by Swan, Tarn
I’m keeping my thoughts and diary entries about her in private mode for the time being. Twinks doesn’t want to hear any negatives about her. He’s waited a long time for this ‘miracle.’ Cautionary words on my part are seen as sabotage. All I can do is monitor and be there for him if things do take an unpleasant turn.
I want to be wrong about her. As in so much of life, time will tell.
13th December ~ Little Pink Hitler
As I write I'm sitting by the window in the living room. It's barely half past three in the afternoon, but the sun is already beginning to depart the sky. The colours being painted are stunning. It’s been a bitter cold day and the frost glazing the atmosphere is adding a sparkling pastel dimension to the sun's palette. It’s beautiful, blending down from vivid gold and red into translucent shades of blue, mauve, cream and soft pink. I love watching the sun both rise and set. It never fails to enthral and move me.
Twinks is grousing about me having the blinds open just so I can sky gaze.
“It’s like living in a goldfish bowl. It’s not like you’ve never seen a frigging sunset before. Who do you think you are, Sir Patrick Moore watching the stars at night? I want the blinds shut, now. Besides you’re letting the heat out. You’ll be the one moaning like a miser when the gas bill comes in.”
Excuse me while I aim a swat at his petulant backside.
He's been manic today. It's his last day off before Christmas so he's been dashing around like a blue arsed fly. He's knackered and inclined to be crabby. There's no real need for him to dash around manically doing things, but getting him to accept it is nigh on impossible. Feeling harassed is part of Christmas in his book. He's always been the same. He wanted to dash out and do some last minute panic buying this afternoon. I vetoed it. He’s been panic buying since the first Christmas cards appeared in the shops back in July and enough is enough. We have all the gifts we need and some to spare.
Him in frocks isn't the only manic thing in my life at the moment. Work has been mad this week. The computer system in the new offices isn't up to scratch. Work has been building up as the IT crowd tinker and tamper, taking their own sweet time. My superior's superior has been on her back about the lack of productivity and consequently she's been on my back. In turn I've passed on stress to my staff. According to Karen they’re seriously considering buying me a nag's bridle for Christmas. I'll win them back by buying them cream cakes on Friday. They’re a fickle lot, show them a chocolate éclair and they'll forgive you a multitude of sins.
The IT problems have been exacerbated by the arrival of an ergonomics guru. She’s added to the general chaos and it's a wonder any of us turn up to work at all. The trouble with being in the pay of the Government is that they tend to try and implement all the policies produced by their ‘Stats People.’ In this case stats claim that people who work at a computer are more productive and less likely to develop RSI if their work environment is ergonomically tailored. Hence the guru.
Some of the staff welcomed the idea, some didn't. Phil, counting down the days to his retirement, complained bitterly about the process. He put the guru in the picture regarding a few things. He likes slouching over his desk. He likes working with his nose just about resting on his computer screen. He doesn’t want to sit up straight. He wants to be left alone to be productive in his own way. It’s fascism, all this ergonomic crap. It robs people of their God given right to have round shoulders if they so wish. It’s nothing to do with staff care. It’s all in aid of squeezing more work for less salary and avoiding paying compensation when joints seize up. The guru gave up at that point and left him to his round shoulders.
I worked from home today. I had a detailed report to complete. I wanted to do it without worrying I was setting a bad example to my staff by slouching over my desk.
Have to go. My darling spouse is demanding I attend. He wants me to get the ornamental reindeer out of the loft and make sure they're in working order. I've promised to give him a foot massage after tea and we're also having a Christmas gift-wrapping evening. I'm dreading it. He’s a little pink Hitler when it comes to wrapping presents. Woe betide if my corners aren't neat enough or if my ribbons and bows don't meet his stringent standards. He’ll tear me off a strip and then strip all my wrappings off and make me do them over again. No gifts leave this house without the Stardust stamp of approval.
18th December ~ Icing on the Cake
Twinks has been poorly with a bad case of sinusitis for the last few days. At one point the headache and facial pain were so severe I had to stop him banging his head off the wall. He has to be a drama queen no matter what the situation. He was convinced he had a brain tumour. He began drafting his last will and testament designating who was to be bequeathed his frocks and beloved wig collection. No one could have his Cher wig though, because he wanted to be buried in it, not just the Cher wig of course because after all he isn’t Lady Godiva. He wanted to be buried in his Cher wig and his favourite gown. Cue action!
He then went through his wardrobe trying to decide which of his gowns was actually his favourite. The gorgeous gowns gifted to him by Barry were considered and dismissed. They were too good to be buried in and besides he was saving them on the off chance he survived the tumour. They were his trump card frocks for the PP Christmas Ball and The New Year Pageant. One queen title in a year is not enough for him. He’s going for a grand slam and aiming to take the Christmas and New Year crowns too.
He came to the conclusion none of his remaining gowns were suitable. There was only one thing for it. Before he died he'd have to hit the shops and find a gown suitable to be coffined in, plus a pair of shoes, a nice handbag and a glamorous wrap.
The doctor assured him that sinusitis was rarely fatal and prescribed antibiotics and a nasal spray. Twinks still thought it might be expedient to get in a decent burial outfit. I said no. It would be too morbid...morbidly expensive that is. Oh ha-ha. He gave me a snooty look and told me not to give up the frigging day job because I’d bomb as a comedian. Michael McIntyre had nothing to fear from me. There would be no Tarn Swan live at The Apollo Theatre and if there were it would be a ticket non-seller. He’s a sarky little devil at times.
He's much better now, still getting the odd twinge, but not looking anyway near as drawn and ill as he did. My poor boy, he needed much TLC.
He and mum have ironed out their differences and are speaking again. Thank goodness. The falling out was due to Christmas cake, or rather the icing on the cake. Twinks usually decorates mum's fruitcake for her. He enjoys the creative challenge. His Christmas icing creations like his shop window displays are a sight to behold.
Anyway, Amy, one of Prissy's daughters was visiting and mentioned she was doing a cake icing and decorating course at college. Prissy mentioned that my mother baked a beautiful Christmas cake and before you could sneeze Amy had volunteered to ice it.
Mum was placed in an awkward position. She didn't want to upset Twinks, but nor did she want to upset Priscilla or Amy. She's still trying to build up a relationship with his family. She felt if she came out and said, sorry, but I've already got a cake decorator then Amy would see it as a direct snub.
I could see mum’s point. Amy was obviously making the offer as a gesture of friendliness and goodwill to her father's new wife and trying to make up for prior awkwardness. To turn down the offer would be to risk causing more awkwardness and embarrassment.
Mum hoped Twinkles would understand and of course he did. He understood his efforts weren't good enough and that he'd been snubbed. They had a huge row with many bitchy and unkind words being spoken by both parties.
To be truthful I was cross with Twinks. He chose to be awkward because he was out of sorts over his sister. The cake situation was the perfect excuse to lose control and let rip. I came close to putting him over my knee and spanking him for the way he behaved. I didn’t because I knew upset over Caroline was largely responsible for driving his actions. We still had strong words.
I told him it
was fine to feel disappointed, about the cake, but he could at least try to view the situation from mum's side of the fence. The wilful brat stubbornly refused to feel anything but insulted.
I was pleased when he offered the olive branch first in the form of a spray of mum's favourite roses and freesias accompanied by an apology.
What was the business with Caroline? She didn’t send Twinks a birthday card. Her excuse? She said she hadn’t realised it was his birthday because it was never mentioned at home. She might as well have slapped his face. He was so hurt.
It was all nonsense in my opinion. She knows when his birthday is. She just couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge it. It was a calculated cruelty to my mind, another slip in the mask of her false friendliness.
For the first time since I’ve known him he was actually looking forward to his birthday. To have a card from a member of his family would have meant so much to him. When it didn’t happen he was devastated. It was rejection all over again. I’m telling you his birthday was twice as traumatic this year and even his second birthday didn’t compensate as it usually does.
Caroline could have made up by sending him a belated birthday card and a box of chocolates, but again she didn’t bother. I dislike and distrust her more than ever.
He’s still gone ahead and bought her a Christmas gift and a beautiful card. He can’t wait to give them. I have a terrible feeling of foreboding about it all. Nothing good is going to come from this situation, but what can I do? I can’t forbid him to see her. He longs for acceptance from his family. I’m definitely heading for an ulcer with the stress of it all.
Himself is currently crashed out on the couch snoring his head off. He’s shattered and not just because of the sinus infection. He’s working longer hours in the run up to Christmas and barely has time to snatch a lunch or tea break with the shop being so busy
21st December ~ Pantomime Time
Christmas is fast approaching. School is out for me. I don't go back to work until December the twenty-seventh. The Close is glowing with lights and ornaments. Frank’s house looks stunning. His annual light show has become something of a festive pull. People come from miles to view it. He’s got the Christmas train running along the roof again, but his piece de résistance this year is a nativity scene in the front garden in honour of Katie being with child. It’s beautiful.
Twinks and I have put up our Christmas trees in the house. Mine is the usual mess of clashing colours and naff old-fashioned tinsel (his description) while his is the last word in understated modern elegance (again his description.) To my mind his tree looks naked. It’s a black metal wire affair adorned with white lights and nothing else.
We’re spending Christmas Day at home this year so I doubt the bastard who burgled us last year will pay us another visit. He’ll be met by a crowd if he does, if it is a man. It could be a woman or as Twinks says, it might be a psychotic transvestite out for revenge for him having out glammed them at some point in the past. Who Knows?
Lulu is joining us for the day along with Barry, Big Mary and Brian. Martin has been invited, but a question mark hangs over whether he’ll attend. He feels guilty about leaving his mum on Christmas Day. She wouldn’t be on her own. She and he usually spend the day with her sister’s family.
Twinks invited him to invite her to spend the day with us too. At the time of the invitation he was wearing a colourful polka dot dress and matching high heel shoes. He also had a polka dot bow in his hair. Martin, looking horrified, thanked him for the invitation, but said his mother wouldn’t be comfortable with, and then trailed off, blushing. Twinks finished his sentence for him: “with people like me, is that what you were going to say?”
Martin denied it, saying he’d meant she’d be uncomfortable with strangers. Twinks still took offence and flounced off. I felt sorry for Martin as he stammered apologies saying he’d meant no offence. And of course he hadn’t. There’s no hate in him, just awkward discomfort. I gave him a hug and told him not to worry about it.
Maryann isn’t sure whether she’ll be coming home. She’s torn between spending the day with Callum’s family or us. What she really wants is for him to come here with her and at least make an effort to get to know us. It isn’t going to happen. He doesn’t like us. He has no intention of giving us a chance to grow on him. His loss is what I say.
I may have finished work, but I’m not a free agent. I have plenty to do over the next few days. Twinks has plans for me. I’ve got my orders.
He still has tomorrow, Sunday and Christmas Eve to work. Shop workers, as he says in his own inimitable fashion, are no more than frigging slaves to commerce at this time of year and chained to the wrong side of the till.
Despite his grumbles, he’s looking forward to the next few days. Work won’t be so much work as show time. It’s become a tradition for him to turn up to work on Christmas Eve dressed up in aid of a charity. This year he thought it would be a good idea to extend the tradition and make a big charity event of the pre-Christmas weekend.
After discussions with his boss Don and the owner of the jewellers he was given the go-ahead. Not only will the event draw in customers to the shop it will also raise funds for this year’s charity. He’s chosen the specialist baby unit at our local hospital to be recipients of money raised. It’s a gesture of remembrance for my baby brother Thomas. Gill and dad were touched by the gesture and will be taking part in the fundraiser. It will be fun. I’m looking forward to it.
The theme of the event is apt to the season - pantomime. He and his colleagues are dressing up as different characters from Cinderella. Twinks has kitted the shop windows theatre style with red velvet curtains. They look wonderful.
I’m offering my services as a gift wrapper. I’ve been assigned a tiny portion of shop counter. Customers can make a donation to have their purchases festively gift-wrapped. I’ll be curling ribbons and tying bows like a pro.
By royal command I too shall be in fancy dress. In keeping with the Cinderella theme I’m going as Buttons. I wasn’t keen on the dressing up bit at first, but gave in with good grace when Twinks gently reminded me it was for charity.
“Oh give your frigging piles a treat and relax your sphincter for once. It’s for charity. It won’t kill you to dress up, but I will if you don’t.”
How could I refuse such a sweet entreaty? I would have preferred to dress up as the handsome prince, but Tina, in the best pantomime tradition had already claimed the role of Principal Boy. Pat and Don are playing the ugly sisters. Twinks rudely commented it was an ideal role for Pat, but not to her face.
He is not dressing as Cinderella to match my Buttons. Playing Cinders is not to his taste at all, too frumpy, darling. She only gets one decent frock in the whole show, and that right at the end. There’ll be no rags for my precious. He’s going as the fairy Godmother complete with glittering wings, sparkling tiara and a frothy spangled tulle gown.
I’m not the only one to have been commandeered. Big Mary has promised to don his infamous Christmas tree frock and help dole out mince pies and terrible jokes in his capacity as the Pantomime Dame. Cherie Pie and a couple of her chorus girls are going to sing Christmas songs to accompany the shaking of their collection tins.
There’s going to be a couple of stalls set up outside the shop selling home made cakes, biscuits and beverages. Teddy, ex-nurse and fledgling confectioner, has kindly donated bags of fancy festive candies to be raffled. It’s good advertising for his newly opened shop. Mum and Prissy will be taking a turn at helping out on the stalls along with other kind-hearted volunteers.
Lulu is working tomorrow, but is joining the fray on Sunday and Christmas Eve along with Natalie. Lu is coming as Little Red Riding Hood while Nat has opted to be Snow White, prompting Twinks to sarcastically retort ‘as pure as the driven sludge.’
Lulu insisted on baking fairy cakes to contribute to the cake stall even though Twinks tried to discourage him. He refused to be discouraged, but did bow to the suggestion he should st
ick to conventional flavourings. He proudly dropped off a batch of buns last night and invited us to sample. The conventional he had chosen was chocolate. However Lu, like Twinks, can never be totally conventional about anything and a pinch of chilli powder had found its way into the mix. The combo just about worked. They wouldn't have been half bad if he'd only resisted the temptation to decorate them with turmeric flavour icing.
Once he’d finished gagging Twinks smartly cuffed Lu up the back of the head and said he’d never land a frigging man if he didn’t learn to cook properly.
Amongst other things we’ve bought Lu a glossy cookery book for Christmas in the hope it will inspire him to make dishes that are actually edible.
This will be my last diary entry for 2007. I feel a bit like Ronnie Barker in his role as Arkwright in the legendary sitcom ‘Open All Hours.’ The programme always finished with him shutting up shop while doing a mental review of the events of the day. As I prepare to shut up shop so to speak I should perhaps take a leaf out of his book and do a review of the year that is all but gone.
It’s been full of the usual ordinary ups and downs, dramas and tears, laughter and fun. We’ve had grief and happiness. People came into our lives and went out of it, some, like my baby brother before we ever got a chance to know and love them properly.
I think on the whole this year has been about relationships and how you can’t take them for granted, be they personal intimate relationships or friendships. Things can change in the blink of an eye. You have to work hard to hang on to what you value.
I feared I might lose Twinks at the beginning of the year, but we’re still together and always will be if I have my way. I’m addicted to him. As I’ve said before I have no desire to be cured.
