Writings

25. Nov, 2017

Watching me watching you....

Watching Gogglebox, which has been going for several years, is almost to be amongst old friends, those aging gracefully (the Siddiquis) and those opting for an ever more outrageous appearance in their late middle years, which can be a tad startling (punk German dad and family, for example).  Newer arrivals have been chosen for eccentricities, so there's the rather camp husband of "Nutty" who in this episode was heard playing an Indian nose flute, luckily off camera.  I last watched it when 'celebrities' were featuring for Children in Need, and quite enjoyed the bumptious Liam Gallagher and son being put in their place by Liam's down to earth Irish mother, who said firmly, in the face of their supposedly amusing teasing about a cup of tea and a biscuit,

"No, that'll be all, thank you," in a tone which squashed even Liam Gallagher into silence.

The main thing you notice, is that for most of them, being a couch potato for the programme has done them no favours weight wise, including the one time youngsters.   Although, there's one family where mum and dad were gigantic compared to their small but adult son, seated Tom Thumb like between them on the sofa for years.  I'm rather concerned that he seems to have disappeared completely now, either having dwindled away altogether or, hopefully, having left home before he became entirely invisible. This week, I enjoyed the caravan lady in Hull and her friend.  She bravely stated that she hadn't understood a word Stephen Hawking was saying about his theories.  Her friend was amazed.

"Really?" he exclaimed.  " I did!", as if to say, how thick are you, love, the merest child would comprehend it.

I think he was bluffing........

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Two teddies are now

Both in my keeping,

Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.

When new, Bruin was purple, larger,

With a deep growl.

My brother's.

Teddy was smaller, fawn,

Mine.

He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall 

And a sink bath.

I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.

I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple

And  my own ted  must never know of that.

I was the oldest but the girl.

Perhaps that played into who got which bear.

Bruin is no longer purple,

Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,

At home and in his flat.

For a few years now, both have looked down from

The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.

They leaned together, slightly forward,

As if wanting to come down.

I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.

Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small

bald patches.

It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.

I felt I had let them down, the two teds, 

Neglected while cherished still.

I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet

Of the single bed below,

Where they seem more contented, two old men together.

Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.