Short Story: Events Of A Calendar -…

Short Story: Events Of A Calendar - Is Yours Like Mine!

I have attempted to remember anything special that has happened this year. I slipped into the kitchen and pulled down the calendar with all the ‘events’, ‘appointments’, ‘red letter days’ for the year. There was nothing of great interest listed. We went to see South Pacific on the 4th April at the Hippodrome in Birmingham but for the life of me I cannot remember a single thing about it. Perhaps if someone hums a tune, it might trigger an avalanche of significant events but I doubt it.

Two dental appointments per person, per year multiplied by three in the household have been recorded together with forty-seven squash matches and four visits to the hospital for more serious matters or at least I think they were. As you get older they usually are of course. Twenty-nine birthdays were detailed and no doubt appropriate cards with suitable words involving ‘love’, ‘best regards’ or plain old ‘happy birthday’ bought from the cheapest card shop in town during a three day shopping spree (slightly exaggerated but men will sympathise).

Went horse racing seven times? Don’t remember all of it – must have been something in the water. A summary might read – visited ‘x’ race course, a delightful place, and tree lined sunlit avenues with such civility in the parade ground area….. and four hours later – cat-napping on train, members of party separated, head aching, feeling quite ill (must have been something I eat)… I’m sure I had more money than that. Followed by a severe throbbing about the head of astronomical proportions the following day and for sometime afterwards.

We began ballroom dancing in January. This was a rather brave thing to do. My Dearest wasis a dancing teacher, and requires perfection and immediate satisfaction from the event. I on the other hand am a sportsman where co-ordination was never a top priority. Grunting and spitting being top activities in anything I do – sport or not. I admit, I do indeed sweat a awful lot during the dancing sessions. Well, perspire to the point of ridicule. My body at the end of each session is wet; very wet with a hint a gossamer sheen, trickling at regular intervals of my chin and brow. I am the centre of observation but I care very little. I can do a single lock in the quickstep plus turning the corners skilfully (Dearest says dizzily), shuffle articulately round doing a waltz like the Germans do and dance like a cloistered gay when performing the cha-cha. However, I am having pots of difficulty with the jive currently but I’ll get there…probably not from the look on my partners face.

Changed my broadband in February from Virgin to Sky. What a mistake that was. Second class post or a carrier pigeon would have been quicker but you tend to believe that it is going to be faster, they convince you and of course it’s cheaper too. I think broadband providers should be made to have obligatory anger management classes for people who stare at blank computer screens that have those irritating egg cup timers appearing to be doing something but sometimes sit delicately for hours in the centre of the screen, really doing bugger all.

On the 19th March we had a luscious leather one seat and two-seater sofa for the sitting room. Seemed a bit of an expense really, no body actually parks themselves in there for very long. It’s more like a ‘lets go and talk some serious family business’ room or a place you might have a morning coffee in but not feel that at ease because there’s no where to put your cup. We could have gone on a cruise instead I suppose – Norway up the Fiords second class berths, warm blanket etc.

We were going to Torquay to our usual Flat on Daddy Hole Plain for a week in May (a lovely place) but had to cancel very late on. Someone in the party had a reoccurrence of the Meshersmitts – very untimely – it’s an age thing.. Still, the proprietor acted speedily, by cashing my deposit (50). I had (I admit) rashly said, buy a good claret with it and they annoyingly did.

Have been attending a Writer Circle for sometime but having read out a piece at the monthly meeting in May, I have decided that they don’t understand my writings and it would be prudent to leave. The chairman looked increasingly traumatised as I progressed through my literary master piece adventure in suburbia. I suspect it was the following extract that finally called a halt to the proceedings

“The dog was, loosely speaking, a boxer crossed with a longed eared spaniel. It’s distinguishing features were it’s dangly bits that on the point of trotting would swing so furiously in a hundred and eighty degree semi-circle that one wondered if it was a joke that some youngsters had hatched as funny by attaching fake squash balls to the animals rear end. Alexander’s affectionate welcome entailed attaching itself to one of your legs and howling inanely while slobbering large deposits of saliva on your trousers. To ask the dog to stop was a sign of disrespect according to Gertrude. So, one had to suffer the indignity of the animal’s lust whilst moving around dragging the canine from room to room in an effort to release one self from its grips. Gertrude would exclaim’ Oh, he really likes you Roddy’. ‘I know’ I would respond knowing full well that I was powerless to do anything other than take what was coming to me and accept without admonishment of the dog, that a dry cleaning bill for my trousers was inevitable”

Still, all writers get rejections but someone held the door for me that night and said goodbye, not good night. I can take a hint. My new hobby is gardening.

We had the bathroom done in June if that’s the right way of saying it. I didn’t realise that life could be so complicated. The first plumber, built like a small tank from the last war – age seventy years decided that after two days of demolition and hammering the walls free of tiles (which I painfully put up three years ago) that he was too ill to continue. His doctor advised him to rest - potential heart attack likely, massive palpitations, anxious wife swearing that she would leave him if he didn’t stop. I felt the same heart stopping beats when I arrived home from work one wet Tuesday evening and observed the devastation. My wife was already in the early throws of nervous breakdown mode. ‘What’s for tea Love’. Cabbage on toast, it’s in your slippers’ she replied. I instinctively knew the sort of tell tale signs.

The Company provided another chap who was pretty good considering he was a qualified gas fitter. Very accommodating said my Dearest, nothing too much trouble, which was a bit worrying at the time. I’ve seen house exteriors go up quicker, I murmured. Still, the works seemed to make the lousy summer go quicker.

Steady progress has been made with a new adventure though – golf. My Dearest and I have courted the sport during the summer months and finally got married in September when we joined a Club in Lichfield. There is a slight problem. A 132KV electric pylon passing through the course. After a while the immense strolling through the countryside structure becomes not a thing of ugliness but a powerful symbol of our time like the angel of the north or the Girken Building in London. I have the distinction of hitting the cable with an almighty swipe of the club. Luckily we are still alive but I refused to pick the ball up for sometime. Our games are extremely memorable. All hazards on the course are being utilised extensively. Dearest is to take our fishing net up sometime in the future to retrieve our millions of balls lost in several water holes on the course.

I had a bump off my mush in November. Nothing serious as it turned out. By January I am aiming to be normal again…However the hospital experience has left me in a state of quiet reflective thought; particularly how I react and deal with others. I do know there are exceeding ill people out there who are so brave. When I head for the hills I might, just might lend a hand. I hope so anyway. Not operating duties of course, maybe just handing the hammer and chisel to the surgeon sometimes but probably just helping out by pushing wheel chairs down stairs etc etc.

Happy Christmas