Love, Nina (7 page)

MK: Lucky them.

Will: What will they see?

MK: Weetabix.

AB: At various stages of the manufacture.

Will: Cool—it's like
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Me: They might win a lifetime supply of Weetabix.

MK asked me to get some Odor-Eaters for Will's trainers. I hate it when I have to get embarrassing stuff like that. I said Will should get his own Odor-Eaters but he says he hates going into Boots full stop and says he'll just put them on the window sill. I asked Will why he hates chemist shops. He couldn't quite put it into words. I guess it's the potential embarrassment. It would be that for me (seeing someone you know with a wee sample or a personal problem).

MK: Have you got the things for Will's stinky trainers?

Me: I've powdered them.

MK: Powdered them? What with?

Me: I bought some talc.

MK: If you bought talc, why not the trainer things?

Me: They're out of stock in Will's size.

Next day MK pulled a pack of enormous Odor-Eaters from her bag.

Me: They look too big.

MK: You cut them down to size.

Me: (
to MK
) Sounds like a job for you.

Enjoy the Weetabix factory outing.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Took two pillows in a bin liner to Parkway laundrette (extra-large load). Sam had done a bit of sick on them (not enough to ruin them but too much to ignore).

The laundrette woman said the filling might perish in the wash, but worth the risk to save them. They came out clean but clumpy. Laundrette woman said they might fluff up with a tumble dry. They did a bit, but not to their former fluffiness and shape. They weren't very nice anymore, but smelled nice (Daz). Anyway, somehow they ended up on Mary-Kay's bed. MK brought them down to show and discuss.

MK: What are these?

Me: Pillows.

MK: Yes, but why have I got them? Where are my usual ones?

Me: Sam's probably got your usual ones.

MK: So what are these?

Me: I think they might be the ones I laundered.

MK: Laundered?

Me: Took to the laundrette.

MK: Are they washable?

Me: Not as such, but it was kill or cure.

MK: It was kill.

If it's me shopping, I buy Daz for the smell and comfort (a tiny drop) but MK always gets Persil, which I dislike. It smells like overripe melons. Plus I'd prefer a washing line outside but it's not the done thing here. We have a Sheila Maid in the utility and a tumble dryer.

Pippa has a new hair thing.

Me: Have you been swimming?

Pippa: (
dripping wet hair
) No, why?

Me: Your hair's wet.

Pippa: No, I'm using a wet-look mousse.

Me: Why?

Pippa: My hair always looks best when wet.

Later:

Me: Pippa is using a wet-look mousse.

MK: What looks wet?

Me: Her hair, she thinks it looks nice wet.

MK: Can't she just wet it?

I'm going to say that exact thing to her if it crops up again.

Told MK about Pippa thinking you have to put one leg up on the toilet to insert a tampon (because the woman in the diagram does). MK said it seemed reasonable.

MK's been wearing a half-cardi/half-shawl thing. It's cozy-looking but aging.

Hope you and co. are all well.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Can't tell if Michael Neve is mentally ill or just unusual. On the one hand he reads the LRB and is a doctor of something, on the other he turned up today in the middle of the morning and asked if he could play a record he'd just bought from the Record and Tape Exchange on Camden High Street.

(
MK's sitting room. Music blaring.
)

Neve: (
singing along with the record
) “Little Red Corvette, baby, you're much too fast”—it's excellent, isn't it?

Me: It's OK.

Neve: He's saying, “slow down baby” to this chick—they're about to fuck in the car.

Me: Right.

Neve: Does your friend like it (
meaning Carmelita, on the stairs with a brush
)?

Me: That's Carmelita, the cleaner.

Neve: Yes, I know, does she like Prince?

Me: How should I know?

Neve: “Little Red Corvette, baby, you're much too fast” (
singing & dancing
).

Me: Do you want a cup of tea?

Neve: “Little Red Corvette, baby, I shoulda known, Little Red Corvette”—no tea, darling, I've got to go to work.

Me: OK.

Neve: I just wanted to share this fucking genius song with you (
puts record on again
).

Afterward, I wanted to let Carmelita know that Neve is MK's friend, not mine. Carmelita lives with Karel and Betsy and I don't want a bad reputation with them. They like me. They even said I was “a good thing.” Plus they're friends of the Lahrs who think I have nice feet.

Me: That was Michael.

Carmelita: Yes.

Me: He's a friend of Mary-Kay's.

(
Carmelita nods.
)

Me: He's not
my
friend; he's Mary-Kay's.

Then Jez turned up.

Me: Oh, here's Jez.

Carmelita: For washing machine.

Me: Yes.

Carmelita: Your brother.

Me: And very good friend of Mary-Kay's as well.

(
Carmelita smiles.
)

Love, Nina

PS The LRB—not just about books, but a brainy take on world events etc. You have to be a PhD to get it, or at least a professional intellectual.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

At the weekend there was talk of one of us driving Will over to see a school friend in Barnsbury in Islington. This boy says he's got a spider the size of a satsuma. It's in a giant ice cube in the freezer.

Will wanted to see the spider but doesn't like the boy that much and neither me nor MK could be bothered to drive to Barnsbury just for the spider viewing. Except that I was curious about the place (Barnsbury), thinking it might be some huge house (it isn't, it's a posh part of Islington with narrow pavements and no parking).

AB thought it was just a ploy to get people round his house. MK agreed, but thought it “quite commendable.”

Apparently putting things in ice cubes is a good way of making fake things appear real. So it was possible/likely that the giant spider is a plastic one like the one Will has looked at and considered buying in Harvey Johns (toy shop). Told Will this and he agreed it might not be worth going to Barnsbury. Later he rang the boy in Barnsbury and asked outright if the spider was plastic. The boy admitted it straightaway and even said he'd bought it from Harvey Johns. Will was very satisfied. We all were.

Didn't go to Barnsbury. Went to Harvey Johns.

Pippa has got a new friend called Vie. Not Vi as in Violet, but pronounced Vee as in the French for “life.” So she's got Mel the beautician and now this Vie the actress.

She's doing a version of
Swan Lake
(Vie is) where they chuck water at each other and the swan breaks someone's arm on a canal bank (a bringing it bang-up-to-date thing). Audience participation. Pippa says if you don't wear a shower cap you might get a soaking. I reminded her that her hair is wet already via the wet-look mousse. She explained that wet-look hair is actually bone-dry to the touch. It just
looks
wet, so when she goes to see the
Swan Lake
thing, she (of all people) will have to wear a shower cap. Real wet on wet-
look
equals frizz (i.e. dry) like a double negative.

Love, Nina

PS The hair mousse is called Wet-Lookz. She used to use Studio-Line but it gave her crispy curls.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Do you like the typewriter? MK has given it to me (lent). It's crap—you should see it. I like having it but the thing is, using it, I can't think. Like now, I'm trying to write to you but can't get going on a letter. Short on news.

Yours sincerely,

Nina Stibbe

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Yes, the typewriter is a bit of a disaster. The secret is to learn to type without having to look at the keys, then you can just type as you think, not keep thinking where's the T, etc.

To be honest, I'm trying to write a novel. Have just read an excellent one and think I could easily write one (semiautobiographical). Was just about to show AB a little synopsis and a few pages when Amanda (nanny up the street) asked me if I'd ask AB if he'd watch her do a bit of acting and give her some tips. She's trying to get into drama school and has been turned down once already and wants to get it right this time. She's very passionate about it (getting into drama school).

AB agreed to watch her (he said, “Don't know why she's asking me, I'm hopeless”). But he likes Amanda and wanted to help so he came over and they did it in the kitchen. I had to be there too (unfortunately). She performed a bit from a play where a young woman strays into the servants' area and sees the butler's muddy boots and has a sexual awakening and rejects her father. Something along those lines (Swedish).

I couldn't help laughing a bit.

Amanda: It's not meant to be a comedy.

Me: It's nerves.

AB: Come on, Nina, be fair.

Then she did another scene from a different play. During her lines she fiddled with a flower for added drama.

Amanda: I'm going to pull the petals off this flower to show I'm in turmoil.

AB: Right-o!

She was a woman on drugs whose son confronts her and calls her a “dope fiend.” I was reading the son's lines and I had to say, “You're a dope fiend,” and then she has to go off on a rant. It was strange having Amanda in the kitchen ripping the flower and shouting at me in an American accent and AB sipping his chamomile tea.

Because it was a Tuesday, MK came home early and she stood on the stairs for a moment, listening. I could see her feet. I called her to come down.

MK: What's going on?

Me: Amanda is acting for AB.

MK: Why?

Me: She wants tips for her audition.

MK: Oh, I see. Here's one, stop shredding that flower.

Amanda: It's a prop.

MK: It's not working.

I've no idea how good Amanda was at the acting, but AB was encouraging anyway, and said he'd write a reference for drama school (saying what an asset she'd be with her enthusiasm and ideas). She's going to the audition soon. So we'll see. She's decided to ditch the flower.

Once all the fuss has died down, I'll show AB ch. 1 of my novel.

Talking of dope fiends…Mary-Kay has asked me if I can give her “a bit of grass.” She meant cannabis. I was shocked and said it wasn't my thing. God, Vic, I don't want
her
turning into a dope fiend, things are going well for her, with the LRB and everything. I hope she doesn't go down that road—imagine her and AB puffing away on a bong every night.

It might be the influence of X (the crab man). I think he might be a bit druggy.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Still working on my semiautobiographical novel. Not as easy as I thought. The problem is all the explaining you have to do. Your story gets overwhelmed with detail. Stupidly told Pippa that I was trying to write a novel and now she always asks, “How's the novel going?” with an expression of boredom on her face. And sometimes says, “What's it about?” or “Am I in it?”

Pippa: I'll
never
write a novel or play.

Me: Most people won't.

Pippa: No, but I won't on principle.

Me: Why?

Pippa: Because of what happened to my friend Tony.

Me: What happened to him?

Pippa: He wrote an amazing TV series and sent it to the BBC and they sent a letter back saying thanks, but no thanks.

Me: You have to learn to accept rejection.

Pippa: Yeah, but then, a couple of years later, the very thing he sent in came on the telly.

Me: What was it?

Pippa:
Taxi.

I didn't ask who Tony was. Couldn't be bothered.

You have to have a very clear idea of the end before you start and then work toward that end. Discussing it with Will (who is always working on a novel):

Will: I just write and see what occurs.

Me: You should have a plan.

Will: My plan is to see what occurs.

Me: But a reader will look for clues and signals.

Will: I am the reader.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Both Mary-Kay and Nunney believe there's no such thing as an accident when bad things happen (accidentally) to me, i.e. my toothbrush slipping and cutting my gum. Told Nunney (I'd cut my gum by accident) and he said, “No such thing as an accident.” Meaning I injured my own gum deliberately. Presumably so I could tell him and get some attention and sympathy.

Told MK.

Me: Nunney says there's no such thing as an accident.

MK: I'm aware of that idea.

Me: Do you think there's no such thing as an accident?

MK: Sort of.

But the next day, it's a 100% accident when she throws her car keys in the bin and we're digging through bits of saucy kitchen roll, fag ends and potato peelings (and teaspoons as it turned out).

Someone drew something on our wall with a penknife or stick. MK thought it was a heart. I went and looked and saw a penis (scratched into the brick).

Me: I think it's meant to be a man's penis.

MK: I thought it might be a heart.

Me: How?

MK: An upside down one.

AB: Like mine.

(
Will goes out to look.
)

Me: People don't usually draw hearts on walls.

MK: I might.

Sam: I'd never draw a heart or…the other thing.

Will: (
returns
) It's definitely a dick.

MK: It looks more like a heart.

AB: You'd think they'd label it.