Saturday, March 22, 2008

the schlong good friday

It was lovely to see so many people from far and wide at the stables open day. Soon after we arrived I saw a couple of Londoners who were exchanging the traditional southern greeting: ‘What are you looking at?!’ said the first. ‘Are you talking to me you slag?!' replied the other. It’s so good to be reminded of home, I thought, as they beat each other to a pulp behind the manure pile. The warm memories that welled up inside me made me quite forget the cold north wind that whistled around my breeches. My daughter Tilly interupted my homesick reverie however. ‘Crikey, that’s enormous!’ she exclaimed, running over to a big horse in the corner of the yard, and she wasn’t pointing at his tail. ‘Like Fabio’, giggled Milly. ‘What kind of horse horse is he?’ Tilly asked the stable lass. ‘he’s a stud, my dear’, said the girl helpfully. My daughters giggled. ‘Like Fabio!’ ‘Does he run in races?’ asked Milly. ‘No’ said the girl, ‘his job is to be special friends with the ladies when they get a bit frisky’. My daughters looked at each other in feigned solemnity. ‘Not like Fabio then…’ they both said together, and started giggling again. I sighed.

‘Where is your father and his secretary anyway?’ I asked the children. ‘Fabio is over at that stall and Daddy has gone to look for some lunch’, said Milly. Suddenly I saw a familiar figure in the distance, Rupert? Could it really be him, taming that new young filly, breaking her spirit and making her bend to his will? No, It couldn’t be and he didn’t seem to notice me. I wandered over to see what Fabio was buying at the riding gear stall. ‘Have you got this in his size?’ he said, holding something up and pointing to my husband. The lady behind the stall looked slightly annoyed. ‘We don’t have that in men’s sizes dear’, she explained. ‘Ha!’ said Fabio, so you won’t sell this to me, Well!’, exclaimed Fabio with huff, ‘you are only refusing to sell me this because he is a not a woman!’ ‘No dear’, replied the lady, ‘because he is not a horse dear’. I was just going to ask Fabio if he should perhaps try Soho or the internet but then my husband appeared. ‘OK chaps, lunch is here!’ he cried. ‘You’d never have thought that new macrobiotic organic place in Islington would have opened a northern franchise, but look at this; carrots and straw; cutting edge cuisine guys! Rilly must really be having an influence around here!’

Finally, after a long day, I was at last lying in bed sharing that longed for peaceful moment with my much missed husband. ‘You couldn’t get me a glass of water could you dear?’ I asked him softly. ‘Oh’, he moaned, ‘it’s cold, Fabio, get Rilly a glass of water’. Fabio groaned. ‘You won’t even get your wife a glass of water? What a terrible husband you are sometimes!’ he said. ‘Shhhhush!’ I told them both, 'you’ll wake the baby’. ‘Mummy’, said Milly, ‘can Fabio fetch a hot water bottle if he’s going downstairs?’ ‘And for me too!’ said Tilly, ‘Milly’s feet are like ice! Why do we all have to sleep in the same bed anyway mummy?’ ‘Because it will sell more copies of my book in America dear’, I explained, exasperated at my daughters evident naivety in the US rural downshifting memoir market. Just then the baby began to cry, some doubtless unspeakable polish phrases began to emmanate from the au pair, and the peaceful bank holiday I’d hoped for seemed to disappear in a crash before my eyes. I just grabbed my Catherine Cooksons (and no, actually that isn’t cockney slang) and fled downstairs to my laptop, and my book, and…but what was this, a message on my voicemail. ‘Air Hellair Rilly, Rupert here, don’t think I didn’t see you earlier, what! I just thought…’ I put the phone down, No, I couldn’t. ‘Mummy the baby’s been sick!’ cried Tilly down the stairs. I looked at the clock; 2 AM, I shouted back up the stairs: ‘Milly, Tilly, get dressed darlings, riding lessons this morning!’

13 comments:

Mopsa said...

Carrots, straw and perhaps a dollop of molasses to make things sweet?

Frog in the Field said...

I've been away too long, Fabio?
Great title..........
Ha Ha!Happy Easter Rilly

aims said...

You know sex of any kind helps sell the memoirs dear Rilly.

I hope you left the recorder running when you left them all together in the bedroom....now that would definitely get the American market...I don't know about the Canadian one tho...too risky perhaps...

CrazyCath said...

Oh Rilly, I do admire what you endure for the sake of your art.
Good show old girl, good show!

Bretwalda Edwin-Higham said...

I'd love to get inside your mind, Rilly and hava a good look around, maybe even a cup of tea. :)

Sparx said...

Ah Happy Easter Rilly, thank you as always for a gritty dose of Northern reality to get me through a soft London afternoon.

Mr Farty said...

Ah, Rilly, it must be really hard for you Oop North. Mrs F and I were watching a Crimewatch re-enactment last night - well, the acting was criminal - and it was simply dreadful. All those Northerners! My heart goes out to you.

mutterings and meanderings said...

What a tough time you've had sweetie. Hope Rupert makes you feel better ...

Expatmum said...

I think you've been reading too much Jilly Cooper never mind Catherine Cookson!

Lizzie said...

Oh, thanks Rilly.... V. enjoyable as always. Lovely to hear from you. Miss you all. Thanks so much for dropping by. Still above ground, as yet.. and fighting.

Lizzie xx

Another something or other will/shall follow.

Liz x

Ms Baroque said...

Rilly dear, you excel yourself. I can see it already: your book, teeming with its rawness of life, open on a hundred laps on the Westchester County commuting trains...

Ms Baroque said...

PS - Have you by any chance ever read any DH Lawrence?

rilly super said...

mopsa, I see you have been to the same restaurant in Islington!

frog in the field dear,ah yes, Fabio doesn't get up very often. Happy easter, slightly retrospectively, to you too

aims, I always think you canadians are a genteel race, Tunbridge wells with eskimos...

crazycath, you are so right, i am an just another artist suffering in her garret, alright, it's an architect designed million pound garret but that doesn't mean I don't suffer

bretwelda, as long as you take your shoes off in the porch you're welcome any time my dear

sparx, just the facts, that's what we try to deliver here you know

mr farty sir, your sincere and heartfelt sympathies are most gratefully received, sigh

M&M, Rupert is such a comfort. You know what these riding types are like, they may have buttocks of steel but they have a soft centre...

expatmum, I hope you're not suggesting this is an aga saga dear, just because there's an aga, and the occasional saga..

Hi lizzie, I've been missing you too, Hope you report back on your adventures soon

Miss Baroque darling, thanks ever so for dropping by. DH larence you say? I went to Oxford you know, so naturally I've read all her books!