Monday 4 May 2009

COMPLETELY CHILDISH BEHAVIOUR

As a hugely unrepentant smoker and mother of six, I do struggle with one thing: the smoking ban. Actually, I struggle with five things, but noone is interested in the other four, typically, so smoking it shall be.  A friend of mine is in print this weekend as saying that the smoking ban has ushered in another vile activity: the changing of babies' nappies on pub tables! Can anyone imagine anything more appalling?  Why should the wholesale enspreadment of faeces be more acceptable than the transient hush of a Kensitas Blue?  No, truly, tell me.  And in these days of Swine Fever.  Tell me.  Tell me now.  I am gagging for it.    The whole thing is beyond reason.  

Parents seem to be very laissez faire these days, and can I say I don't like it?  They allow their offspring to belabour minimum-wage barstaff with unreasonable demands for dilute squash and CBeebies on the widescreen.  What is wrong with the world?  Time was, a wholly incurable inebriate, such as myself, could propel herself into the Cross Keys* in Gun Street for solid and uninterrupted vodka until 11.15 pm, whence a tame taxi could be conjured up, and home in Sonning before midnight.  A charmed life, if you will.  Everyone happy.  My children firmly tucked up in bed, and the au pair chipping baked-on bourguignonne from the Le Creuset.  Or should that be the Creuset? Or just Le Creuset with no the.  No matter.

My thrust here, however, is children.  God knows, I have had my fill of them, and they of me, saints bless them.  The inescapable fact is, I had too many, and I was completely bedazzled by the responsibility.  Trailing clouds of glory, is how dear old Wordsworth had it, but I let them down in the cruelest way.  My children, without exception, are prettier, kinder, cleverer and more violent than I, and I thank the dear Lord above for that.  I have to tell you that yestersday in Chez Gerard, Marlow, I witnessed a deathly scene:  a grim middle class couple, both overweight and wearing fleeces,  were encouraging their podgy son to count in the binary system.  Can you begin to imagine the flames of hatred  in my soul?  In Chez Gerard, where children should be outlawed, and the only sound should be that of a silversmith calling for more Punt e Mes.  How I thanked  providence that my friend, the bent Geriatrician, has provided me with inadvisable doses of Cymbalto and Lexalpro. They course through me like the Yuculta Rapids, and keep me calm but angry, which is how I like it.

But, all work and no play makes Jane a dull girl.  Or something.  You will be excited to hear that I met Jackie de Shannon this week in Claridges - think of the thrill!  I will expand on this fortunate (for her) collision next week, but mainly I want to wallow in self-reference and cloudy memory, as is my want and hallmark.  Six kind friends, and they know who they are, will understand that this has been a weekend of almost unbearable emotion for me, and to them I say this:  my father's favourite book was the Confessions of Rousseau - in translation, regrettably, but there we are, and his favourite quotation of all was from the King Victor Amadeus chapter that says " I have only one thing to fear in this undertaking; not that I may say too much, or what is not true, but that I may not say all, and may conceal the truth".  Of course, nobody knew why he liked this particular aphorism and, when asked, he would shrug his shoulders and smile sadly.  He would do the same when questioned about Tommy Lawton or the Albanian coast.  Before he saw sense and bought a bijou property in Antibes, my dear old father could not be tempted away from Vlones (Valona).  Edward Lear painted here and wrote "Let an artist visit Accroceraunia; until he does so he will not be aware of the grandest phase of savage yet classical picturesqueness whether - Illyrian or Epirote - men or mountains."  Albanians claim to be direct descendants of the Illyrians and were still clinging to their feudal systems even then.  In the countryside it was not unusual to see men supervising the women in the fields, or sometimes walking along the roadside carrying long sticks to emphasize their authority over the load-bearing girls trailing behind.  

The Russians based ten submarines at Valona, but could not persuade the Albanian peasants to take any interest in industrial pursuits, and even less success with government officials who failed to control the finances properly.  By the mid-60s they had given Albania up as hopeless, and withdrew all support, even stopping the satellite countries from sending the summer tourists, who at this point were heading towards the beaches south of Durazzo.   At this point my father decided to move on, too, and never returned.

I didn't care.  I vastly preferred Antibes - who wouldn't?  But even more than Antibes, I liked Bournemouth, because we had a beach hut and everyone spoke English, and none of this silly siesta business and keeping out of the sun, because there wasn't any.  At the Winter Gardens one year I saw a troupe of performing poodles and a man with a musical saw.  Antibes could offer nothing on this scale.  It wasn't very child-friendly.


*It is now the Sahara Bar.  Could anything be nastier?

34 comments:

  1. I think I'm more suited to Bournemouth and performing poodles. Even now. But that's because I'm shallow.
    Sxxxx

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hello Pouncer. I was fond of an Embassy number one back in yesteryear. Can't say I've seen any baby doo-doo in my boozer, although what you say does make a bit of sense cos alot of people do get sh*tfaced there.

    ReplyDelete
  3. What the World Needs Now....
    I shall be humming this all morning...
    Sx

    ReplyDelete
  4. Afternoon even... how should I know whether it's morning or afternoon...?
    Sx

    ReplyDelete
  5. Well for one am all agog for the other four things you struggle with*. Smoking is so, well, ho-hum as far as I'm concerned.

    *Why struggle, by the way? I'm with Mae West: when someone was introduced to her as an all-in wrestler, she said "Honey, I gotta ask - if it's all in, why wrestle?

    ReplyDelete
  6. I can't believe that excrement is allowed anywhere near a pub table. It's appalling. We had it right in my day, when children were seen but not heard and then only on sufferance.
    I've always been an advocate for breast feeding for instance, but abhor the habit of doing it in public. It's so bad for the baby and the voyeurs.
    Six children! I'm speechless with admiration.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Mrs P, I take both Arianrhod and Bendigeidfran to both of the public houses of Emmer Green ("Swimming lesson at this time of day, Boyo?" "Credit Crunch Special, my little zapekanka!"), and they provide sterling service to the dessicated Didicoi of that parish.

    An ashtray strapped to Bendi's back makes his crawl around the Black Horse enclosure both bracing and umweltsfreundlich, and Ari earns a pretty farthing (still tender in rural Berks, along with the Maria Theresa Thaler) by scurrying with slips to the bookies.

    I shan't be able to make Malmaison on Friday night, as the kids are in the White Horse pub quiz (as prizes, if I had my way), but you're welcome to drop by Schloss Boyo anytime you or we fancy.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I phased out around about the time you mentioned children, its a bad habit that non-parents can fall foul of, that and inability to foc....

    ReplyDelete
  9. Your father was a terrifyingly subtle man by your accounts.

    We were waxing nostalgic about Yate's Wine Lodge at work today. Does anyone else remember the string quartet at Nottingham?

    ReplyDelete
  10. There are TWO pubs in Emmer Green???? I'll be damned.

    When I lived in Northampton *wincing at the memory of it* the local pub went bad in the space of a couple of years. By the end, the locals (who drove over in droves from the sink estate at Weston Favell) would stand puffing away over their newborn offspring -- well before the smoking ban. The little blighters who could self perambulate would run in and out constantly, leaving doors open and stealing fags. Harold and I were almost nostalgic for Nigeria, where the children were at least quiet and put to good use behind the bar.

    Hotel bars are the only civilized places left to drink in. Although I don't recommend the Holiday Inn at Jct 11.

    ReplyDelete
  11. As I read your marvelous post, I imagined you seated at the foot of my bed, or maybe by my pillow. As I lay weakly laughing myself silly. You talked on and on, taking me deeper into your labyrinth of tales. Now I will channel a performing poodle in Bournemouth.
    Grump x

    ReplyDelete
  12. Scarletina, hello! I have given Bournemouth a wide berth for many years. These days they keep a captive balloon in the Winter Gardens. It is tethered by stout wires so that the passengers are exhilarated but strictly controlled. They feel a genuine thrill, but know that they are merely on a long lead. Many will sigh at this description. It is the story of their lives.

    Emmers, dahling! A great bulging sportsboy such as yourself has no need of drugs and distractions! And do keep babies at bay. Many a promising athlete has been hobbled by a hoyden with childbearing hips. Look at poor little Frankie Lampard.

    Scarlet, yes a lurvely song, and with a heightened sentiment. However, I prefer When You Walk in the Room, another de Shannon masterpiece. Again, many will sigh on re-reading the lyric. It has happened to us all.

    Auty, hello, how are you? Smoking may well be ho and, indeed, hum to you, but I am one of the great smokers of my generation, and feel the need keenly. Since you ask, the other four things are: East Anglia, lip readers, Cheesestrings and Mr Jacqui Smith. That is my list for this month, anyway.

    Pat, don't be dumbstruck. Six children, but five pregnancies. Twin boys, and I fed them all. Satisfying twins is an art. Some readers will sigh at this sentence, and baser minds (E. Marks) will put an unwarranted spin on it.

    ReplyDelete
  13. S'true, Daphne. The Gardener's Arms closed this year. It was always rank and sunk in the gloom of a shadowy valley, so no loss there. Its habitués now drink, fight and smoke at home, as they fear the sunlit uplands of Emmer Green proper.

    I once persuaded a senior colleague that it was called the Gardiner's Arms, after the Egyptologist Prof Alan Gardiner, whose "Egyptian Grammar (3rd Ed)" is one of my prized possessions. So prized that I have never opened it.

    ReplyDelete
  14. What a coincidence - I'm now at the bit of the Byron biog where he was in Albania and in fact bought himself a regimental soldier's costume there and delighted in wearing it at masquerades in London.

    I don't like children

    ReplyDelete
  15. Even I would quail at feeding two at once. But what a brilliant thing to do.

    ReplyDelete
  16. I've got to admit this, Mrs P - I cannot remain quiet another moment - I have grave doubts about you. I can't believe that someone who has heard of Kathy Kirby and Jackie de Shannon is a female mother of six children. Go on - admit it - you are either Christopher Biggins or Rupert Everett

    (runs away)

    ReplyDelete
  17. Northampton, Daphne? But why? Was Northampton once the Hat capital of the UK? Or was that Luton? Or was it Boots and Shoes? Or am I thinking of Jesse Boot, Nottingham? Are you saying that Harold was a traveller in ladies' leisure footwear? Or was he a humble hat-blocker? I am reeling; I thought you had moved in more elevated circles! Hotel bars: it very much depends on the company you keep. The dreariest gin palace could be transformed by the presence of, say, Jacob Zuma or either of the Chapman brothers.

    Wendy, manners! I never zone out when you introduce Jackson Freres into the discourse, in fact I encourage you! Remember the time I referenced Candlewick bedspreads and hostess aprons? Noblesse oblige.

    Kevin, there was a Yates' in Reading until quite recently. There was also a temperance hotel opposite the station. My dear old father used to roar with laughter, as it housed the worst type of inebriates who'd been refused admission at the Great Western Hotel next door. The GWH is now a branch of Malmaison, and has exceptional upholstery in the bar, according to Wendums.

    ReplyDelete
  18. Yes, Pat, it was a sight to behold, and definitely NOT to be done in public. I must have spent almost six months in a permanent state of undress; well from the waist upwards anyway. Now look at me!

    Frenchay, you are a meanie! However, I congratulate you on your elevated reading habits. All I can say to your slur is this: if you had bestirred yourself to read my backstory, you would see that my dear old father (recently dec'd) was oft-times duty doctor at some of the glamorous old British studios in the salad days. It was at a charity gala at Bray, for example, that he performed the Heimlich maneouvre on one of the Beverley Sisters when a cocktail sausage went down the wrong way. K. Kirby was a true favourite of his as she had clinically-interesting lordosis, and I thought everyone had heard of Jackie de Shannon? Scarla has.

    All I can say to being C. Biggins is I wish. Today, I had a spinechilling letter from the bank and I live the sort of life a nun would be proud of (a heavy-smoking piss artist type of nun, that is). I read this weekend that Rosemary West (mass-murderer's accomplice and child abuser) has a string of gentlemen callers, and I'm not getting laid. That is the depressing reality. Biggins, on the other hand, has it all going on. No fair.

    ReplyDelete
  19. Boyo, the recession has reached the prettier villages along the Thames, and I will be drinking in solitary splendour in the privacy of my own laundry room from now on. Painful, but true. With the scent of Robin Starch around me and a bottle of Old Ma Moosejaw's Drinking Type Wine, I shall be lonely but content. Maudlin times lie ahead of me, my old friend, and I shall soon blow the dust off my Francoise Hardy LPs and get torchy.

    Grump, do not admit to imaging me by your bed. Baser minds than yours read my sumptuous pensees and their fevered imaginations will run riot. Also, Kevin is prone to envy, as I have been steadfast in my refusal to crease his counterpane. Cx

    ReplyDelete
  20. Spelling corrections so far:

    manoeuvre

    imagining

    ReplyDelete
  21. I quite fancy being Rupert Everett.
    Sx

    ReplyDelete
  22. Sorry, I meant: I quite fancy Rupert Everett.
    Sx

    ReplyDelete
  23. My post did rather lay heavy on my heart, I've got to admit that and I have actually read your back story - in fact I've read every word on your blog but, even so, doubts crept in.

    I've got to add that I've not read a book by either of those illustrious gentilhommes. Too busy wading through my academic tomes on Byron (who occasionally also dressed up in frocks)

    ReplyDelete
  24. (Excuse me Mrs P) French, have you got to coitum plenum et optabile yet? I had to look that up; those Romans were a saucy bunch. They had one word for the motion a woman makes while being rogered and another for a boy in the same situation. Unfortunately I've forgotten both; maybe K Musgrove could help?

    ReplyDelete
  25. Will a second apologetic post make amends. You are a truly very unusual woman who fascinates me. There - how's that?

    ReplyDelete
  26. Oh, Inky! Numquid cum crisas blandior esse potes? a very bad man once said to me. One of the (many) occasions when I have been glad to be brainy. Cx

    ReplyDelete
  27. Sorry to be dense Clarissa: the bank's sent you a letter saying that you're not to be laid?

    ReplyDelete
  28. Kev, they might just as well have. They (the bank) have put unreasonable restrictions on all my other activities, such as they are. So: millinery, hosiery, etc - out. Rare serums, touche eclat - out. Vogue, Tatler, Spectator - out. Bahlsen biscuits - out. Smoking - ten Consulate. Drinking - have just blown the dust off a bot of Parfait Amour and am seriously considering Cinzano Bianco. Desperate. Thank goodness my religion forbids bacon; I believe there is no suitable substitute.

    Scarla, once more, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Is this something to do with Swine Fever? Also, if you have seen Emerson Marks in your tarot cards I must ask for a reshuffle until you come up with Barry Teeth.

    ReplyDelete
  29. Oh crikey... you'll be using Rimmel before the week is out... and bacon crisps are fine. They are vegetarian.
    Sx

    ReplyDelete
  30. Well, I had to look that up too. A tremendous compliment. What did your admirer say to his rent-boys?

    ReplyDelete
  31. Inky, I know. How hideous was that! But how skinny I was in those long lost days. Childbearing hips now. Childbearing everything. It's to cry.

    ReplyDelete
  32. This, aided by the Latin, truly reads like a chapter from Gibbon's Decline and Fall (no, I haven't read it either). I don't know what to say, how I can help. Except "I believe the children are our are future; Teach them well and let them lead the way.. to the pub".

    ReplyDelete
  33. Can you begin to imagine the flames of hatred in my soul?
    Acai Berry

    ReplyDelete