Gunfight At The OK Corral
Wednesday, May 12th, 2010I would like to apologise to my regular readers for my lack of production over the last week but myself and the fair Helen have been entertaining two of our grandchildren and what a joy it has been with these two lovely little girls. It all started last Thursday with Helen’s back breaking down in anticipation of this glorious visit, which of course threw an extra burden on to my broad but sensitive shoulders.
So while all hell was breaking out in the General Election in England and among the marauding factions of Hollie’s Army in the comment sections of my blog, I was rising at 5.00am to the tattoo of the children’s reveille, changing nappies and a whole host of tasks surrounding their nether regions which I cannot possibly go into for decency’s sake, feeding them three and four course breakfasts, washing pots from the night before which I had left because I was so exhausted, cleaning up the kitchen after this dawn onslaught, ferrying cups of tea to my painfully supine wife, who once awoke, proceeded to yell down instructions giving me rudimentary lessons in the use of washing machines, irons, clothes racks and all the other useful apparatus that I had bought in all good faith over my working lifetime thinking that I would try and make things easy for her.
When all was shipshape and Boyle fashion, a quick look at the clock told me the curfew was still in place, it was only 6.30am and so to the business of clothes. Every morning, after a spirited bout of washing and drying the day before, I always had the choice of about nine or ten items of apparel for each child (a loose term for these brats). These nine or ten choices were never enough, so I ended up wearing them, ropng them, pyjamed still, to a chair and driving Paul, my moaning groaning teenage son to school and returning once more to the fray after visiting the early shops to bring home the bacon and other comestibles. The rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent settling skirmishes and dogfights that seem to continually flair up in what was to them a strange but all the same welcoming environment, cuddling the wounded, haranguing the attacker and kicking the dog for taking sides. The odd cartoon on the Kids Channel gave some respite, but their inherited genes came to the fore when it was obvious they only liked Peppa Pig which was only on one of the 30 cartoon channels for 30 minutes every other day. That half hour went so quick. Helen from her cottage hospital of a bedroom, with remarkable courage considering the pain she was in, shouted for me to record the next programme, so that now, we just play this recording over and over again, boring, but what relief and confirming to me that kids of two and three years of age have got the attention span of a goldfish.
The evening meal is prepared of the finest ingredients which the two brats turn their noses up at on first sight and return to Peppa Pig, but eventually as starvation sets in, they come to the table and wolf the offering down as though it is their last meal on earth.
At this point I make it my business to sneak off to my favourite pub, The Patrick’s Well, to enjoy one half pint at least of their delicious black nectar and then quietly back to the fray. Pyjamas on one and nappy and nightdress on the other, whilst Helen bills and coos over her delightful and exhausted grandchildren. It reminds my confused and badly tortured brain of frontline troops and their generals in World War 1. I being the troops and Helen the general, lying in the lap of luxury, 50 miles behind the trenches., but at least she gains tremendous pleasure from this daily brief encounter. It is then up to bed with them and then all embracing calm and because by then fatigue is setting in, all I can usually manage is a raw potato for my evening meal, washed down with God’s anaesthetic, a bottle of wine, which disappears so quickly, I often look down at the floor thinking I have spilt half the bottle.
Slowly to bed for a few meagre hours and up again to face the matinal barrage. The rampaging twosome are going home on Friday and I will be heartbroken that my efforts to break in these two mustangs will have been to no avail as naturally they will drift back to their old slipshod ways.
On other fronts, the open forum I allowed to happen on the comments pages of my blog has served a purpose. The various angry elements of the disenfranchised Face Book group of Hollie Greig’s Army, instead of sniping from the hills, came together for one last shoot out at the Paul Malpas OK corral.
There was a lot of anger and obfuscation but in the end serenity almost prevailed and everyone is now calm or as calm as an angry Scot can be. There is still a lot of suspicion out there and some people will never regain their previously self appointed positions, but at least most seem to think that the emphasis should be on Hollie and not their wounded egos. May you all sleep and work in peace and let those who want to help, do so, the rest can just hang up their guns and forget it ever happened.
Let George McKendrick have the last say but I am sure there will be more to come and there is.