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May. 18th, 2006 08:59 amMy mother and I arrived at the Robing Room just after 10 yesterday morning. While she was busy having her ceremonial robes put on, I had a complimentary chocolate biscuit and milled around drinking my complimentary cup of coffee and talking to some of the councillors, aldermen and town hall officials. Smiffy, who's organising the W*t*rfront F*st*val (anti-google protection there!) this summer, said he'd arrange VIP passes for me and any of my friends who were interested. I told him Jade, Andy and I would all be coming on the Sunday, so he said he'd sort us out and that there'd be a hog roast in the VIP tent, after people moaned about the lack of food there last year. I asked Smiffy whether the Boney M that would be playing the festival was Liz Mitchell's incarnation; he said no, it was Maizie Williams'. Should still be worth watching - at least it isn't Bobby Farrell's joke version.
At about 10.25, my heart stopped. Miss K2 and her sister walked into the room and made straight for the ante-room where Sir Graball and Lady D'Encloseland were having their robes and chains of office put on them. I'd had absolutely no idea that they were coming. Miss K2 took my breath away; she was even fairer than I remembered her from last year, looking sweetly understatedly attractive in her casual white jacket and jeans. And this year, goddammit, I was going to say more to her than just hello. I went through to the ante-room, went over to Miss K2 and asked how she was. We had a quick chat about our lives right now, then she went to talk to her mum and sister and I returned to the big room.
I spent the remaining half-hour before the ceremony started in a daze, milling around between the Robing Room and the square outside (I felt like some fresh air quite a few times) and saying hello to various relatives and acquaintances as they arrived. Meanwhile, my mother and I talked to Keith, a councillor and family friend, who told us Ness (his daughter) would be coming to the evening party and that she and Tim had split up.
At one point, I went to turn down a side corridor that led out to the square - and saw Miss K2 and her sister chatting right outside the door. I turned back. A bit later, on one of my ventures out, I turned the corner into the square - and there were Miss K2, her sister and Lady D'Encloseland. I smiled and said "All right?" to them all; Lady D'Encloseland, with a conspiratorial smile, said she'd popped out for a crafty smoke.
Back in the Robing Room, Jan, the very nice lady from the Town Hall who looks after us at civic functions, said to me "Have a biscuit." I explained I'd already had one and she grinned "Have another one, I'm giving you permission."
Finally the bell rang, the councillors and aldermen paraded into the Ballroom, and we in the Mayoress's party lined up ready for our entrance in a couple of minutes. I lined up just behind Lady D'Encloseland, as strict protocol demanded, but she pulled me up to walk beside her at the head of the column. "I'm not walking out in front on my own," she said.
As we paraded into the Ballroom and through the audience, I saw Miss K2 and her sister sitting by the aisle, about two-thirds of the way back in the front block. There was no sign of Nobby, but I didn't get my hopes up; it seems highly unlikely he and Miss K2 would have split up so soon after moving in together. More likely he just had work today.
We all took our places on the dais, standing at first as we awaited the Mayor's party. They entered and came up to join us, we all sat down and the proceedings opened with the fire procedure warning then Prayers by the chaplain. Then Sir Graball read the apologies for absence and introduced the newly elected councillors, calling them one by one to the stage to say a few words.
At some stage during the early formalities, something happened on the dais that amused everybody, both us on the dais and the whole audience (please forgive me, I forget exactly what the funny incident was). While we were all laughing, I looked directly at Miss K2. Even though I was up on the dais and she was back in row six of the stalls, our eyes met. For a few seconds, it seemed she and I were laughing together. We were having a Moment.
Then it passed, the laughter died out and it was on with the proceedings. Two of my mother's Council colleagues gave introductory speeches about her and me - when Neil introduced me, he threw in an ad lib that I was "fluent in German and French and [spoke] a little Russian". Alas, he exaggerated my linguistic talents. While I have French to A-level, my German is basic and I know just a few words of Russian. He might well have inflated my scholarship even more : when we first arrived on the dais he asked me whether my degree was a First, but I told him the truth - it was a 2:1. Next was the formal election of my mother as Mayor. When the councillors gave their assent, we all stood, the Mayor's party filed out of the room as the Silver Band played Yellow Submarine (Sir Graball is a former sub-mariner), and Lady D'Encloseland, myself and the incoming Deputy Mayoress all moved round into our new seats.
The bell rang and the Mayor's party returned, now with my mother wearing the mayoral robes and chain, as the band played her chosen song, Wind Beneath My Wings. She made her speech, thanking the Councillors, the residents of her ward and her family and friends and outlining her hopes for our town over the next twelve months. At the end of her speech I had to stand up for her to put the consort's civic badge round my neck. Then one of the town hall officials presented her with a huge bouquet and me with an envelope, from all the Town Hall staff. My envelope contained a £10 book token - so on the 31st I'll be getting the new book on the Scotland 1978 World Cup campaign that I'd resigned myself to living without for months.
The introduction of the new Deputy Mayor was next. When he had to put the Deputy Mayoress's chain round his wife's neck, he couldn't do up the little clip at the back (partly hampered by her failure to take her large hat off!) In the end he told her to just hold the chain in front of her. Then she sat down and Lady D'Encloseland managed to do up the clip (from behind her) for her.
Then came the formal vote of thanks to Sir Graball and Lady D'Encloseland. The councillor seconding the motion didn't quite grasp that he was just supposed to say a few quick words. He told us he was a last-minute substitute for another councillor who'd been meant to do it, then went into a rambling anecdote about the other guy breaking his ribs falling off a ladder (the reason he couldn't do it). Then he said a little piece about Sir Graball, during which he called him an 'ex-matelot' about 20 times in three minutes.
While all this was going on, my gaze kept flitting back to Miss K2's seat, though we didn't make eye contact again. Her sister took a hell of a lot of photos!
Finally the Citizen of the Year and Young Citizen of the Year awards were presented. The bell sounded for the last time and we all filed out of the Ballroom. My mother and I were rushed off to the front garden to have our official photos taken. It was spitting with slight rain, much to the chagrin of one of the photographers. "It can't rain!" he exclaimed. "We always have sun on Mayor Making Day!" We got the photos done without getting seriously wet, then went to join the audience in the Theatre for buffet lunch.
We didn't eat any of the food as we had a three-course dinner to go to at the Town Hall in less than an hour, not that we had time anyway. We spent the whole time in the Theatre shaking hands or accepting hugs and kisses from just about everyone in the room as they congratulated us. There was a bit of a hiccup when Iris, a friend of the parents, came up to me (my mother was buried in a hug from an old lady she knows) and said to tell my mother that one of the local dignitaries and his wife hadn't received their dinner invitations. I told her the couple were definitely invited, so Iris went off to find one of the Town Hall staff. She came back 10 minutes later to say it was sorted.
One lady, whose name neither my mother nor I could remember (much to our mortification) told me she could get me a ticket for UB40 on Southampton Common in July for £30. I told her my finances weren't up to it, but thanked her for thinking of me. A bit later she told me about a singer-songwriter playing the Ashcroft Centre in August and said the tickets were only a tenner. I explained to her that I'll be paying for my Australian and Swiss excursions for the next few months, so to get in touch again from about November if she has tickets for any acts she thinks I might be interested in. She was fine with that.
Some time into the buffet, there were still guests waiting patiently in line to meet and greet us. Miss K2, her sister and Lady D'Encloseland sneaked up, bypassed the queue and tried to bomb straight to the buffet, but I stopped them and greeted and shook hands with them all - Miss K2 first, of course. Alas, they were distance handshakes; they were too far away for me to kiss :(
A photographer was trying to round up all of the relatives for a group photo. Twice he asked me to fetch my mother to do the pic, and twice I came up and told her she was wanted for a family pic but she wouldn't/couldn't tear herself from the people she was yakking with. Finally I got her to come by passing on the photographer's warning that if she didn't do it now we'd be late for dinner. We did the photo, and another of my mother and me with all her work colleagues, then, for the first time, we were led out to the Mayoral car to be driven to the Town Hall for dinner.
Well, pre-dinner drinks in the Mayor's Parlour - my mother's parlour - first, during which Belinda spoke to me in Russian, then reverted to English to say that was something we had in common. I confessed I only had a few words and phrases, one of which is "I like cocoa".
"Very important." said Belinda. "It's nice to know that if you go to Russia you'll never be short of cocoa." She went on to explain that since the end of Communism, now that no-one calls each other 'tovaryshch' (comrade) any more, all the men (whatever their age) get called 'molodoy chelovek' (young man) and the women 'devochka' (young woman).
I sat at the top table between my mother and Virginia, the Mayor of Havant's guest. She talked quite a bit about her family and various goings-on in her borough. I had to tell her I was a Havant & Waterlooville supporter; she said she didn't follow football but was glad her borough's team was playing well. The starter was excellent, delicious duck and cherry pate with salad and chiabatta toast. When the main course, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, was served, my mother observed appreciatively that this was a proper Yorkshire pudding, very well risen. She explained to the Lord Mayor of Portsmouth, on her other side, and to Gran and Aunt Cynthia at the head of the adjoining middle table that her attempts at Yorkshire pudding inevitably come out flat, leading to the family joke that we have Lincolnshire pudding in our house. The Lord Mayor began to give her some advice on how to get her Yorkshire to rise; I didn't hear most of it as Virginia began to talk to me again.
We had meringue swan and ice cream for dessert followed by coffee and chocolate mints, then my mother did her speech thanking us all for coming and thanking the Town Hall staff. Waitresses came round offering us a choice of port or brandy. I went for port; this year we got just a small shot glass of it, and it was quite a mild one. Maybe I wasn't the only person who got woozy on last year's big glasses of a lethal port, and there'd been some feedback to the staff! We had the Loyal Toast (ever the Jacobite, I made sure I had a glass of water in place), then we were free to wander around and chat.
I had a long conversation with Richard, the Mayor of Havant, who was a good bloke. He emphasised the need for himself and my mother to support each other's events. I agreed, saying we'd do as many of his events as we can, and added that maybe I'd bump into him at a Hawks game next season - he enthusiastically agreed. My Aunt Marian passed a menu round for all the guests to sign then presented it to my mother; meanwhile me ma and I autographed menus at the requests of Aunt Cynthia and Gran.
As our new Deputy Mayor had confessed to me during a quiet moment on the dais that he was a West Ham supporter, I asked him to settle a query between me and my mother. I'd told her West Ham had a goalie called Allen McKnight in the late 80s, and she hadn't believed me; she'd said I was thinking of the Portsmouth 'keeper Alan Knight. Alas, the Deputy Mayor didn't know; he said "It was the 50s when I went to watch West Ham," though he'd watched last week's cup final on telly and been gutted but proud of the Hammers' performance.
It was near the end of the afternoon that Dennis, a councillor and family friend, suddenly remembered that no-one had produced one of the plaques that, by tradition, every new Mayor presents to his or her predecessor. So Dennis and Jan hurriedly rushed down to the end office and found one of the plaques, and my mother ting-tinged on her glass yet again, said a few words and handed Sir Graball the plaque.
As the last of the guests drifted away, John the chauffeur removed the mayoral chain from my mother's neck to take it to storage. We said goodbye and heartfelt thanks to Jan, then John led me ma and me down to the Mayoral car and drove us home. I changed out of my suit into civvy clothes and spent the next couple of hours listening to music, watching The Simpsons and an Only Fools & Horses video, and thinking about Miss K2.
At the evening party, the barmaid agreed to put the football on the big screen with no sound. Jade, Neil, his stepson Luke and I all sat at the front table. At the top of the evening Jade's dad came up to her and said "Don't get too drunk, Jade" - she was not amused. Neil and Luke avidly watched the match, while Jade and I semi-watched it and chatted about our current lives, the music on the mixtapes I'd made that were playing in the background, and what some of those songs reminded us of (including bad experiences of the heart). Jade's still relying on her Bettaware income to get by, though she's applied for a few jobs including one at a local entertainment venue. I said I'd be keeping my fingers crossed for her.
During half-time and after the game I took a bit of time out to circulate. Aunt Eileen #2 bought me a drink, and I spent a bit of time with Aunt Marian and with Linda. Graham had taken some photos of my mother and myself during the daytime that were already ready, and now was passing them round everyone. I said "I look a right Malcolm in that suit, don't I?" but everyone said I looked very smart while Jade just had hysterics at my choice of phrase.
I was gutted that Arsenal blew a 1-0 lead they'd held for an hour to lose 2-1, though there was no disgrace in losing to such a talented Barca side. Inexplicably, Neil and Luke, plus my cousin Neil, all seemed to be supporting Barca! In my experience English people usually cheer all the English teams in Europe, and none of those three are Tottenham supporters - my cousin Neil is Pompey while the other Neil and Luke are Man U - so that was weird.
When Amarillo came on the mixtape, my mother and Aunt Eileen #2 roped me into joining them in doing the Peter Kay walk all round the room. As we did it I led us in doing double stamps on the floor in between the 'sha la la' lines. Most people seemed amused...
Soon after, my mother was shouting something to me but I couldn't make it out over the yak-yak-yak of the relatives' table and the music. When I got close enough to hear she was saying 'Turn the music off', I walked towards the tape player, but just before I got there some doughnut switched it off at the plug without pressing the Stop button. "Beat you to it," the guy said to me, though without malice. I ostentatiously pressed the Stop button before going over to hear Aunt Cynthia make a quick little speech and present her with a card signed by the whole family and some assorted gifts. My mother said her thanks, we all gave her a round of applause, then I put the music back on.
From about 10 the guests began saying their goodbyes to us and leaving. I had a bit more of a talk with Linda, who said she liked my mix of music. As most of it was from my youth - the 80s and 90s - while Linda is of my parents' generation, and I'd included a few songs by little-known artists that no-one in the room would ever have heard before (including the wonderful Helen Love), that was a pleasant surprise. In the last half-hour we were down to my mother, me, Jade, Linda and her husband Peter. I'd noticed a bit earlier that Peter was utterly shit-faced. Now, as the rest of us had a relaxed chat and last drink, he kept saying stupid things, but we ignored him as best we could. Linda seemed to have the knack of keeping him in check with a firm "Shut up!" though she had to employ this device several times.
We had to clear out by 11. At 10.57 we all went downstairs and outside, and my mother ran a tray of filled tomatoes from the buffet over to our house (just a hundred yards away) while I kept Linda, Peter and Jade company as they waited for their taxis. Peter started to arse about again, so Linda pinned him to the wall and stood in front of him, then when their taxi came she shouted "Shut up, and get in..."
On the breakfast news this morning there was footage of a bar full of gutted Gooners. I can empathise with them. I'm wearing my Nick Hornby Philosophy Football T-shirt today.
Got to go collect my Swiss photos.
At about 10.25, my heart stopped. Miss K2 and her sister walked into the room and made straight for the ante-room where Sir Graball and Lady D'Encloseland were having their robes and chains of office put on them. I'd had absolutely no idea that they were coming. Miss K2 took my breath away; she was even fairer than I remembered her from last year, looking sweetly understatedly attractive in her casual white jacket and jeans. And this year, goddammit, I was going to say more to her than just hello. I went through to the ante-room, went over to Miss K2 and asked how she was. We had a quick chat about our lives right now, then she went to talk to her mum and sister and I returned to the big room.
I spent the remaining half-hour before the ceremony started in a daze, milling around between the Robing Room and the square outside (I felt like some fresh air quite a few times) and saying hello to various relatives and acquaintances as they arrived. Meanwhile, my mother and I talked to Keith, a councillor and family friend, who told us Ness (his daughter) would be coming to the evening party and that she and Tim had split up.
At one point, I went to turn down a side corridor that led out to the square - and saw Miss K2 and her sister chatting right outside the door. I turned back. A bit later, on one of my ventures out, I turned the corner into the square - and there were Miss K2, her sister and Lady D'Encloseland. I smiled and said "All right?" to them all; Lady D'Encloseland, with a conspiratorial smile, said she'd popped out for a crafty smoke.
Back in the Robing Room, Jan, the very nice lady from the Town Hall who looks after us at civic functions, said to me "Have a biscuit." I explained I'd already had one and she grinned "Have another one, I'm giving you permission."
Finally the bell rang, the councillors and aldermen paraded into the Ballroom, and we in the Mayoress's party lined up ready for our entrance in a couple of minutes. I lined up just behind Lady D'Encloseland, as strict protocol demanded, but she pulled me up to walk beside her at the head of the column. "I'm not walking out in front on my own," she said.
As we paraded into the Ballroom and through the audience, I saw Miss K2 and her sister sitting by the aisle, about two-thirds of the way back in the front block. There was no sign of Nobby, but I didn't get my hopes up; it seems highly unlikely he and Miss K2 would have split up so soon after moving in together. More likely he just had work today.
We all took our places on the dais, standing at first as we awaited the Mayor's party. They entered and came up to join us, we all sat down and the proceedings opened with the fire procedure warning then Prayers by the chaplain. Then Sir Graball read the apologies for absence and introduced the newly elected councillors, calling them one by one to the stage to say a few words.
At some stage during the early formalities, something happened on the dais that amused everybody, both us on the dais and the whole audience (please forgive me, I forget exactly what the funny incident was). While we were all laughing, I looked directly at Miss K2. Even though I was up on the dais and she was back in row six of the stalls, our eyes met. For a few seconds, it seemed she and I were laughing together. We were having a Moment.
Then it passed, the laughter died out and it was on with the proceedings. Two of my mother's Council colleagues gave introductory speeches about her and me - when Neil introduced me, he threw in an ad lib that I was "fluent in German and French and [spoke] a little Russian". Alas, he exaggerated my linguistic talents. While I have French to A-level, my German is basic and I know just a few words of Russian. He might well have inflated my scholarship even more : when we first arrived on the dais he asked me whether my degree was a First, but I told him the truth - it was a 2:1. Next was the formal election of my mother as Mayor. When the councillors gave their assent, we all stood, the Mayor's party filed out of the room as the Silver Band played Yellow Submarine (Sir Graball is a former sub-mariner), and Lady D'Encloseland, myself and the incoming Deputy Mayoress all moved round into our new seats.
The bell rang and the Mayor's party returned, now with my mother wearing the mayoral robes and chain, as the band played her chosen song, Wind Beneath My Wings. She made her speech, thanking the Councillors, the residents of her ward and her family and friends and outlining her hopes for our town over the next twelve months. At the end of her speech I had to stand up for her to put the consort's civic badge round my neck. Then one of the town hall officials presented her with a huge bouquet and me with an envelope, from all the Town Hall staff. My envelope contained a £10 book token - so on the 31st I'll be getting the new book on the Scotland 1978 World Cup campaign that I'd resigned myself to living without for months.
The introduction of the new Deputy Mayor was next. When he had to put the Deputy Mayoress's chain round his wife's neck, he couldn't do up the little clip at the back (partly hampered by her failure to take her large hat off!) In the end he told her to just hold the chain in front of her. Then she sat down and Lady D'Encloseland managed to do up the clip (from behind her) for her.
Then came the formal vote of thanks to Sir Graball and Lady D'Encloseland. The councillor seconding the motion didn't quite grasp that he was just supposed to say a few quick words. He told us he was a last-minute substitute for another councillor who'd been meant to do it, then went into a rambling anecdote about the other guy breaking his ribs falling off a ladder (the reason he couldn't do it). Then he said a little piece about Sir Graball, during which he called him an 'ex-matelot' about 20 times in three minutes.
While all this was going on, my gaze kept flitting back to Miss K2's seat, though we didn't make eye contact again. Her sister took a hell of a lot of photos!
Finally the Citizen of the Year and Young Citizen of the Year awards were presented. The bell sounded for the last time and we all filed out of the Ballroom. My mother and I were rushed off to the front garden to have our official photos taken. It was spitting with slight rain, much to the chagrin of one of the photographers. "It can't rain!" he exclaimed. "We always have sun on Mayor Making Day!" We got the photos done without getting seriously wet, then went to join the audience in the Theatre for buffet lunch.
We didn't eat any of the food as we had a three-course dinner to go to at the Town Hall in less than an hour, not that we had time anyway. We spent the whole time in the Theatre shaking hands or accepting hugs and kisses from just about everyone in the room as they congratulated us. There was a bit of a hiccup when Iris, a friend of the parents, came up to me (my mother was buried in a hug from an old lady she knows) and said to tell my mother that one of the local dignitaries and his wife hadn't received their dinner invitations. I told her the couple were definitely invited, so Iris went off to find one of the Town Hall staff. She came back 10 minutes later to say it was sorted.
One lady, whose name neither my mother nor I could remember (much to our mortification) told me she could get me a ticket for UB40 on Southampton Common in July for £30. I told her my finances weren't up to it, but thanked her for thinking of me. A bit later she told me about a singer-songwriter playing the Ashcroft Centre in August and said the tickets were only a tenner. I explained to her that I'll be paying for my Australian and Swiss excursions for the next few months, so to get in touch again from about November if she has tickets for any acts she thinks I might be interested in. She was fine with that.
Some time into the buffet, there were still guests waiting patiently in line to meet and greet us. Miss K2, her sister and Lady D'Encloseland sneaked up, bypassed the queue and tried to bomb straight to the buffet, but I stopped them and greeted and shook hands with them all - Miss K2 first, of course. Alas, they were distance handshakes; they were too far away for me to kiss :(
A photographer was trying to round up all of the relatives for a group photo. Twice he asked me to fetch my mother to do the pic, and twice I came up and told her she was wanted for a family pic but she wouldn't/couldn't tear herself from the people she was yakking with. Finally I got her to come by passing on the photographer's warning that if she didn't do it now we'd be late for dinner. We did the photo, and another of my mother and me with all her work colleagues, then, for the first time, we were led out to the Mayoral car to be driven to the Town Hall for dinner.
Well, pre-dinner drinks in the Mayor's Parlour - my mother's parlour - first, during which Belinda spoke to me in Russian, then reverted to English to say that was something we had in common. I confessed I only had a few words and phrases, one of which is "I like cocoa".
"Very important." said Belinda. "It's nice to know that if you go to Russia you'll never be short of cocoa." She went on to explain that since the end of Communism, now that no-one calls each other 'tovaryshch' (comrade) any more, all the men (whatever their age) get called 'molodoy chelovek' (young man) and the women 'devochka' (young woman).
I sat at the top table between my mother and Virginia, the Mayor of Havant's guest. She talked quite a bit about her family and various goings-on in her borough. I had to tell her I was a Havant & Waterlooville supporter; she said she didn't follow football but was glad her borough's team was playing well. The starter was excellent, delicious duck and cherry pate with salad and chiabatta toast. When the main course, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, was served, my mother observed appreciatively that this was a proper Yorkshire pudding, very well risen. She explained to the Lord Mayor of Portsmouth, on her other side, and to Gran and Aunt Cynthia at the head of the adjoining middle table that her attempts at Yorkshire pudding inevitably come out flat, leading to the family joke that we have Lincolnshire pudding in our house. The Lord Mayor began to give her some advice on how to get her Yorkshire to rise; I didn't hear most of it as Virginia began to talk to me again.
We had meringue swan and ice cream for dessert followed by coffee and chocolate mints, then my mother did her speech thanking us all for coming and thanking the Town Hall staff. Waitresses came round offering us a choice of port or brandy. I went for port; this year we got just a small shot glass of it, and it was quite a mild one. Maybe I wasn't the only person who got woozy on last year's big glasses of a lethal port, and there'd been some feedback to the staff! We had the Loyal Toast (ever the Jacobite, I made sure I had a glass of water in place), then we were free to wander around and chat.
I had a long conversation with Richard, the Mayor of Havant, who was a good bloke. He emphasised the need for himself and my mother to support each other's events. I agreed, saying we'd do as many of his events as we can, and added that maybe I'd bump into him at a Hawks game next season - he enthusiastically agreed. My Aunt Marian passed a menu round for all the guests to sign then presented it to my mother; meanwhile me ma and I autographed menus at the requests of Aunt Cynthia and Gran.
As our new Deputy Mayor had confessed to me during a quiet moment on the dais that he was a West Ham supporter, I asked him to settle a query between me and my mother. I'd told her West Ham had a goalie called Allen McKnight in the late 80s, and she hadn't believed me; she'd said I was thinking of the Portsmouth 'keeper Alan Knight. Alas, the Deputy Mayor didn't know; he said "It was the 50s when I went to watch West Ham," though he'd watched last week's cup final on telly and been gutted but proud of the Hammers' performance.
It was near the end of the afternoon that Dennis, a councillor and family friend, suddenly remembered that no-one had produced one of the plaques that, by tradition, every new Mayor presents to his or her predecessor. So Dennis and Jan hurriedly rushed down to the end office and found one of the plaques, and my mother ting-tinged on her glass yet again, said a few words and handed Sir Graball the plaque.
As the last of the guests drifted away, John the chauffeur removed the mayoral chain from my mother's neck to take it to storage. We said goodbye and heartfelt thanks to Jan, then John led me ma and me down to the Mayoral car and drove us home. I changed out of my suit into civvy clothes and spent the next couple of hours listening to music, watching The Simpsons and an Only Fools & Horses video, and thinking about Miss K2.
At the evening party, the barmaid agreed to put the football on the big screen with no sound. Jade, Neil, his stepson Luke and I all sat at the front table. At the top of the evening Jade's dad came up to her and said "Don't get too drunk, Jade" - she was not amused. Neil and Luke avidly watched the match, while Jade and I semi-watched it and chatted about our current lives, the music on the mixtapes I'd made that were playing in the background, and what some of those songs reminded us of (including bad experiences of the heart). Jade's still relying on her Bettaware income to get by, though she's applied for a few jobs including one at a local entertainment venue. I said I'd be keeping my fingers crossed for her.
During half-time and after the game I took a bit of time out to circulate. Aunt Eileen #2 bought me a drink, and I spent a bit of time with Aunt Marian and with Linda. Graham had taken some photos of my mother and myself during the daytime that were already ready, and now was passing them round everyone. I said "I look a right Malcolm in that suit, don't I?" but everyone said I looked very smart while Jade just had hysterics at my choice of phrase.
I was gutted that Arsenal blew a 1-0 lead they'd held for an hour to lose 2-1, though there was no disgrace in losing to such a talented Barca side. Inexplicably, Neil and Luke, plus my cousin Neil, all seemed to be supporting Barca! In my experience English people usually cheer all the English teams in Europe, and none of those three are Tottenham supporters - my cousin Neil is Pompey while the other Neil and Luke are Man U - so that was weird.
When Amarillo came on the mixtape, my mother and Aunt Eileen #2 roped me into joining them in doing the Peter Kay walk all round the room. As we did it I led us in doing double stamps on the floor in between the 'sha la la' lines. Most people seemed amused...
Soon after, my mother was shouting something to me but I couldn't make it out over the yak-yak-yak of the relatives' table and the music. When I got close enough to hear she was saying 'Turn the music off', I walked towards the tape player, but just before I got there some doughnut switched it off at the plug without pressing the Stop button. "Beat you to it," the guy said to me, though without malice. I ostentatiously pressed the Stop button before going over to hear Aunt Cynthia make a quick little speech and present her with a card signed by the whole family and some assorted gifts. My mother said her thanks, we all gave her a round of applause, then I put the music back on.
From about 10 the guests began saying their goodbyes to us and leaving. I had a bit more of a talk with Linda, who said she liked my mix of music. As most of it was from my youth - the 80s and 90s - while Linda is of my parents' generation, and I'd included a few songs by little-known artists that no-one in the room would ever have heard before (including the wonderful Helen Love), that was a pleasant surprise. In the last half-hour we were down to my mother, me, Jade, Linda and her husband Peter. I'd noticed a bit earlier that Peter was utterly shit-faced. Now, as the rest of us had a relaxed chat and last drink, he kept saying stupid things, but we ignored him as best we could. Linda seemed to have the knack of keeping him in check with a firm "Shut up!" though she had to employ this device several times.
We had to clear out by 11. At 10.57 we all went downstairs and outside, and my mother ran a tray of filled tomatoes from the buffet over to our house (just a hundred yards away) while I kept Linda, Peter and Jade company as they waited for their taxis. Peter started to arse about again, so Linda pinned him to the wall and stood in front of him, then when their taxi came she shouted "Shut up, and get in..."
On the breakfast news this morning there was footage of a bar full of gutted Gooners. I can empathise with them. I'm wearing my Nick Hornby Philosophy Football T-shirt today.
Got to go collect my Swiss photos.
