THE ART OF HAVING THE LAST WORD

Sometimes it seems that we agree on very little. Perhaps it is simply a ploy to add a little spice to his day, or perhaps he just loves to argue, and have the last word.

Well this time the word was DAMP.

It was a very grey day, the clouds were thick, smothering the sky. The morning chores finished, grate cleared and re-laid, ready for a match to change the mood of the room. Lunch over I took Milou for his afternoon run, well walk, a brisk round the houses and back sharpish as it was cold.

JP. OK?
Me. Yes, but cold.
JP. Can't be cold, not with clouds that tick.' [not a spelling error]

He has this idea that if it rains, it can't be cold because if it was cold the rain would be snow or sleet.

Me. Well, it was, and because it is damp it seems colder, a clammy cold.
JP. You mean, Humid? [actually he said 'umid ]
Me. No, it is only humid when it's hot, Damp when it's cold.
JP.  And you are the one with a BA?
Me. Now you are becoming annoying..It is my language, surely you can admit that I must be right. It was cold and Damp

I dug in the bookcase and carried the Dictionary into the kitchen, thumping it down on the table.
Me: There, Damp:[oh oh] Slightly wet......
JP. Yes...like 'umid.
Me. Humid.It says...[oh bugger!] Damp.
JP. Both right then?
Me. Well, I still believe  it is not correct to say that it is damp. For instance during the rainy season in Mexico, and the  air is full of infinitesimal amounts of water - what it is then - is Humid. Muggy and Humid.
JP. So if I go to the garden now and sit on the bench....the seat will be 'umid?
Me: No. Damp.

JP. [In high dudgeon] Perfidious Albion.

Later on I run to the village shop for ciggies.

JP. Was it damp or 'umid.
Me. [with a grin] Moist!

My score, I believe!

HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN.well, almost

20^th October.

Either way there was going to be rejoicing.

Where it all happens

I had planned to write: ‘They gave me back my blog...hurrah. Thank you Google and thank you Sara. Thank you Gatsby, whoever and wherever you are for searching out my blog, lost through my own stupidity, into the vast and empty space of the unloved’. And thank you too the lovely friends who wondered where I had gone.

One tiny, almost involuntary movement of my left index finger, one thoughtless click and it was gone; cached for a while, but then gone.  I was beside myself . [A daft but apt description of my state of mind] My blog belonged to me, so much work and heart had been written into it.

Then an email came to say I could not have it back...not enough proof that it was mine. Who else could it belong to?

 I can quote chapter and verse. Who else has a JP, the Champion Bodger?  Who else had their second honeymoon in  a swish cliff top hotal in Acapulco, or crossed a high railway bridge on foot at seven years old. Who ran to Switzerland with Germans shooting at him? Who danced with GI’s at Margate’s Dreamland Ballroom?

Who sat under the stairs during an Air Raid, more terrified of the spiders that lived there than she was of the bombs falling around her?

Sazzie said ‘wait’. She will be here tomorrow and together we will try once more.

23^rd October.

Then it turned out that she couldn’t make it.

I tried to put the whole idea out of my mind, read a book, did some tapestry, watched endless telly-but all the time my brain was buzzing, needing to be back amongst you all.

Else be forgotten.

I can do this, I thought, surely I can do this small thing without sending myself off into outer space again.

So here is a new place for me. Rather bare, no ribbons or bells or fancy doodads, but Saz will fix it up.  For now it is enough for me to be online again and hope I can be found.

Hello to all my friends out there, talk soon.

Moannie