:: The Wendy House ::

Lucid dreaming is apparantly quite rare.  Excel has told me that the 10 friends and family who replied to my emailed question ‘do you lucid dream?’ were all wildly over educated, regularly creative (musicians, poets, designers, teenager), and all except 1 are either not-married or over the age of 30.  More specifically:

5/10 people do Lucid dream, including:

• 2/5 males
• 3/5 girls
• 3/3 immediate relatives

It’s fun,  I’d highly recommend it if you don’t already indulge…

Bros:  he was alright except for the lists

Wendy:  the lists?

Bros:  Yes,  the lists,  you remember how he would make lists all the time for even trivial things?

Wendy:  errr,  yes,  of course,  the lists

It appears that my brother has not yet noticed my pocket-size book of lists that has travelled all over the world (and Reading) with me. Nor has he recognised the intrinsic Wendy-appeal of someone that blazenly employs lists in public.

climbs trees with a nylon sleeping bag for a sleep-out party with his friend

puts his bum against the open window of the car so that his silent but deadly fart doesn’t disturb the other car occupants then giggles incessantly for 20 miles

chops off his fingertip with an axe then runs around shaking his hand to increase the polkadot patterning on mums walls

makes a multi-level gerbil cage out of an old sideboard

sings into a microphone strapped to a standard lamp,  without removing the lampshade

writes the name of the girl that he loves on the inside flap of his school canvas haversack in different pens,  fonts and colours

ramps up the volume on the house stereo and arranges an echo, closes the window blinds,  peeks through then whispers in high volume ‘this is the voice of god’ when he sees a schoolchild in uniform walking by outside

earnestly says ‘you’ve failed?  how did that happen,  you’re the clever one’

Takes me into a record shop and says,  you can have any record you want,  its on me.  I pick the first Album he ever bought ‘Ride a White Swan’ by T.Rex

Persuades a friend to drive him to the warehouse 2hrs away where I’m holding my 21st birthday shindig,  Gives me 6 marbles and waits for me to be disappointed,  then gives me a hipflask full of Napoleon Brandy saying ‘I was going to have it engraved with to my wonderful sister,  but I didn’t’,  stays at the warehouse when his friend decides to drive back before midnight

Says of his visits to me at university ‘I wish my time at University had been as good as this’

Calls his first cat ‘f*ck-off’ because the cat followed him back from a superstore and he didn’t want it to,  then takes the cat everywhere in his Trenchcoat pocket and renames her Hoagie after Hoagie Carmichael

Drives a soft-top MG Midget despite his head creating a big upward dent in the roof because he’s 6ft4

 corrects my pronunciation

During a conversation about films that are substantially at variance with the books that provided their original title and approximate plot and characters: 

Wendy:  W’thering Heights

Bros:  WUH,  Wuh-thering Heights

Wendy: yes,  that’s what I said W’thering Heights

Bros:  Wendy,  Wuh-thering has a U in it

niece & her friend: (snigger,  sniggger,  snigger,  hiding mouths behind hands and flashing smiles at each other and checking to see if we ‘adults’ notice)

Bros:  (shakes his head and tuts)

 Wendy:  (decides not to mention that Bros appears to have failed to count the double-u)

viewer of my desktop background (vomdb):  are they yours?

Wendy: (?????) I took the picture

vomdb:  yes, but are they yours?

Wendy:  I don’t own the flats,  but they looked pretty in the sunset so I took a photograph of them

womdb:  are they your children playing football?

Wendy:  no,  but that’s my shadow behind the shadow of that tree

Wendy:  I accidentally pulled the bathroom light fitting on the ceiling,   today I picked up a newer sealed light fitting.

Dad:  Do you want me to bring me tools?

Wendy:  Not really,  [brothers' name]’s coming round with his tools, advice,  and innovative home-improvement books on Wednesday.  I’d rather he climbed the ladder than you or I.

Dad: Yes, I do get a bit dizzy when my feet leave the ground.

In a fit of unfettered curiosity about the wonkily hanging light fitting on the ceiling of the Wendy House bathroom with a bulb that didn’t respond to the light switch,  I turned off the mains electricity then used one of my fancy little screw-drivers to remove the fitting.  It was not a water-protective fitting,  the wires were bare.  I need a complete new light fitting,  not just a bulb. 

Even Wikipedia acknowledges the pecularities of English home electirical wiring traditions.  There are no sockets in English bathrooms and the light is controlled by a pull-chord.   I noted the red and black wires hanging from the ceiling,  covered the ends in insulation tape and bounced off to a lighting shop (by bus). 

All the lights looked jolly pretty with a mass of  small chandeliers both modern crystal and psuedo candelabras. 

I asked the lighting assistant if I could look at the wiring on the lights to see how I would attach them to my two wires in the ceiling.  The lights in the shop all had 3 wires,  yellow,  blue and stripey yellow-green (earthed).  I asked about how they mapped to my 2 wires.  The assistant tushed  in a patriarchally concerned manner and advised that I get an electrician to install my light.  Luckily,  dad and one brother are electricans. 

Phew.

Wendy aged 12 (1975): can I have my ears pierced?
Mumzie: when your are 18yrs
Wendy: will you pay for it?
Mumzie: yes, when you are 18yrs
Wendy: if I pay for it can I have it done now?
Mumzie: yes if I choose the place that you get it done and come with you.

-

Wendy aged 18 (1981): remember you said you’d pay for me to have my ears pierced when I’m 18.
Mumzie: you’ve had them pierced already, I’m not paying for a second piercing, I’ll throw you out, if you get them pierced a second time.

-

Mumsie didn’t notice the second piercing for nearly 6 months.  Rather than throw me out she sighed very heavily and used the mumsie version of the Chinese water torture.  almost lethal.

The younger generations of the House family have, more topical, gory, body-piercing stories, because time has changed the etiquette of piercings

I did my upmost to light family festive barneys by:

• eating a whole jar of pickled beetroot at one meal.
• Using the wrong remote-control (choice of 6) to change TV channels. 
• asking for porridge.
• Securing the largest portion of Triffle.
• mentioning that ‘run cmd’ provides access to a DOS window in XP

First time Taxiing Bros:

Bros:  are we going the usual way (voice stress indicates some concern)

Wendy: I don’t know,  you’ll have to direct me to the usual way

Bros:  it’s the other way

Wendy: 180 degrees in the other direction is going the usual way?

Bros: Yes

I turn around in the car park of a local Medical centre.  Bros. explains this is the medical centre he normally uses.  It will close for-ever when another one is completed further away from his home.  Approaching Bristol, Bros continues describing the usual way then comments that he hasn’t done this for 2 years so the Roads might have changed.  I managed to reproduce near-enough the usual way.  A way I had never taken because Uncle Vaughan set the usual way for my brother.

Mini Wendy’s are herded by their parents into providing their Maiden Aunts with helpful lists lest they get the normal bizarre undesirable obscurities she normally offloads their way in the name of goodwill.

Lets take a moment for a thematic analysis of these lists.  The 13yr-old has covered her back against seemingly being disapointed by adding the item ’surprises’ to her clearly titled pink,  heart-bulleted, picture illustrated, word-document list.  Outstanding job,  not least the request for a hair straightner,  dropping the clearly superflous e was a stroke of pure genious.

By age 15yrs the Mini Wendy has grasped the usefulness of hyperlinks and chosen them over pictorial representations.  The top-shop and over the kee socks references are clearly fashion references that perhaps I could learn from.  Hmmm…   And the lassie has clearly dealt with my impending myopia,  excellent forward thinking there.

Good to see the mini Wendy’s are developing the Wendy trait for list construction.  Clearly the girls are growing into fully rounded capable young Wendys

Shipping (air or land) frieght to the UK requires that the owner have a valid passport at all points when the freight will be moved.  Frieght moval times are unpredictable because of seasonal and weather variations and because frieght,  especially home-frieght,  is very low priority.  Remember by ditsy person’s annual passport?  It’s due for renewal this autumn…  …while the Wendy House is in transit….  Apart from guffaws of laughter this is what dad had to say when I asked him if I could hand-carry some stuff over to his home and leave it there ready for when I arrive,  just to be sure it would actually get there…

Mum says that will be OK…     …Passports and Passport timings are highly critical factors in travel – at least it is not as bad as in war time when you had to bring your Ration books with you if you were going out of the country – these had to be checked and if you had used next weeks rations woe betide you! That still applied the first time I came to England after the war – I nearly was not allowed to leave!

I should have guessed that it was worse during WW2.   I’m lucky that Britain and the US prefer peacekeeping to war or I’d probably have to live in a bunker at the bottom of the garden.

Mumsie packed older brother (9yrs) and I (5yrs) on a public bus for a 40min bus ride to the Marlborough St. City centre bus terminal. 

Exciting.  Adventure.  Upstairs on a double-decker bus without any adults.  Going to the big city.  Bother held my hand as we left the bus.  We walked up the hill towards the  Bristol Royal Infirmary.  I knew the way because I came on the Bus with Mumsie every Thursday when she came to the city to shop. 

Crossing the road,  very scary.  Mumzie always held my hand, checked for traffic.  I didn’t know how to cross the road.  I still find it particularly tricky.  I held my brothers hand tightly, walked fast and close to him as we crossed the road.  Once in the hospital I had no idea where to go.  My brother read the signs and found my other brother (6yrs) in the childrens ward,  who promptly started crying. 

What a wuss.  Here in this interesting big hospital with lots of fabulous toys and other children to play with and all he does is sit in bed crying!  I wandered off to play with the other children and big toys.   One of the children was bald.  Some wacky children in here.  Then dad turned up and we left crying brother in the hospital,  crying even more now.  We rode home in Dads pale blue Ford Corsair car.  I was allowed to sit in the front seat because Mumzie wasn’t there. 

All in all  a fabulous adventure. 

Niece (teenage):  “I HATE YOU”

Bros: “do you know how to say that in French?”

Niece: “Je tu déteste”

Bros: “shouldn’t that be Je vous déteste?”

Neice: “NO, you are tu and I hate you”

By this stage I’ve fallen off my chair giggling and started dribbling tea on my woolly jumper (It was cold in England).  During my 4 day stay I managed to avoid my niece’s wrath without ducking or walking into any nearby walls.

As a child I thought you peculiar, black hair, white skin, gawky behaviour.

Looking like the devil’s accountant, talking like a witty dissident.

Living alone?  Could you be gay?  It didn’t matter either way.

Antique bayonets, guns, swords, stamps, supplied your fun,

the Sunday Times shown your patience in our home.

Cryptic crossword skilled, five down quickly filled.

A place we’ll leave on Christmas eve, 

our lounge chair, you’re not there,

Goodbye Uncle

Vaughan

The inspiration for this poem should be self-evident.  Don’t worry, normal service will be ressumed after a brief bout of the traditional sadness-ranty-insomnia.

I see their heads, a pair of pinballs bouncing in the distance, as they scan the hall between the taller, faster-moving, arrivals.  Dad’s thick heavy straight hair has a glass-fibre-optic luminance that is easily held in view.

Heading towards them, restraining the impulse to run, my strides extend.  I’m bound to fall over if I run amongst unsuspecting normal people.  A quick glance around confirms that  adults don’t run in arrivals lounges.  I’m an adult now.  I walk, like the other arrrivals around my parents, very very very fast. 

After the 200yrd dash I manage to approach dad head-on and get both arms around his shoulders before he’d recognised me.  His shoulders?  I don’t remember ever having been able to reach his shoulders before now.   He kisses my cheek in front of my ear.  He can no longer reach my forehead.  Standing upright with his familiar cheshire cattish grin while Mum joins the hug simultaneously giggling and chattering.  They had, they explained, ’seen’ me but not recognised me…..

I hug-herd them to the luggage reclaimation rack while mother spills the first few lines of this story, then that, then the other, and another.  I barely have time to savour the images she draws before being pulled to the next story.  Dad grins silently,  keeping his sparkly dark blue eyes trained on the baggage go-round,  going round.  In this moment of our studying the baggage go round,  unobserved chattering mother wanders off,  disappearing into the crowd,  giggling and chatting to herself as she goes.

Is this how toddlers’ parents feel when they realise they can no longer see or hear their their toddler?

I’ll never know.

On Boyfriends:

• Wendy age 12 “Mum, what do you think of boyfriends?” .  Mum “They’re okay one at a time“
• Gave me a front door key (age 12) and said “let us know if you’re not coming home over-night,  otherwise we’ll stay awake waiting to hear you come in“  Cunning,  I always felt morally obliged to tell her exactly where I was and when I was coming home…
• Wendy age 16, after boyfriend dumped me because I wouldn’t marry him before I’d been to college.  Wendy “what did you think of him mum?“.  Mum “He’s in the Navy dear“
• Wendy age 17, dating an Oxford University undergraduate studying “Classic’s” who had an Aristocratic family name, all boys-private-school education with a ‘plummy‘ accent.  He would bring HER roses when he visited.  She phoned all her relatives, even distant ones that she didn’t like, to tell them his name.  Never before or since has she done this. 
• Upon meeting my first love (age 19),  she left the hallway,  shut the kitchen door (NEVER normally shut) and we could hear:  “HaaaHaaaa Haaaa,  haaa,  haaa,  teeee heee heeee“
• After first-love dumped me (age 22):  “He didn’t have enough umpff for you dear“.  I know why she laughed,  I thought that was ‘Umpff’.  Poweful insight on her part,  wish I knew how to recognise “Umpff“. 

On Wendy’s pierced nose (since age 19)

• “Congratulations,  you’ve managed to highlight the worst feature on your face“
• “Oh,  let me polish that dear it’s all greasy“
• “It’s just a phase you’re going through,  you’ll grow out of it”
• “Is that a zit dear?  oh,  I couldn’t tell the difference”
• “Don’t wear emerald’s there dear“

 On Wendy’s tattoos (since age 22)

• “Oh dear,  will that wash off?”
• “Is that cancerous?”
• “What exactly is it meant to be?”

On Marriage:

• After Wendy had been ‘engaged’ for 3 years, over formal family dinner, she said to us both:  “If you want to elope,  that’s fine with us“
• After Wendy had been ‘engaged’ for 5 years,  to me in the kitchen ”If money’s the problem dear we can contribute  <generous amount>“
• Unprompted this September:  “good job you didn’t get married dear,  have you seen the cost of weddings?  Its outrageous!“

Mum’s a complete treasure.  I adore her mixture of pragamatism,  support, and clearly stated prejudice.  Love her to bits.

Wendy