Susan Tate’s Year – November

I didn’t believe it when Mum phoned.  Her hairdresser had had her sit on the floor.  Apparently the hairdresser has hurt her back and can’t stand. She announced to Mum she couldn’t see the top of her head unless Mum sat on the floor.  She added, as if by way of mitigation, ‘there is a cushion’. Honestly, Mum is over 70, I have never liked Juliet.  I told Mum she simply has GOT to find another hairdresser, there are plenty about.

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Derek was delighted with his surfing lessons birthday present.  Mum made him a cake, saying it was half Birthday Cake and half Congratulations On New Job cake.  I don’t know which half is which, top and bottom or left and right?

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These days children make more of Halloween than Guy Fawkes, it seems a shame.  There is an organised fireworks display on The Green but I won’t be going.  Charles Dickens is terrified of the loud bangs and flashing lights, he usually hides under the spare room bed, it can take me hours to coax him out with the promise of treats.  As a child I remember waving sparklers around making patterns in the air with Hillary, we would each be wrapped up in knitted mittens and scarves.  Do you know how difficult it is to hold onto a sparkler with slippy woolly mittens!  I remember toffee apples, I liked licking off the toffee but the apple underneath was always hard and bitter.  We did dunking for apples as well, I’d get wet hair and Mum would tell me off.

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Derek and I aren’t talking.  We had our first row a couple of nights ago.  It all began with a clothes shopping trip.  For his interview Derek borrowed a jacket and tie from Dad.  In his new job he’ll need some office type wear, his old porter’s brown coat with the auction house logo embroidered in green on the breast pocket won’t do.  The sales assistant asked what his mother thought of the colour of the suit he was trying on, looking straight at me.  I was mortified.  Do I really look that old or is it I just look old fashioned in my vintage dress?  Then, as if to rub salt into what at this point was still only a small cut, Derek said to the assistant ‘don’t worry, happens all the time’. For the rest of the afternoon we bickered, ‘did I really look that old’, progressed to ‘there’s only 10 years difference’, followed by, ‘there are plenty of female celebrities with younger partners, it’s quite the fashion’.  This continued as we walked back to Derek’s flat.  I decided not to go up and declared I needed space.  Ridiculous thing to say.  Thinking about it now it was a very snowflakey thing to say.  Disappointed in myself.  It’s a long walk back to my cottage from Derek’s flat.  By the time I arrived home exhausted, my feet hurt and I had a blister where my shoes rubbed. Made me feel my age .  I’d expected to have a lift home. That will teach me to get up on my moral high horse.  The cottage was cold, I’d planned to stay at Derek’s, bearing in mind economy I’d turned off the heating.  At least I had a friendly purr from Charles Dickens who was pleased to see me.  He doesn’t care how old I am as long as I turn the heating back on.

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Derek WhatsApped me ‘Pse come to auction Saturday 10:30’.

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I had meant to arrive early, but things didn’t go to plan this morning.  Charles Dickens was sick on the kitchen floor, I didn’t look too carefully to see what he’d eaten.  Having cleared that up I noticed I had caught a thread on my skirt and the hem was unravelling.  Dashed upstairs to change.  The 3rd thing, (Mum always says things come in 3s), I couldn’t find my handbag, I usually leave it on the chair by the kitchen door.  Eventually found it behind the red and green tartan cushions on the sofa.  Despite pedalling like fury, I arrived only 10 minutes before the start of the auction.  The room was crowded with people milling about, examining lots, weighing metal items on miniature scales, jotting thing in their catalogues, all looking like they knew what they were about.  Derek came over and gave me a very big public hug.  He had reserved a seat near the front on the right so I could see the rostrum clearly and the bank of phones, one of which Derek would be manning during the auction.  He had placed a catalogue on my chair.  Most items were either too expensive, I’m amazed at what people will pay for things, or just plain ugly.  There was a collection of modern glass, bright colours and odd shapes.  Wouldn’t last five minutes in my home with Charles Dickens around. There were 3 delightfully pretty and delicate fans, 1 was all ostrich feathers dyed pale lavender. I could imagine wafting myself with it on a warm evening.  I was also taken by a vase, described in the catalogue as Royal Worcester.  Derek was up beside the auctioneer helping him spot bids.  I tentatively raised my hand.  I didn’t have a paddle; I should have had a paddle.  The auctioneer didn’t see me at 1^st, but Derek gave him a nudge.  Next I heard ‘sold to the young lady in the 2^nd row’.  I liked the ‘young’ part.  I could see Derek whisper something in the auctioneer’s ear.  At the end Derek found me and explained he cleared my lack of paddle with his boss and placed the small vase into my hand and wrapped my fingers round the bowl with the words ‘for you, my love’.  I know tears were in my eyes, I hope no one except Derek noticed.  My Royal Worcester vase is on the top shelf in front of my Jane Austen novels.  I gave Charles Dickins a stern talking to NOT to knock it off.  It would be as if my heart was broken.

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There’s a lot of hype about Black Friday bargains.  It’s meant to be one day a year, but in reality extends into the entire weekend and in some places a whole week.  I need a new toaster, mine receives a great deal of use.  I tackled the Internet.  All I managed to do was confuse myself.  I braved the shops.  Success, now proud owner of a red machine that toasts, defrosts and even has a pop-up warming rack. I was rather tempted with the matching red kettle.