Stranger in Paradise

by stan graham

  Back to the flat where I prepare Sunday Lunch. This is a microwave roast beef, potatoes and two veg, carrots and onions, from Marks and Sparks, wonderful things microwaves. Then I spend the afternoon reading my library book and watching the television or the neighbours.

  “Why Mum you’ve got your own soap opera” Jane had said, when I told her about it during one of her regular phone calls. I think she mentioned Broadside or Brickside but as I never watch that one I’m not sure. This has become a bit of a tradition. Jane will call at three o clock every other Sunday to hear how I am and tell me about herself and Peter. She still has not found herself a man; very disappointing as she will never give me any grandchildren now, I suppose she spends her maternal instinct, if she has one, on her clients. She can be a bit irritating at times but one must make the best of it or I would never hear anything.

  She has been knitting a scarf, which I thought was a bit inappropriate as summer will be here soon but one mustn't discourage the poor girl. She started it at the beginning of November. Lots of squares which she has sewn together so it looks like Doctor Who's scarf. That Tom Baker, Peter used to love that programme. She bought me a mobile phone for my Christmas but I keep forgetting to switch it on, as I don't want the radio waves getting to my brain. I've seen the results of Old-timers. Poor dears, they can't help it you know dribbling and suchlike.

  I never phone Jane, far too expensive.

  Twice a month, on a Tuesday if I am not having my hair done or a Wednesday if I don’t fancy the cinema or bingo I have been taking a bus ride to the coast using my bus pass. We are all pensioners on the bus and we give the driver a good ribbing if he's late. Asking him if he's got the time. He gives as good as he gets though, replying "If you got the money my love."

  He told us last week that he would soon be retiring and that we would have to torment another driver. Such a shame when we have all got to know him quite well.

  I shall give up the trips to Liddlemouth during the summer when the tourists start to come as I have been told that they force the prices up in the shops, I feel quite the local. Some people think the town is dismal before the tourists arrive in the late Spring but I find it quite a pleasure to spend the day shopping and walking along the promenade before going for tea and toast at a blue and white seafront cafe. Sometimes I invite Helena, a new friend I have made from Saint Christoph's Hospice along, we both have bus passes so it costs us nothing for the ride and we can have our tea and natter about the other people at work without any chance of them overhearing us. I dread the day ending and having to go back to my flat. I feel so tired all the time. All the energy and benefit I have got from my day out just seeps out of me when I see that lopsided white sign.

  We never had days out or holidays when I was little. When dad came back from the war he took us out to a trip to the zoo. I was very excited seeing the animals but Dad didn’t like it. “Looks like they are in prison” he said. “Wonder they weren’t ate during the war. We could have done with some chimpanzee steaks in the army. Sooner feed the animals than their own people.”

  We never went again. “Done all the travelling I ever want to do,” he would respond when I asked if we could go away for a holiday. The only other outing we had was when an army friend of Dad’s invited us to spend a few days at his farm. I got to ride on a cow. I dined out on that for years, the time I rode a cow. It wasn’t long afterwards that he went away. Mummy said it wasn’t my fault but I was never too sure.

  I have become a bit of an adventurer in my old age. Pictures or Bingo once a week. Trips to the seaside. What an exciting life you must think I lead but the truth be told I do it out of desperation. I can’t abide being in the flat day in and day out I would go stir crazy. I know exactly how those animals feel.

  I have got one of those things called a set top box you know. It works with all these digital thingies. It means that I can watch programs that other people cannot see without one. I was talked into buying one by Mrs M. from the charity shop; she told me that there were far more intelligent programmes on them that on the usual channels. She said what’s the point in buying a television licence and not being able to see all the channels, besides apparently everyone will have to have one by 2012 so I am ahead of the game. I must admit they do show some good programmes there but most of the time I can’t be bothered to flick through all the channels so I tend to stay with the old tried and tested. Jane was very surprised when I told her that I had bought one.

  “Why mother I never realised you were so into technology”.

  “Well,” I said, “it’s not time to write me off yet. We were one of the first to get colour television back in the sixties after all.”

  Arthur had moaned and moaned about the expense but had finally caved in when Peter had told him he would be able to see Pot Black and football in colour. Of course he never realised that the television licences would rise in price also and that lead to yet another bout of moaning. However once it was installed there was no way that he was going back to a black and white one. Me, I don’t have to pay the full price for a licence being in sheltered accommodation, Arthur would have loved that idea. Anyway over seventy fives get it free. Not that I am but I thought you might like to know that little fact. No it will be a few more years before I get a free license.

  It’s just not true I was the one who suggested getting a colour TV. I thought it would be good for the kids. Fancy her not having to pay for a license though. That’s a bit of all right. I suppose she pays for a reduced license so that she don’t have to admit to anyone that she is over seventy-five.

  I have bought myself a new blouse from Marks and Spencer’s it’s a nice purple top made of a mixture of cotton and polyester so it is easy to iron. I look quite the thing in it but I doubt whether I shall wear it outdoors, just in the flat. It looks a bit to risqué to wear out although it goes well with the pearl necklace that Arthur bought me for our thirtieth wedding anniversary. I wouldn’t want people looking at me and thinking I am getting above myself.

  I suppose I should have bought something from Saint Christoph's Hospice but I don’t like the idea that someone might be looking at me and thinking ‘I threw that away because it looked cheap and now she is wearing it.’ Besides you never know what disgusting habits other people might have. Mind you a lot of the stuff there is very nice, hardly worn and we steam clean it all before we sell it. Just to kill off any fleas or lice I suppose. Glad I don’t do any of the sorting out of the clothes. I specialise in the book section. That’s bad enough the rubbish people think can be recycled, only fit for the bin a lot of it with pages torn or missing. Would you believe it but last week someone donated a copy of the Yellow Pages. And it was an old out of date one. What goes through the minds of these people I ask you? My job is to assess the condition of the books and to put a price on them. Mrs M has the final say of course but she depends on my judgement quite a lot.

  She recognises that we are both well read and cultured people. She did suggest that we check the Internet to see what prices we should charge but I told her I wasn’t messing around with any computers and getting electromagnetic radioactive waves destroying my brain. She said that perhaps I was right, that I could not afford to lose any brain cells. She is so understanding. Before I took over the book section they just used to pile them up in heaps or in boxes but I said that if we displayed them properly on shelves they would sell better.

  Of course I was right, Arthur taught me that. He used to insist that the displays in his store were perfect. Said that a good display is a work of art that sells itself. I got Milly to help me with some planks of wood that had been lying out the back for years according to Mrs M. I used some bricks that I told the workmen who are rebuilding an annex to the shop next door, that we needed and I made some shelves. Everybody was amazed that I was so practical. Well as I said you don’t bring up a family of two children without developing some practical skills.

  Peter phoned, one of his duty calls, and I asked him when he
was going to visit.

  “Can’t at the moment Mum big project on at work. We are expanding, opening a new store and I have to do all the projections and estimates. You know, profits for square foot of floor space, staff required, all that sort of thing.”

  “Oh I am proud of you. I suppose you will be the new manager there.”

  “No Mum, I am already the area manager for the Midlands and I oversee the finances of all the stores in the group. It is my job to check why stores are not making as much profit as forecasted and suchlike. Anyway I saw an opening for a new store and I put it to the board of directors with my projected figures of profit and loss, and they agreed to buy a new site and building starts next month so I won’t even be getting a holiday this year.”

  “Oh, perhaps Laura and the children would like to visit instead. Give them a break.”

  “No Mum, it’s very thoughtful of you but Laura is far to busy with her Open University degree and the kids have plans of their own.”

  “Oh well if you don’t want to come, it doesn’t matter. Just thought a break would be nice. Perhaps I should come and visit you and take the strain off Laura?”

  “No you mustn’t do that. I’ll see if I can get some time off later in the year and come for a visit. Must hang up now I’ve just had somebody come into the office. I will call you.”

  Open University I ask you, in my time it was enough to bring up your children and make sure your hubby’s dinner was on the table when he got home from work. Nowadays they all want degrees, their own space and money of their own; I just don’t know what the world is coming to.

  It poured with rain while I was out yesterday and to make matters worse my umbrella blew inside out and I had to put it into the litter-bin. This meant that I got soaked. I am coughing and sneezing. I have taken a couple of aspirins and a cup of hot lemon juice before going back to bed with a hot water bottle. I dozed most of the day and didn’t feel like eating but I forced myself to have a bowl of tomato soup. Now I am going to get some rest.

  I felt okay when I first awoke this morning but after breakfast I started to feel dizzy so I had a lie down. I have a hot water bottle and have rubbed some Vick on my chest. I don’t like the stuff but you cannot get thermogene wadding nowadays. I think I have developed bronchitis, I am coughing and spluttering and am no good for anything, I may have got a chest infection. I have dissolved some menthol crystals in some hot water and am inhaling them to clear my chest. Back to bed and see if I can sleep it off.

  I woke this morning and I am starving. I have barely eaten anything for two days. I feel much better and have stopped coughing. I had some Cornflakes and an orange for breakfast washed down with a nice cup of tea. I feel tiptop now.

  I tried to phone Jane but a woman in her office said that she was not available although I am sure I could hear her voice in the background. She has a rather strident voice you know and you cannot mistake it. I wonder sometimes whether the children are trying to avoid me. Well that’s their loss I shall not be begging again.

  Some workmen are digging up the road just that runs alongside Paradise Lodge just outside my flat. Drill drill drill, it goes right through me like a nagging tooth. I asked Smythe what it is all about and he said that it was the water pipes being relaid.

  “After that the electric company will dig it up and then the council will want to lay new sewers, so I shouldn’t expect to get much rest for the next six months. Oh I forgot the gas people will be having their tuppence worth as well.” He sniggered.

  I went and asked one of the workmen if this was true and he reassured me that they check with all the other utility companies before starting and that it was untrue. Furthermore they would be finished in a day or two. In the meantime my head continues to thump, it’s a constant pain at the back of my head and I have trouble seeing.

  I have taken two aspirin but it doesn’t do any good. I shall have to go out.

  Julia said it was a tension headache and recommended that I had a word with Anne but somehow I don’t think so. If the aspirin are not strong enough I will take some paracetamol.

  After yesterday its raining and so the workmen haven’t turned up. What a blessed silence. Unfortunately I know that it will all begin again just as soon as the weather clears up.

  I was right, I woke at 7am and the sun was shining through the curtains. At 8am the noise started. Lorries turning and a build up of traffic where they had installed two big men in fluorescent jackets bearing placards saying Stop and Go who were directing the traffic.

  The drilling started at 10-30, they waited until I was sitting down for a cup of tea when drill drill drill they had started again. I held my head in my hands and cried, they shouldn’t inflict such suffering on people. Dirt and dust and noise. To think I pay my council tax for this.

  The postman has avoided coming today because I expect he doesn’t like it either, and who can blame him. I haven’t had a letter since last week when I got my council tax demand. So much for so little. I have a good mind to write to the newspapers about it. Arthur was always writing to them to complain. He kept a scrapbook of those that had been published. He was very proud of it; he called himself the Voice of the People.

  I think I will carry on his tradition. Not that I am a complainer mind you. But somebody has to keep these bureaucrats in check. Perhaps Mr Whateverhisnameis or his friend Mr Imself who I hear is going to take over from him, will like to hear about the problems I am having so that they can deal with these people like they did for me last time.

  Bliss, the workmen packed up their tools and left yesterday afternoon, first they filled in the trench, then a man operated a thumper which pounded everything hard, after which they spread tarmac over it all and a man followed on pushing a hand roller to make it all smooth. Back and forth he went it must have been at least five times before he got it to his satisfaction. One of them gave me a wave as they left in their lorry. The sound of silence is deafening. My letter to the Upper Magister Gazette seems to have worked. I wrote the following.

  ‘Dear Editor, (Its funny how they are all men, never an Editoress.) I wish to bring to your notice that due to roadworks outside Paradise Lodge we the residents are unable to get a decent night’s sleep. I know that they finish work at 5pm or 4pm when the foreman is not there, but the drill still seems to resonate through my head for hours afterwards. Yours sincerely J. Bond Mrs.’

  I think people are starting to realise that I am a force to be reckoned with and will not tolerate misbehaviour. I am starting to understand why Arthur got such pleasure from having his letters published, as he said to me one day when I was asking him why he spent so much time scribbling to the papers. “I can change the world.” Well I don’t want to do that but I wouldn’t mind getting a bit of consideration every now and again and if that’s what it takes then so be it. I wonder if they would like me to write a regular article about life as a senior citizen? They would have to pay me of course; a writer is worthy of her hire. I shall write to the editor and ask him.

  No such luck he said that they do not commission writers for the paper as it is free and they cannot afford it, but if I wished to submit an outline for a column then he would be prepared to consider using it but that no payment could be forthcoming.

  Everyone seems prepared to accept your labour for free but no one is prepared to pay for it. It’s a good job I don’t need to work for a living that’s all I can say.

  It’s funny how some months seem shorter than others do. This month seems to have flown yet I don’t seem to have done anything while others just drag

  It’s raining again; another Bank Holiday is coming up this weekend so I am not surprised that they have forecast a wet and windy weekend. It doesn’t bother me after all every day is the same to me; it always has been because Arthur never liked to go out much on Bank Holidays.

  If it were sunny then he would say, “To many cars on the road, it will just be traffic jams everywhere. No my dear we are far better staying at home and enjoying
our garden,” or if it rained, “What’s the point it will be wet everywhere?”

  Then he would sit in his armchair reading a book all day just looking up with mumbled thanks when I brought him a cup of tea.

  I was always the adventurous one, organising days out with the children even if it was only to the park or the garden centre. We would drag him moaning and complaining from his chair.

  “It’s supposed to be a day of rest for me. I am out working all week and I should be entitled to a bit of peace and quiet on my days off.”

  “I never get any days off, it’s a full time job for me,” I would retort.

  He liked it once he got there it was just dragging him from that bloody chair.

  The children wanted to get a dog and I thought it would be a good idea as he would have to take it for walks and would get a bit of exercise that way but he wasn’t having any.

  “I have enough trouble feeding you lot without another mouth to feed, you can have a goldfish if you want,” and that was that.

  We did get a goldfish as it happens, Peter won it playing hoopla at the Sam Browns Fair and Carnival that visited the common land every Easter and Whitsun. The fair arrived on the Thursday, causing havoc among families with children begging to be allowed to go and spend their pocket money, and stayed until Tuesday when they packed up and moved on to pester the people somewhere else.