ROUTINE AGAIN!

Every morning I follow the same routine. In fact a routine is essential when you work from home, or as I do work on a haphazard basis. Without one you could just stay in bed all day. I get up, get my breakfast, and my wife’s. She gets ready for work, and I drive her to the station. It’s a precision operation timed to the last minute, which is unfortunately more than can be said of the train service. Sometimes I think I could make the tea and toast still in my sleep. I normally then I wake up and find I have.
So the other day we’re getting in the car and I pull out to find the streets full of people. To put this in perspective where we live the term “go and play in the road” still has a literal meaning. The street, although unsealed, is the nearest thing round here to a basketball court and cricket pitch. When Ron and Gelatti were having there Tudor cottage built it coincided with the Commonwealth Games. The builders sand at the side of the road meant they could have their own Street Olympics complete with long-jump pit. The kids asked Ron if he’d get some more sand so they could make a beach volley ball court. So bearing that in mind a street full of cars left me somewhat curious, so on my return from Belgrave station I decided to see what was happening.
The centre of the activity was Mrs Kaye’s house. Her granddaughter’s car was in the drive, as were two others I didn’t recognise and a police car. The Policeman, Barry, has a daughter who goes to school with my daughter. Last year at sports day, he and I were the only two runners in the Dad’s race, until some footballer from the Saints showed up. The funny thing being that both of us beat him. So I saw Barry, the policeman, and asked him what was going on and he tells me Mrs Kaye’s died, perhaps a couple of days ago. I told him that wasn’t true, I’d seen her yesterday afternoon. To be more accurate she’d collared me when I’d been taking the dogs for their routine lunchtime walk and given me a bag of bones. She’d asked me to post a letter for her because she didn’t want to go into the village. I’d heard her again later calling for her cat, perhaps around four.
Barry rushed off to tell the doctor leaving me on the doorstep unsure what to do. Mrs. Kaye's granddaughter we call M’lady. She has this air about her as if she expects everyone to call her “Marm,” and say “Yes M’lady.” I felt that I should offer my condolences, so I went inside.
Mrs. Kayes' house smelt of cabbage boiled for years in Vicks Vapour Rub. For some reason I found myself stooping despite the high ceiling. Everything in the room seemed to have a frill or a tassel. Above the fireplace the mantel was covered with an exquisite Victorian cloth which somehow wove together frills and tassels. The furniture was also from another age, a time when cabinetmakers and craftsmen were still members of guilds. The room was strangely populated by standard lamps of all sized and shapes. Some were beautiful cut glass oil lamps, I never doubted for a second that if called upon each would work perfectly. Disappointingly there was no sign of a chalk outline on the floor.
M’lady was standing next to the far wall holding a tape measure. The other end was being stretched out by an estate agent who was commenting on the quiet cul-de-sac.
“Do you think we can get a quick sale.”
I wasn’t sure if M’lady was using the royal we, a practice usually reserved for the Queen and sports stars. “We were going along nicely until lap sixteen when someone hit us.”
“Oh I should think so,” I interrupted, “I heard people would kill for a good location, location, location.”
It was my second least tactful remark of the day, I’d already told my wife not to wear her blue dress to work because blue made her look fat.
M’lady seemed not to notice, so I gave my condolences to her back as she held the tape against the window and I left.
Later that day Penni came round. It was the first time I’d seen her since our walk in the woods so potentially a very awkward moment.
“About the other day,” I started, but before I could finish she held up one finger to stop me talking and walked up and kissed me.
“Just checking,” she said and then proceeded to make a cup of tea in my kitchen in a manner that can only be described as very familiar.
“I’m not sure about this ?” I said.
“Yes you are, not sures don’t kiss that well. Now where’s the sugar ?”
There was no more discussion needed. We were both sure. Sure we shouldn’t, sure we would.
I decided to change to conversation and told her about Mrs Kaye.
“I once told Mrs Kaye I was a lesbian.” she said. “She said she used to be on the stage too. I tried to tell her ‘not a thespian’ but I think she had something wrong with her hearing aid.”
“I think you’ll find her hearing was pretty good.” I told her. “So how does this lesbian thing work then.”
I had in this one sentence broken all previous records of tactlessness. I had set a new tactless personal best. I could be un-diplomatic for Australia. I could start wars.
Penni just gave a playful smile and promised to show me later. Penni has never broken a promise.
By the time I went to pick my wife up I had showered three times and brushed my teeth down to the gums.
By that evening a "for sale" sign had already gone up. I told my wife about Mrs Kaye.
“I wonder who will buy it.”
“Well it needs a lot of work,” I pointed out.
“I hope it will be young people with kids to play with our lot, not like Penni and Venus. Maybe Penni will move too now that Venus isn’t around anymore. She can’t have much fun here by herself all day.”
“It’s nice here during the day.” I informed her.
“Why what happened to you today then?”
“Oh nothing much today, you know, just routine.”