by Swan, Tarn
After much deliberation I invited Martin to the party, uncertain as to whether it was the right thing to do and if in fact he’d come. He didn’t send a reply to say yay or nay.
I wasn’t trying to be a matchmaker, or maybe I was. I want Brian to be happy again. I told him I’d invited Martin, but didn’t know if he’d show. He did. His face lit up as Brian came to greet him. I was pleased to see them enjoying each other's company and at one point exchanging a kiss. Maybe I’m a matchmaker after all. They left together later that evening. I'm dying to call Brian and ask how things went, but I won't. He’ll tell me when he's ready.
Twinks also tried his hand at matchmaking. After discussing the matter with me he decided to send Stuart Cramer an invitation to the party. Stuart called me to say thank you, but alas he couldn’t attend, as he would be away on holiday.
Twinks was disappointed and cross. I had to stop him from marching on the garage to demand proof Stuart really would be away on holiday. He’s developed a fantasy of luring Stuart away from me by pushing him in Lulu’s direction. I’d love to see Lu set up with a man, but I doubt it will ever be Stuart Cramer. He has fixed ideas of masculinity and is resistant to anything that challenges them.
Val and Sandra were in attendance and it was good to see them holding hands and being relaxed and affectionate with each other. They’re now talking about adding to their family by getting a dog or puppy from a rescue centre. Sandy is going to go part time at work so she can look after it properly. It’s all good positive stuff.
Twinks and I feared they were going to split at one point. Val finally grasped the bull by the horns and told Sandra she wanted them to attend counselling sessions together before they lost what they really wanted in life, each other. Talking to an impartial third party helped them remember where they’d come from and what they’d shared and what had been important before baby issues consumed them.
What happened between them and between Twinks and I prove you can't take love and relationships for granted. They have to be continually worked at.
Mum was at the party with Priscilla, and my dad with Gill and Janet. They all got on affably enough. Gill’s doing okay, though she has bad days. She saw a bereavement counsellor for a while to help her come to terms with what happened, but it will take time for her to heal properly. Dad is of the generation that just gets on with it and declined counselling, choosing to come to terms with the baby’s loss in his own way.
My sister Maryann attended the party, alone. Her boyfriend Callum predictably backed out at the last minute. She got a bit upset as she talked about it. Dad hugged her and fiercely told her she needed to find a man worthy of her.
Friends and work colleagues dropped in and out at various points in the day and Twinks and I were kept busy supplying drinks and making sure there was enough food for everyone.
There was a small contretemps when Dominic decided he liked Janet's little parasol better than the paper dragon he had been given and tried to take it from her. They had a tug of war over it, with him ending up sobbing. Gabby, bless her, offered to give him hers. Twinks leapt to the rescue ad said there was no need and promptly produced a spare one, ignoring Paul's protests that it was too girly. Girly or not, Dom was a happy little boy with his pretty sunshade.
Later, as the sun got hotter, drunk daddy Paul was to be seen staggering around the garden under the shade of Karen's tiger decorated parasol with her muttering dark threats about what she'd do if he broke it.
My aunt Helen had too many of Twinkle's deceptive cocktails. She was videoed paddling in the pool while holding hands with Big Mary, sympathising as he claimed he was suffering a hot flush due to going through the menopause. The hot flush was probably due to the beehive wig he was wearing, but aunt Helen accepted without question that in the strange world of her nephew and his friends, drag queens, even bearded ones, were susceptible to the menopause.
Barry found an unexpected friend in my uncle Ronnie who turned out to have once bred dwarf Siberian hamsters. It was news to me. It was news to our Debs as well. She said she had always suspected her father had a dark and hidden past. The surprises didn’t stop there. Cherie Pie, aunt Helen and uncle Ronnie provided a memorable moment of entertainment when they did an Andrews Sisters and sang ‘I'll be with you in apple blossom time.’
Our Debs face was a picture. Turning to me she asked: “who are these people and what have they done with my parents?”
Rick came with one boyfriend in the afternoon, left with him at teatime and returned with a different one in the evening. 'Slut' was the word burning on the lips of the acid queens.
Natalie mysteriously tripped and plunged into a large pink hydrangea, floundering around like an exotic bird when her colourful fifties style prom dress and frilly petticoats flew up showing off her knickers and stocking tops.
Twinks, who happened to be standing close by, hastily helped her out of the bush as my eye fell upon him. Brushing her down he claimed the daft tart had had one too many and lost control of her stilettos.
She got her own back by losing control of her handbag, which swung at his head. It clanked against his right ear and swiped off the faux helix earring adorning the top of it. I had no sympathy for the bad boy.
As the sun slowly turned down and the fairy lights and Chinese lanterns lit up the garden I was to be found sitting on the garden swing cuddling a tearful Lulu on my lap as he talked about his mum. The first anniversary of her death has recently passed and it would have been her birthday yesterday.
Gabby came and settled down beside us. I asked if she was enjoying herself. She said it was the nicest party she had ever been to and then she leaned against me and said she hoped Twinks and I would never move away because we were the best neighbours anyone could ever had and she loved us.
Taking Lulu by the hand she led him off to dance with her while telling him his dress was so pretty and she liked his glittery eye shadow. I sat for a few minutes watching them. Her words, a child's words, were like balm to my ears, especially after what happened on our recent holiday.
I got up to rescue Frank from a drunken and predatory Empress Gloria who had taken a fancy to him, despite him telling her to ‘give over woman I'm a married man.’ It was the least I could do. I owed it to Gabby to keep her dad safe. After all not many of our neighbours were willing to accept us let alone love us. Grasping Gloria by the hand I insisted she dance with me.
Frank was later found asleep on the bouncy castle on the front lawn wearing Big Mary’ beehive wig and clutching a feather fan. Katie ruthlessly filmed him with her mobile while ominously declaring the footage might come in handy as ‘leverage.‘
All in all it was indeed a very grand garden party and a fantastic occasion. It gave us a boost to our spirits and provided a wonderful memory to be stored away.
Today was altogether more mundane. Twinks didn't get up until this afternoon, by which time I was well into the clearing up process.
I'm signing off. Maryann has landed home. She’s still staying with us. She's been out all day with mum and Prissy. They’ve been to Whitby. Tonight is the last chance I'll get to talk with her before she goes back to Scotland tomorrow.
PS: Twinks did finally go for an eye test, but more catch up later.
8th August ~ Buggering Jane Norman
We got home from work this evening, as you do, and while Twinkles stuck a pizza in the oven and tossed a salad for dinner I stuck a load of washing in the machine. As a result I'm a very bad man and an appalling husband. Twinkles is not speaking to me, so he says, and says. In fact since he declared his intention not to speak to me he hasn't stopped speaking. To be fair he's more aiming speech AT me in a general direction as opposed to speaking TO me in person.
He's now watching telly, arms folded, legs crossed with a fluffy mule slapping a Morse Code of outrage against the heel of his foot, it then gets transferred to his mouth and translated into words that come out in tearful spurts.
What have I done to deserv
e banishment to the spouse doghouse? I've buggered Jane Norman that's what I've done. Jane Norman, he hastily goes on to explain, is not a person per se but rather the designer of a range of clothing bearing her name, in this case a skirt. It was his favourite buy of the summer. While sticking the aforementioned load of washing in the machine, namely towels on a full hot cycle with pre-wash treatment (his make-up is murder to get off the towels) I accidentally included the skirt. It's ruined. It is now a limp rag.
I feel awful. He loved the skirt. It was a feel-good item of clothing that made him feel pretty and feminine, reminding him of the full skirts his sisters wore to parties and which he secretly coveted. It was made from delicate floaty cotton in shades of white and lime green decorated with sparkling silver glitter. He loved to twirl around in it and see the full material flare out.
Of course I offered my humble apologies and promised I would replace it. He said I couldn't replace it because they were sold out. He'd had a look in the JN franchise in Debenhams just the other day because he'd fancied getting one in bright blue only to discover there were none left at all, in any colour.
I offered to buy him another skirt, any he liked. He didn't want another one. He wanted that one, the one I had ruined. There's not a lot else I can do barring cutting my throat by way of penitence.
He's dredging up every washing machine mishap he's ever 'suffered' at my hands now. Like the time I accidentally put a favourite blouse of his, a white lace confection, in with a load of darker items, including a new black t-shirt of mine. The t-shirt proved not to be colourfast and bled dye into everything. His white blouse ended up a patchy mess. He was not pleased. My poor ears attempted to heal over as he assaulted them with his verbal displeasure, much as now. Excuse me a moment while I remind him that on that occasion I managed to buy some colour corrector stuff that salvaged the blouse.
Correcting the mistake, he says, wasn't the point then and it isn't the point now. The point is I should have been more frigging careful…this from Mr World Class Careless himself, burner of bathrooms, smasher of light fittings, windows, cups, plates, you name it, as well as castrator of statues.
I'll find a way of making it up to him. In the meantime I’ll keep my head down until he's got his upset out of his system.
My sister Maryann has gone home. I'm worried about her. It seems to be a year for rocky relationships. She and Callum are going through a choppy patch and she's wondering whether she wants to continue with what she feels has become a one-sided relationship. She says she's become a part of his life. She associates with his friends and family and takes an interest in his interests. On the other hand he has made no effort whatsoever to cross the border into her life or share her interests. Refusing to attend the party after promising he would do so was the final straw.
Twinks offered impartial advice: “dump the chauvinistic selfish small-minded homophobic bastard and find someone else.”
It's easy for those of us outside a relationship to make judgments and deliver solutions, but not so easy for those in it who are struggling with emotions that no one else has privy to. Maryann seems to have genuine feelings for Callum. God knows why because he is exactly what Twinks said he is. However, it's her life and she must follow her heart and make her own choices.
To update on things optical, was Twinks struck down with my mother's curse? Is he now a wearer of gegs?
I finally got him to admit he was having eye trouble. I had some reports to write one night and was working on my laptop in the kitchen when I fancied a drink. I made a pot of tea and took one to Twinks only to discover him watching Hollyoaks with a hand clapped over one eye. Now if he'd been watching it with both hands over his eyes I would have understood. It's a ghastly programme and personally I think watching it with both eyes covered and both ears plugged to be the preferable option. Anyway, he tearfully admitted his vision was annoyingly blurry more so in one eye than the other.
Wild horses later we ended up in Vision Express. He went into the consulting room to have his eyes tested and I sat down to wait for him. It wasn’t long before the lady optician sidled out of the room and whispered in my ear that Mr Swan was refusing to put on the optometrist test frames and therefore she couldn't test his eyes.
I sighed and followed her back into the room to investigate why he was refusing to put on the frames. They were hideous that’s why. Absolutely HIDEOUS. I mean who designed these things? They deserved to be flogged. No way was he perching such an ugly heavy contraption on his pretty nose, not even for a second.
Begging the optician’s pardon and patience I asked for a few moments alone with Mr Swan. She obliged. I had a quiet word with him. The gist of it being if he didn't behave the entire shop would hear me smacking his arse.
He behaved and let the optician get on with her job and examine his eyes. The outcome was not a prescription for specs. She advised him to consult his doctor immediately as he had some swelling of the eyeball and she suspected this was causing his blurred vision. We consulted Maurice. Why have an eye specialist as a friend and not use him, so to speak.
Maurice kindly obliged with a thorough exam and diagnosed corneal oedema. It was in the eye Twinks damaged by accidentally gluing a cosmetic contact lens to it last year. Maurice reckoned an eyelash had probably scratched his eyeball (either that or a mascara wand) and caused a mild infection leading to the oedema. He said eyes that have suffered a trauma tend to be more vulnerable and he'd warned Twinkles about being careful with his false eyelashes and mascara brush.
He recommended Twinks ask his doctor for a course of antibacterial eye drops. They did the trick, though anyone would think I was trying to poke his eyes out from the fuss he made every time I put them in for him.
I'm going for a shower. Hopefully by the time I come out he’ll be feeling more kindly disposed towards me, especially if I tell him I'll flex off work tomorrow morning and drive up to Newcastle. There’s a Jane Norman shop there according to Google. Maybe they’ll still have the green skirt in stock. Fingers crossed!
11th August ~ Cappuccino Hero
I’ve gone from being man in the doghouse to a veritable prince amongst husbands. It doesn't happen often, but when it does it feels good. I'm my beloved's hero, his knight if not in shining armour then at least with shiny designer carrier bags.
My expedition in search of Jane Norman was successful, especially after I switched my mobile off so Twinks couldn't call me every ten minutes to see if I was there yet. I found the shop and within it the lime green number I had washed to oblivion. I also found the blue one he had wanted, and, drum roll, a bonus skirt. I wasn't too sure about it at first. It was in shades of brown, possibly even beige, and you know Twinks and beige.
I asked an assistant to verify the colour. She reckoned it was mink or possibly taupe, names I stored carefully away in my mind ready to bring out in the event of fresh beige rage. In a rash moment of wild generosity brought on by the relief of having found what he wanted I bought all three skirts, aided by the fact they were all half price in the sale.
He must have craftily sprinkled magic stardust on me during the night because I experienced a moment of Twinkle impulsivity and also bought a little pink satin evening bag with a diamante bow fastening. It was reduced in price by a generous seventy percent so how could I not be tempted.
Before I could shake the stardust from my eyes I spotted a pretty feather and crystal head ornament, which the assistant called a fascinator. It worked. I was fascinated. Twinks would love it. I bought it. If someone had told me I'd end up getting excited by skirts, handbags and hair ornaments I would never have believed them. I couldn't wait to present them.
Twinks was thrilled to bits, though I tensed slightly as he drew the 'brown' skirt out of the bag. I needn't have worried. Giving a squeal of delight he said he hadn't realised they made it in a cappuccino colour, and with gold glitter. It was gorgeous. I was the best husband in the entire world. He adored me. It's weird, but fortunate that a colour can have so
many different interpretations. Talk about fifty shades of beige.
I'd better be off to pick him up from work. Time is moving on and there are road works to negotiate. He gets tetchy when I'm late, especially on a going out evening. I don't want to be demoted from prince to pauper again.
26th August ~ Changing Moods
I think it fair to say the waters of the Swan pond have been choppy of late. So much so that divorce followed by a lifetime of celibacy seem more appealing than living with my moody little mare. For the best part of a fortnight his hormonal feminine side has been in the ascendancy with a vengeance. It’s been tears, traumas and tantrums over the slightest thing.
For example he flung a paddy last night because his chosen lipstick broke in half when he was applying it. It had gone soft with the heat. Of course I got the blame. It was my fault for not reminding him to pop it in the fridge when he got home from work so it would be nice and firm when he needed it.
By mutual agreement we spent the evening apart in the PP. He did his usual thing, dancing, bitching, gossiping and drinking and I sat in the office having a drink and chat with Brian. He crossed the great divide once to ask me to lend him a tenner as he’d run out of cash and he wanted another drink. I earned his wrath by refusing. In my opinion he’d had enough alcohol to drink. He was moody enough sober. Getting pie-eyed would only make him moodier. Besides, enforced sobriety might teach him to throw broken lipsticks at me. It had bounced off my forehead and left a scarlet mark. I looked like I had a bindi.
When it came to going home time I couldn't find him anywhere and put out a general alert. A breathless Barry came tearing up to inform me Twinks had declared an intention to hitch a lift home in preference to sharing a taxi with me.