A Year of Much Bickering by Jane Ayres

ANOTHER YEAR DONE AND DUSTED      This Christmas was the first we had spent sans enfants for twenty years. Jerome had opted to go to  Budapest with his illusive friend Hilary (we still haven’t met her), and Arraminta went off to stay with Candida Boxer. Mrs Boxer was quite adamant that she would be no trouble, but I felt it only fair to ask if they used real candles in the house during the festive season. She answered in the negative, so felt it only fair to let Arraminta go. We needn’t had worried that our day would be lacking in childish behaviour, however. Crichton and his mother fell out with a vengeance over a needle game of Yahtzee. He should never have accused her of cheating, even though she always does. Granny T claimed five sixes with her las t throw. Clearly one of the sixes was only a three but she denied it and swept the dice onto the hearth rug along with my favourite shortbreads, before it could be proved one way or another. Crichton, who ha...

  SOME LIKE IT HOT IN MUCH BICKERING      JELLY BABIES AND A RABBIT Nanny’s niece phoned. She told me they have moved her into residential care near Newton Abbot. She’s been getting increasingly confused and has had a several falls, and the family can’t cope any more. I’m sure it’s for the best and about time she was looked after properly. I hope she got the Easter card I sent. She hasn’t replied to my last few letters.   Anyway, I thought  I would pop down to on the train and drop in some Christmas cheer in the shape of a lace hankie and bottle of 4711 and have a chin wag. Nanny is always pleased to see me and knows the right thing to say when I’m  feeling low, and let’s face it, who isn’t after the election? I’m terribly worried that Alyona will have to go back to Estonia after we leave the EU and we’ll never find someone to replace her…not at minimum wage anyway. Maybe Nanny would know  somebody su...

HAPPY THANKSGIVING   A PERFORMANCE AND A PARTY Rehearsals for ‘War Horse, the Musical’ moved into the final furlong with Stubbins taking his part very seriously. I caught him cantering around the sunken garden, whinnying, and I knew we would get no sense from him until the wretched production was over. According to Cook he has been insisting on apples and oatmeal for breakfast instead of a fry up. If he really wants to sleep in the stables with Zim-Zam the pony I suppose it harms nobody, but in my opinion that is taking method acting a little too far. However, he returned from the dress rehearsal looking very pleased with himself and told us that every performance was a sell out. Luckily, I had bought tickets in advance  and  the Trehorlicks family filled the front row at the village Hall, and even Granny T came along wearing her pony club scarf.  The lights went down, and on to the stage trotted Stubbins and Mr Hobbs…not in that order, o...

REMEMBERING AND REMEMBRANCE BONFIRES AND POPPIES IN MUCH BICKERING November is such a busy month.  Edith has taken the British Legion tin round for over thirty years and wears the enamel badges to prove it,  but a lthough her hip is quite healed now, her GP  advised her that she should not go standing about in all weathers even if it is in a good cause.  There was nothing for it but that I should take up the mantle laid down by the poor dear and so I have become the Poppy Lady for the village. Her doctor is right. It is pretty windswept in the market square and really not the place for a woman of her age…I’m not sure it’s the place for a woman of my age either.  Derek came buy and tipped his hat to me. He said if I let him have three big ones, he would push a twenty-pound note into my slot. Then he winked.  He gets smuttier by the day. I took Brexit along for  door to door collections with mixed success. The extra walk...

CRICHTON SURVIVES HALLOWEEN AND AN ENCOUNTER WITH A COWBOY In my day, we were happy to hollow out a swede, light a candle in it then kick the thing around the garden. Not so now America has taken a hold of our youth.  Cynthia left me happily watching Time Team, when some blighters from the village start ringing our door bell.  Trick or Treat?  Well I’d have been happy to go for the trick, but I knew Cynthia had left some chocs in the kitchen so went to fetch them. Damn. Brexit had got there before me and was up on the table troughing into the packet, wrappers and all. The mood on the door step was getting nasty by the time I’d cleared up the wreckage, so I gave them a packet of currants and some cheese footballs left over from Christmas, that I found in the pantry. Frankly they were lucky to get those imo. Spent rest of the night with the lights off pretending to be out. Cynthia Comments Poor cook. I think she is beginning to lose her grip....