Sunday, 3 April 2011

Friday February 4th – Start as you mean to go on... My First Confession.

I’m sorry that it’s such a mucky old day for you out there, my Tree. It’s really not fair, as I am having a cracking time in here. I have delicious flashbacks of yesterday’s listathon to keep me warm and let’s not forget that it’s Friday!
It’s a bit naff, but the best thing about going back to work is rediscovering the dazzling whoosh of that Friday feeling!
Of course, there is also the scramble of a Sunday evening to contend with and that creeping dread of a Monday morning alarm. Yet, today is a whole weekend away from those dreary pests. Indeed, The Cure had it all sewn up with ‘Friday I’m in Love’.
It’s as if, even if just for a moment, nothing else matters. Well, nothing that is, except the facts...
Come on Marcella! Stop stalling! Take a big breath and get those clumsy fingers of yours tapping out the truth for once.
Well it was only a little lie, but back in November, (or December when it was actually posted) I introduced our beloved cat Bernard:

Dern-nod!’ The Little Perfect One squeaks excitedly pointing at the massive Siamese cat bounding into the living room. ‘Dern-nod! Dum! Dum! Dern-nod!’ Bernard has been amazing with The Little Perfect One, but he’s not quite ready to ‘Dum’ when called. Bernard pulls up abruptly, his long gloved legs scrambling hopelessly into a pirouette and he skids bottom-first into the back of the sofa. The Little Perfect One is delighted by this, blowing raspberries and bouncing on his knees. Bernard has now settled indignantly on the sofa and is licking his bits in protest. ‘Idiot cat’ says Hoobiz and our laughing signals a ceasefire in The List Wars for today.
It’s quite ridiculous really, but Bernard is not actually a Chocolate point Siamese, but a Red Burmese cat. This, I would expect, is an irrelevance to most people but, it’s funny where a lie can lead or, in fact, where it stops you going. Bernard is one of the family and his manic antics dictate much of our daily lives. Yet, he has hardly featured in this blog. That is partly because I was uncomfortable with him not being quite my Bernard. Daft, I know. I am not now expecting every post to include Bernard’s point of view, but at least now it won’t be deliberately avoided.
When I was planning this blog, my intention was to be able to write honestly, freely and about absolutely everything. It was essential not to feel constrained by anyone or anything. The only way to do that is to be impossibly bold and strong or take my route and be vaguely anonymous.
Yes, I’ve altered a few names, but not all of them and not greatly. This is often desperately annoying, as the real ones are so perfectly suited. I considered moving The Little Perfect One’s birthday and even toyed with idea of introducing him as a baby girl – I just couldn’t do it.
Some facts, it seems, are hard coded and it would be compromising too far to hide them under a few tweaks. However, it makes me laugh at those minor details which I thought needed to be amended in order to protect my identity.
One was Bernard and the other whopper was the nationality of my in-laws. In I introduced my Helmut and Bridget. I described Helmut, my farther in-law:
 When not claiming to be the world’s first International, Helmut likes to declare himself a German-Australian-turned-Brit. However, if there’s a rugby game or cricket match then it’s Australia all the way. Also, he believes that there is only one way to cook and that’s the Barbie. Today, despite the freezing temperatures, was no exception to the Barbie Rules, well, rule.’
This is utterly true, except for the German or the Australian bit. Helmut, Bridget, Hoobiz, Axle and Fizz are South Africans. Bridget grew up in an Anglo-Irish Catholic family and Helmut was born in the Netherlands, but his first language is Afrikaans. Das Barbie is in fact, the Braai.
It’s strange that I decided it essential to conceal these random specifics. It’s not really a passport and a driving license, but clearly I thought it too revealing to admit to a Burmese cat and a South African husband. Very odd, but in a way it’s not the first time I’ve looked at myself through these slightly tipsy glasses.
Once, I would have been defined by endless buckets of black coffee and log piles of Marlborough reds. That was many years ago now, but I think I continued smoking for a few more years than I wanted to simply because I felt that part me was capped in an orange filter.
There, that’s marvellous. I already feel lighter and more cleansed. This is so much better than those detox plans that involve nothing but 72 hours of spring water and beetroot juice. The first day leaves you with a glass splintering headache, bad breath and a savage desire to bite people.
Sorry for fibbing, I was just being a bit of twit.

1 comment:

  1. lol... well I'm glad you got that off your chest and feel better. :)