Perception.

I can't believe i've been doing this blog for over a year now.
What worries me, is that now i've written about most of the trials and tribulations that affect a writers wife, i'm afraid there won't be anything new to write about.
So, i'm playing it a bit by ear at the moment, and picking out bits and pieces that i'm generally musing about.
Today, i'll mostly be writing about Perception.
I asked Sy what he thought the meaning of the word was ( is this a question, in a question?)
'Well, Sprouty.....'
He put down his book and stared at me like i was some some sort of backwater hick (well, i'm proud of my roots)
'i thought you might be a bit old to be worrying about that sort of thing...'
Stop right there, matey.
Firstly, i'm not to bloody old, and secondly, listen to me you insensitive half-hearted bastard- i said perception, not contraception.
All said to myself, of course.
Serves me right for not giving him a five minute warning that i was going to ask a question.
We have neighbours across the road from us- an elderly couple, very sweet and polite.
Proper neighbours who you could go to in an emergency.
I don't need an alarm clock, or indeed, any sort of time piece while i have these people as neighbours.
Their sitting room curtains open every morning at 7.30 am.
Their bedroom curtains at 8.00.
He fetches his paper at 8.30.
He returns at 8.40.
he wipes down his windows at 9.00....
The day goes on.
At 7.30pm, he closes the bedroom curtains. (in Summer, it's 8.45.) He will spend 5 minutes looking out the window, and if i'm not ready for this, he will see me consuming a large bar of Galaxy, or something else of the chocolate variety.
The joys of someone living opposite- to be fair, i'm not sure how good his eyesight is, so he might just see something the size of a minky whale, eating it's own weight in minky whale food.
That or he thinks we have the most enormous cat curled up on the settee.
Come 8.30pm, he closes the sitting room curtains, having turned on the tall lamp they have in the room.
And then it all starts again the next day.
But, you see, i don't know these people.
There is definately a wife, but she doesn't do any of these jobs.
She tends to just be on 'gate patrol' when they go anywhere.
She opens the gate for him to drive the car out, and then closes it again when they come back.
They could be axe murderers for all i know.
Maybe he doesn't go and get a paper in the mornings- he might be popping out to scan the village to see if there are likely victims for when he closes the curtains at 8.30.
Because once those curtains are shut, you just don't know what goes on, do you?
You see, i perceive them to be sweet old people.
But they might not be, at all.
I can't help but wonder how they perceive me and Sy.
This is what i think they see, if they peer out when the cutains are shut, as well as open.
8.30am- me and various children spilling out the house, on a school run and off to work.
NB- i say various, because i take neighbours children to school and it depends who DD has had staying over.
Bedroom curtains shut.
11.30/12.00- me coming home after morning jobs, laden down with buckets, mop, bin bag of dusters, hoover and possibly a bag of shopping.
Several trips into house to get all stuff in.
Bedroom curtains still shut.
12.05pm- sitting room windows flung open and wild woman seen careering around sitting room with hoover in one hand, duster in other.
12.30-bedroom curtains still shut.
1.00pm-shouting heard from inside house.
1.05- bedroom curtains opened.
1.15-wild looking man seen pottering outside in his dressing gown, talking to various cats and flowers.
1.20- more shouting heard from inside house.
1.30pm- woman appears at front door, dressed in stained tee shirt, old scruffy jeans and hobnailed boots, still shouting.
1.32-man in dressing gown waves woman off and disappears back into house.
1.35- bedroom curtains closed.
4.00-curtains opened.
4.30pm- woman home- several kids spill out of car, slowly followed by woman who looks like she has a bad back.
She glances up- what we can only assume, is that she is checking that the bedroom curtains are open.
All quiet for an hour or two.
6.45pm- woman disappears in car.
6.55- woman reappears with bag of stuff. The clinking noise indicates that the man in the house needs sustanance.
Again, all quiet for some time.
10.00pm- all curtains and windows wide open- raised voices. What can they be doing in there? Can again, only assume that smelly substances are rife, and air is needed.
11.00- bedroom lights on. Curtains closed.
2.00am- sitting room light on, curtains now closed.
Shadow of man sat at computer for several hours.
4.00am. Darkness.
At last.
I don't think that my neighbours know that Sy is a writer, therefore keeps very unsocial hours and drinks vast amounts of alcohol.
If they did, and this is what they see day after day, they might not look at us quite so guardedly.
I will tell them, one day.
And when i do, i'm sure i know what the resonse will be.
'Thank God for that- we thought your hubby was a jobless scrounger who sleeps all day, drinks all evening and stays up all night watching acts of sexual depravity on that computer internet thing....'

Perception.....maybe i'm seeing everything in a new way.
Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper.x





'

Why The Writer drinks and i don't.

Massively busy week.

Although i'm sure there are women all over the globe up to their eyes in it at the moment.

One of my ladies is in hospital and it's looking a bit on the black side for her....Broken elbow has turned into being fluid on the lungs and no mobility at at all, so lot's of hospital visits.

Another one has a husband with Alzheimers, so i'm trying to keep an eye on them too.

There's more to being a housekeeper than you think.

Christmas shopping, presents, decorations, family visits...the list goes on.



But i have parties this week.

In fact, i have one this afternoon.

But it's the one i had two days ago that concerns me.

Because i can't remember an awful lot about it.

Indeed, whereas in younger days, memories would come back in dribs and drabs, like some kind of daytime knightmare, and i would just have to cope with each horrific thought as it smashed through my head, these days i have to rely on others to fill in the blanks.

And all this because i chose to have a drink.

There is a group of ladies that meet up once a month where i live- a bit like a WI, but without the jam and Jerusalem.

There are about thirty of them, and i would say about 90% have lived in the area only for a few years.

Now, i have valiantly tried to avoid getting involved with this group, as i'm not terribly keen on the whole 'My house is bigger than your's' thing.

But i have finally been cornered, asked to join ('We need new blood...' bloody cheek) and so off i went to the grand Christmas Dinner at the new village hall on Tuesday night.

The wine was free.

Loads of it.

and i seemed to be the only one drinking the bottles of white.

Maybe i was the only one drinking...

The Piscean in me took over, and i went for it.



There are only two things that i can remember from the night.

1. Discussing last years Father Christmas (of course, i wasn't there, but i know him, he's a bloody good looking bloke- if only i'd joined this group earlier...)

I wanted to know why we weren't having the same fella this year (apparently he was just to scared to come again).



2;I remember the new Father Christmas coming in, and recognising him at once.

He doesn't like windfarms, and as you lovely readers know, Sy and me are all for them, and there is a big hoo-ha going on about the plans for ten of them being built around here.

Well, with copius amounts of the vino on board i took it on myself to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

I didn't want to wait for my turn in the queue, so i staggered over to him, shoved the woman who was sat on his knee off, sat on him, and told him i wanted a huge wind turbine for Christmas.

I think it all went a bit quiet at this point.

'Why don't you have a dig in my sack?' he mumbled.

'And why would i want to do that?' says me.

'I don't think i can get you a turbine..'He wheezed (well, i was still bouncing on his knee).

'Well, you're not much of a bloody Santa are you? The least you could have done is set up in the sideroom, and i'm sure all of us would have paid good money to have a lapland dance from you.'



I wonder if i'm onto something there...?



I was smartly tipped off his knee, resumed my seat, and had a small round of applause off my fellow wind turbine supporters (we have to sit together- safety in numbers.)



I'm hoping over the next few days friends will come and tell me about the rest of the night.

Once i've been the topic of gossip for a day or two anyway.

And no, i'm not drinking this afternoon...



This one is for you Charmaine!



Till next time,

Shakespeare's Housekeeper. x