

Luckily, Michael Frayn (the actual writer of
Noises Off
 
) spends half his life at 57 (unofficially Claire Tomalin's boyfriend) and I thought I could get him to say hello instead of having to ask AB. Much less embarrassing because I hardly know him (M Frayn) and he wouldn't be at all interested in them. I thought I'd be able to take them round to 57 and M Frayn could just say hello and then we'd leave (I'd be in 100% control).

Me: I've got a better idea.

GM: What?

Me: Wouldn't you like to meet
Michael Frayn
?

GM: No. Why?

Me: Well, he
wrote Noises Off.

GM: No, we don't want to meet him. We want to meet Alan Bennett.

Auntie X: That's why we're staying here, not at the Piccadilly.

GM: It's called le Meridien now—it's terribly nice.

AX: Yes, but we're not staying there because we wanted to meet Alan Bennett.