Red Kites and Floor Polish

(Devenions gris)

Like with Proust and his old Madeleine biscuit, I was taken back to a time long ago by an aroma. It wasn't so palatable as a biscuit. It was the floor polish which I smelled somewhere which I cannot now remember which is funny as the smell itself brought back many details about a place I used to visit with my parents in the 70s. My Mother had a firend who was also a Doctor and lived in a bungalow in the middle of Wales, exactly where I am not sure. On the way there we used to see Kites wheeling over the Valleys. I am sure they were Kites and not buzzards as my Father is a Birder and of course knows all about these things. Anyway, the bungalow was set in such a way as to afford a sweeping view of many miles of Welsh countryside and had wonderful gardens, with a pond and little stony nooks which must have hidden many lizards though I don't remember looking for any. We used to play in the Caravan which they had parked on the drive and on the (I think) Grand Piano, though I think I just used to play on the black notes and just went up and down; it must have been excrutiating for the adults though they never complained as far as I can recall. Anyway, the polish they used must have been the same as that I smelled the other day because all this came flooding back. They had a small attic room in the roof which was full of old toys and I mean very old. There was an original Rocking Horse which seemed to have been well loved though I think I was too big to go it. They also had a wonderful wind-up music box with a huge pin-studded drum which revolved and plucked the various note pins. It seemed like a perfect radio four type house where you could set one of the more gentle Afternoon Plays (or maybe "After Henry" - The greatest Friday night sitcom ever.) A further note, They had a grown-up daughter who had a very bad accident out in Asia somewhere - obvious to me now - while she was on a hippy trip. Anyway, she and her husband lived in a remote farmhouse in Wales for a time, then lived close to my parents and then emigrated to Canada. I remember walking up to see them at the Farm. There was a big white enamel sink in the garden outside and it was full of tiny tadpoles.

I wrote "tadoples" there which I think is a much better word though of course it is not the 'right' one. My wife tells me the story of how George Bernard Shaw was on some sort of committee to decide on whether the pro·nun·ci·a·tion of "margarine" should be "MarJareen" or "MarGareen". He said that the British public had been calling it "MarJ" for years. His committee sounds like the one on which Winston Smith ended his days at the end of "nineteen-eighty-four - something to do with apostrophes in Newspeak. You can be too pedantic about grammar and pronunciation and you can probably tell from this that spelling is a problem for me, especially when typing. I think keyboards show up mistakes more because of course you are processing what you are thinking of putting on paper at a much faster rate. Thank goodness for Word-Processing I say.

I have ten minutes 'til the end of lunch time which means I could be two thirds famous. This reminds me that we went to the Tate Gallery at the weekend and saw the Warhol Marilyns and Elvises (Of course the plural of "Elvis" is "Elvi" - see the flying Elvi). "Marilyn and Elvis" sounds like it would be a great book.

A list of great "Couples books"

Oscar and Lucinda
Mapp and Lucia
Marilyn and Elvis

An epic tale of how two nearly famous Americans lived in anonymity in various diners across the US. Without explicity telling us how they were "nearly famous", this book defines how we become who we are in this planet of six billion people

"A BIG book for the new Millenium with lots of knitting in it" - Knitting Monthly.

Didn't Steve Martin say something like that about "Postcards from the Edge"?

I am TWO THIRDS FAMOUS.