The fanny Stain culprit ( on the left)
I don't know about you all, but if I am not working, Monday is the day I whip the cottage into some sort of cleanliness and order.
Of old, Monday was the day to do the washing and eat a meal of leftovers.
It was the day to start afresh
Dad went back to work, mum did the washing, the kitchen was scrubbed and the kids went back to school.
So was the order of a 1960s childhood.
Today some of that remains, albeit in my imagination.
Chris " facetimed" me when I was in the bathroom this morning
He was busy marking a PhD study
I was scrubbing the wee stains from around the toilet bowl
" are you having a bath?" He asked ( probably thinking that I was luxuriating in a mass of foam bubbles before skipping off to a coffee morning at the vicarage )
I told him what I was up to and he reminded me of another job I had yet to tackle
" There's a fanny stain on the duvet!" he noted dryly
( not a phrase I would ever consider hearing in a predominantly gay household but hey...)
" it's on my list" I told him whilst thinking that the phrase " fanny stain on the duvet" would never have been a comment that would have ever left my father's mouth.
Apart from the occasional " ruddy and bloody" I don't think I ever heard my father swear
I remember when I was around eleven , my father was involved in a bit of a punch up in his shop.
He owned a television sales and repair Business and was in the middle serving two separate customers when one, a young man, got frustrated with the wait and called my father " A TWAT!"
My father who was probably in his late fifties then, didn't hesitate and smartly punched the customer in the mouth and the first we children got to hear of the affair was when the police popped up to the house to have a ' quiet word ".
Now the humour in this situation centred around my mother's lack of understanding of the word " twat" rather than any resolution of the punch up itself, for after the police had " discussed the matter" with my dad who incidentally was the chair of the borough council at the time, my mother embarked into wild fact finding mission to find out just what TWAT meant.
The policemen obviously wouldn't explain, nor would my red faced father......and even after a few phone calls to my brother in law, all my mother was informed that the word " twat meant a " woman's vagina"
I remember stuffing my hands into my mouth to stop myself from screaming in laughter, after my mother hurried around the house like a stereotypical Jewish mother shrieking
"Ron RON! .... you hit someone in the mouth for calling you a WOMAN's VAGINA?!!!!!!!!"
" why why would you do that?"
They were simpler days ........