Tag: countrymemoir
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130: DEODORANT
‘Do you have any deodorant I can borrow?’ I ask Lizzie, as we both empty the dishwasher in the kitchen. ‘I’ve run out.’ It’s about ten a.m., on a midsummer morning. It’s sunny and warm and – deodorant-less as I am – I’m worried my armpits might start getting smelly soon. ‘I don’t use deodorant…
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129: GRAVEYARD WEE
Lizzie and I are wading through the long grass of Bunton Church’s graveyard, accompanied by our dog Cedric*. For some reason, Lizzie’s let the hellhound off the lead… and he’s running about hither and thither over the graves, like a ginger, malevolent version of Greyfriars Bobby. ‘Don’t let him wee on the graves!’ I squawk…
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127: ADVERTS
I’m sitting in the living room, with Lizzie and the kids. We’re all together… in person, but not in spirit. In fact, each of us is on a device, completely ignoring the others. In my case, I’m perusing Facebook on my laptop. ‘Oh my God!’ I suddenly exclaim. ‘Now that I’m fifty, I keep on…
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PAUSE, UNPAUSE
Hey! Time for a quick pause. So, with the previous post (125: One Year Later), we’ve reached another milestone and turning point in the story of ‘Stop Telling Me I’m Brave’ (do please have a read, if you haven’t already). That being the case, I thought now might be a good time to say… thank…
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125: ONE YEAR LATER
I’m in the office, doing my shit-shovelling film production job in London. It’s 7.30pm. I wanted to leave an hour earlier, but there’s just so much shit to shovel today. Suddenly my mobile rings… it’s Lizzie. A couple of days ago, before I left for London, Lizzie told me how she has an appointment with…
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123: HAY
It’s Saturday morning and Lizzie and I are doing jobs in the kitchen. Things are a little tense, because they always are on a Saturday morning. This is because Lizzie always wants to kick off the weekend with an epic crusade of catching up with chores. Whereas the only epic thing I want to do…
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121: BURNT
The family are away this weekend… … and here’s a potent reminder of why (some) dads should never be left to look after themselves. In case you were wondering, this was a pizza. The laziest form of food to cook yourself. And I still managed to fuck it up. ‘Cowpat?’ asks a friend, when I…
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120: PARP
It’s the next day and I’ve just arrived at the open mike event – for local authors – at our nearest town’s literary festival. The time is 7.30pm… and the event appears to have started earlier than advertised on the ticket. When I walk into the room (which is in a chain hotel near the…
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119: CREATIVE DRINKS
I’m in a bar in our local town, having ‘creative drinks’ with a bunch of local arty types. To be honest, I didn’t realise there were many arty types in our local town, bar the handful who congregate in their favoured coffee shop… plus a few painters Lizzie knows. But there are a surprising number…
P. D. Clifton 