Jubilee Memory’s. (Who the hell is Edward?)

‘Why would a gorilla be on the boat with the queen?’

He plonks himself down on the sofa in front of where Addison and I are now attempting to re-create the leaning tower of pizza out of mega blocks, well I am, Addison has now grown bored and has taken to throwing them at Doodle instead, and stares at me with an odd look.

The television is blaring out the jubilee celebrations in the background, while Doodle tries to shimmy up my jumper in a desperate bid to get away from the plastic pellet attack currently taking place, and outside as ever the rain is pouring.

‘Pardon?’ I ask him confused from my crossed legged position in mini Italy. (Thinking about it now, I totally should have been building Buckingham Palace. Damn it. Nevermind…)

‘Eh?’ he responds tiredly rubbing his eyes ‘which bit? Are we going to the supermarket at some point?’

‘All of it.’ I yawn, ‘who said anything about a gorilla? And yes I suppose we are.’

‘You did. When?’

‘What? When? I don’t know, in a bit. I’m not even dressed.’

‘Just then!’ he half shouts growing irritated by the noise Doodle is now emitting as Addison pins him down and tries to shove a single red block where a single red block should never be shoved.

‘Addison Stop it!’ he yells, as Addison being Addison jumps up and tries to look innocent, this child has an unhealthy fascination with trying to shove things in Doodle’s behind ‘you JUST asked me why there is a gorilla on the boat with the queen.’

‘Camilla.’ I spell out slowly at the realisation of his dimwitted half heard error, but kind of wishing I had asked him that and imaging how random that would have been, before prizing the mega block from my sons hand and batting Doodle away from where he is now trying to reverse in to my mouth backwards to escape the torture. ‘I asked you if that was CAMILLA on the boat with the queen. Doodle get down!’ I admonish. ‘My mouth is not a place for you to hide!’

‘Ah. Yes I suppose it would have been, she is married to Edward now isn’t she? A gorilla would have been more interesting to watch though.’

‘True.’ I relent nodding. ‘So are we going to the supermarket? Wait, Edward? Who is Edward?’

‘TRAIN SHOP, TRAIN SHOP AND SAUSAGES?’ Addison climbs on my knee, shouts this in my face and bites my nose. While I am trying to detangle myself from his tiny teeth, The Irish one grabs the remote from beside me on the floor.

‘The queen’s son.’ He says pointing the remote at the telly and starting to flick through the channels ‘is there nothing else on apart from jubilee stuff?’

‘Edward isn’t the queen’s son.’ I respond trying to stand up, planning on going and getting dressed so we can go to the supermarket but being severely hindered by the two year old I seem to be wearing like a necklace.

‘Yes he is. He’s the one married to Camilla, you know, the one who used to be married to Diana but then ran off with Camilla after she died.’

I look at him confused and try to respond, even though I now have ten fingers in my mouth, none of which belong to me.

‘That’s Charles.’ I say, my voice muffled ‘And I’m not sure they ran off. She is on the boat with the queen isn’t she? Are you going to get dressed so we can go out? We need bread and sausages. We could walk?’

Doodle jumps at the sound of the word ‘walk’ directly on to The Irish One’s knee and begins licking his face. He spits, laughs, wipes his mouth and pushes him down ‘we don’t. I got some yesterday. No let’s drive. So who is the queen’s husband then? Is that Edward?’

I limp in to the hallway dragging Addison, who now, like a limpet, is clinging to my leg and singing ‘Incy wincy Spider’ at top volume and shout that the queens husband is ‘Phillip, I think. Do I have to drive? We only need juice!’

‘Is he the one with the bladder infection?’ He responds from behind me, also coming to get dressed. ‘We don’t need juice. I got some yesterday.’

‘I don’t know?!’ I laugh while tearing Addison off my leg and pulling my jeans on. ‘How would I know? How do you even know that?’

‘Doodle Get down!!’ we both shout in unison as Doodle jumps on the bed, and attempts to pin Addison down.

‘He text me.’ He responds smugly, shimmying off to the bathroom with a grin. ‘We are pretty close are Phil and I. We are best buds.’

‘Addison go brush your teeth’ I smile, sending him after his mad daddy.

‘Well maybe you should ask him who Edward is then!’ I laugh, running a brush through my hair, ‘and if that was Camilla on the boat!’

He sticks his head around the bedroom door and winks.

‘Why would there be a gorilla on the boat?’

I laugh and start the search for my boots.

‘TRAIN SHOP TRAIN SHOP TRAIN SHOP!’ Addison shouts, spitting tooth paste everywhere. ‘TRAIN SHOP WITH EDWARD AND A GORILLA!’

‘Addison, bathroom!’ We both command simultaneously as Doodle comes trotting in with his lead hanging  out of his mouth and trips Addison up. (Revenge. No doubt about it.)

‘So who is Edward?’ I think momentarily before starting the search for my car keys.

It was only when we got to the supermarket that we realised we didn’t actually need anything and we had left the telly on, and I still didn’t know who Edward was. By now, however, the conversation had moved on to crowns and trucks, vespa’s and pork pies. It was a very british conversation.

So what did we buy?

3 union Jack flags, some cake and a bottle of coke. (It was the only british food we all could agree on. Is coke even british? Anyway…)

We then returned to the flat, waved our flags, sat on the sofa, ate some cake,  drank our coke and watched… Toy story.

Proud to all be british, although I may need to brush up on my knowledge before Addison starts school and I need to know this stuff.

Having grown up in Spain, see, I was only taught about the spanish Monarchy. (That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it, but don’t ask me about the Spanish Monarchy because… erm… ill be too busy waving my british flag to answer!’)

Long live the queen! (Who was in fact talking to CAMILLA on the boat, I think. Well. I’m not sure they spoke, but I’m pretty sure she was there. Wasn’t Kate’s dress nice?)

Happy Jubilee.

What would your Jubilee memory be?

Is there a therapist in the house?

When I was little I wanted an eye patch.

One of my earliest childhood memories, is of a little girl appearing at my front door with her over -dressed mother  (for some reason when I remember this moment, I always picture the mother wearing a red and white poker-dot ball gown. But I’m sure that can’t be right. Unless her mum was Minnie Mouse… and then wouldnt i just remember the ears? but anyway.. )

I had first noticed this little girl hanging around by the slide at the playground.

I was also aware, little busy -body that I was, (not much changed there, just call me Noris) that she had only just moved in next door with her mummy and daddy. So when the doorbell rang, and there she was stood in all her glory, her mother dancing to ‘hot dog hot dog hot, digetty dog’ in the background (teehee), it wasn’t a huge surprise to me.

It was unscheduled though.

She had turned up out of the blue, as my mother would say. Had she not heard of the phone? Was she born in a barn?

I was a planner as a child. I couldn’t plan a glass of milk in a dairy farm now, but there you go. Back then anything unscheduled threw my whole diary out of whack. I was a pain in the arse, even at the age of five.

Now I remember very distinctly being in a mood on this day. I was ‘huffy’ and ‘puffy’ that this girl should step foot in my house because;

A) I was totally intimidated by her, only the brave and rough kids hung around by the slide!! Anybody reading this who grew up in England during the 1980’s and earlier will understand why. Do you remember those death slides? They were the highest, narrowest, steepest and scariest looking apparatus ever constructed and allowed within 30 feet of a child. With at least a million tiny steps leading up to the tip and only 2 little (wobbly) bars at the top to stop you falling off the side and plummeting 100 feet on to the tarmac below, it really is a wonder any of us made it in to our 30’s. There was no shredded cork in my day! If you fell off that slide it was game over. (Do not pass GO!, do NOT collect £200!) When you were at the top of that slide you could literally see Morocco. Your friends waiting down below looked like jumping fleas. And if you did manage to sit your podgy arse on the narrow slip of metal at the summit without falling to your untimely death, you would usually reach the bottom shaking like a shitting dog and covered from head to toe in heat burns. This would be from attempting to slow yourself down from warp speed to light speed during the shaky, terrifying and usually painful decent.

If those slides were about now, The Department of health and safety would be all over them like a rash. (not unlike the graffiti that was always all over them at that time! Sharon luvs Derek 4eva!.) The children of this decade would (quite rightly) be made to wear harnesses and helmets, and would only be permitted to climb, said death trap under the supervision of the Greater Manchester fire service. They were really scary! Forget a sky dive for cancer research! Come and try this 80’s torture slide! You’ll crap yourself!

And B) She was a big girl. I don’t mean this in the literal sense. I mean, at a whole six months older, she was in the year above me at school and was unattainably cool. I did not want her to see my collection of Care bears and their Care bear friends lined up neatly against the radiator, keeping their bums warm. Or my collection of Polly pockets (which FYI! Were pocket sized then! Have you seen Polly recently? She ain’t pocket sized! They should change her name to Polly -carrier bag!) sitting in a circle having a pocket séance (Did i mention my family may as well have been the Adams Family?) And I definitely did not want her to see my He-Man and She-Ra giving in to some much needed grown up love action, in the barbie house upstairs, while Skeletor watched from his castle of doom. (Joke! I was five for gods sake!) So I was well and truly in a mood. If it had been planned, I could have tidied! (or at the very least shoved them all under my bed!)

But mostly I was in a mood because I was jealous.

I recall she was dressed to kill in a neon pink pair of cycling shorts with a matching neon pink and black tank top.

ALL THE RAGE!

On her feet she had some pink glittery slip on’s (which I wasn’t allowed until I was six! Bitch!) and some neon pink pop socks! And it got worse! When she turned around, to hug her mum goodbye, (clearly on purpose to show off – I may have been five but what was I stupid?) she had the most perfect, baby blonde, soft and flowing curls stretching out all the way down her back, complimented perfectly with the most divine pair of plastic, shimmering fairy wings! (Double bitch!) She was perfect!!

Except for the eye patch.

Did I covet the neon cycling shorts? (Im ashamed to say) Yes.

Did I covet the perfect, plastic shimmery fairy wings? Definitely.

Did I covet her perfect bonce? Maybe…

But did I covet the pale peach, fraying, NHS standard issue, slightly lifted on one side, leaves a dirty grey sticky mess on the side of your face, eye patch? More than anything in the world!!

I remember standing, frozen to the spot, glaring at her (with my perfectly healthy eyes) and thinking lucky cow. She’s got a dodgy eye.

Here is one for the psychologists.

I was a lucky child.

I had a loving mother, a loving father and the best big brother in the whole world.

I did not feel unloved or jealous or forgotten.

I was spoilt but grateful (most of the time) and I was deliriously happy. (My family life was great until the age of 13. Then all hell broke loose. But that’s another post altogether! A password protected one!)

My only worries were; Could I push bedtime back another half an hour if I sat here quietly? Maybe they would forget I existed? And how many times can I whine ‘pleeeaase’ to my dad for a another bag of crisps, before he goes mental. So what gives?

All I know is, that was my first experience of lusting after some sort of medical badge of honour. An eye patch showed you were different! An Inhaler said you were cutting edge!

(A couple of years later, I moved on to wanting an inhaler. All the cool kids had them and if you remember, they were pretty funky back then. The 80’s equivalent of an Iphone. But better. Because it helps you breathe! You missed a trick there Apple.)

A cast said you were popular!! (A few years later I went through a stage of trying to break my own leg, I wanted a signed cast. They was cool!)

Braces gave you a certain ‘Je ne sais quoi!’  (I also wanted a retainer I could gently manoeuvre in to my mouth in front of the teachers, that would clearly show I wasn’t able to answer any questions in class, but meant I could sit with a knowing look while others struggled…AND If you were cool enough, you could have little red stars melted on to it! Ooooo!) and the list continues…

It was only last week, after having endured numerous broken bones, with casts that are bloody fibre-glass so cant be signed!!! And having grown bugs bunny teeth (I knew I needed a retainer!) And after having finally being diagnosed with Asthma, (meaning I finally got my inhaler! 27 years later!)that I remembered my somewhat random and strange childhood ambitions of being, well, poorly? Most kids dream of a holiday to Walt Disney World. Not me. I dreamt of spending a week in Hope Hospital.

It took me back. It made me smile. It made me bloody think, that perhaps I should be a little more careful about what I wish for. (Especially after having to use my boring, brown square inhaler in front of a load of snowboarders! So not cool!) It made me shudder remembering the 80’s dress sense but most of all it made me feel excited that Addison has all this to come!!

You can buy child size, funky eye patches now you know?

He is going to look SO cool! (AND SO AM I!!)