Love, Nina, page 3
Sam was due to go to Ras’s for tea. Ras’s mum asked if there was anything Sam doesn’t eat. I said he had the usual prejudices for his age (which isn’t exactly true but I couldn’t be bothered to go into detail). You’d think she’d know anyway, they’ve been friends since toddler age.
Me: Ras’s mum wants to know if there’s anything you don’t like.
Sam: Shoes with shoelaces.
Me: She meant food.
Sam: I don’t like Brazil nuts or trout-fish.
Me: Oh no, she was planning a trout-fish and mixed nut risotto.
Sam: Shit.
Played a little trick on Nunney, which seems bad now, but at the time was funny. There was a note on the sideboard from Claire saying about putting a casserole in the oven at such and such a time and temp and I added at the bottom “and please groom Miranda (the cat).” Later:
Nunney: I’ve told Claire I’m not prepared to groom the cat.
Me: Oh, what did she say?
Nunney: She was fine about it.
We all played Buckaroo, which Sam got for Xmas, but none of us like the bit where the mule bucks (too shocking) except Nunney, who says if Sam doesn’t want it (Buckaroo) he’ll take it round to 57. Me and Will have advised Sam not to let go of Buckaroo so soon.
Love, Nina
PS Jez says it wasn’t Mrs. Lucas who drew the map of England as a woman in a bonnet riding a pig. It was Mrs. Curtis. I think he might be right but I am sure Mrs. Lucas was the nervous driver. He says Mrs. Lucas always walked to school.
* * *
Dear Vic,
I can’t pass on Mr. Blunt’s letter to Jonathan Miller just at the moment—I think I’m in his bad books. It’s partly that I asked him if he was an opera singer and everyone laughed (because he isn’t one and although being an opera singer is fine, apparently it’s ridiculous if someone thinks you are but you aren’t). Can’t decide if this is insulting to opera singers or to anyone who isn’t one.
Also, I think J Miller is bearing a grudge over the loss of his saw at Xmas. He never mentions it but I know something’s on his mind.
Me: (to MK) I think Jonathan Miller hates me.
MK: What?
Me: I think Jonathan hates me.
MK: I shouldn’t worry about it.
Me: I shouldn’t worry about it? That means he does.
MK: I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.
Me: It’s your fault, making me borrow the saw and then losing it.
MK: I didn’t lose the saw—you did.
Me: No, you did and now he hates me.
It’s the injustice of it that bothers me. I tried my hardest to keep the saw safe, but nothing’s sacred (in this madhouse).
I think MK was miffed because Jonathan Miller said, “Don’t forget to bring it back,” because she hates being bossed about. He didn’t say it but it’s too late to tell her that now.
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
Will goes to a posh school. One friend there is a distant relative of Ian Fleming the writer (the one that has the Ink Spot pool, I think).
Sam and Will love nostalgia. It doesn’t matter how ordinary a thing is, if it occurred more than a month ago, they discuss it in glowing terms and great detail. Sam especially has a good memory for detail.
Will: Do you remember when that dog nicked your sausage roll?
Sam: (laughs) Yes, do you?
Will: I’ve just mentioned it.
Sam: Do you remember when Stibbe scored that header at the Astroturf?
Will: (laughs) Yeah, it was an own goal.
Sam: Yeah.
MK: Didn’t you remember all this yesterday?
Will: No, Saturday.
Mary-Kay has a new (boy)friend called H—. She can hardly bring herself to say the word (H—). It isn’t only the name H—she has a problem with. She’s just funny about names and like so many things, once you know she’s funny about it, you start to see why and then you’re funny about it. I tested her on names she finds it easy/difficult to say.
Me: H—?
MK: Difficult.
Me: D—?
MK: Difficult.
Me: Geoffrey?
MK: Difficult.
Me: Michael?
MK: Easy.
Me: Stephen?
MK: Easy.
Me: Jack?
MK: Difficult.
Me: Alan?
MK: Enough, shut up.
My theory: some (lots of) men’s names sound like toilets, penises or wanking. Have you noticed?
Will and me both have head lice. Sam is lording over us because he’s clear as a bell. MK’s having the overnight lotion same as us, to be on the safe side. We look terrible. All greasy-haired. And we stink. AB was a bit put off at supper and said not to scratch or shake near his plate.
See you soon.
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
Met Mary-Kay at John Bell pharmacy in Wigmore Street. Approaching the car where MK had parked, we saw a traffic warden (bloke) writing a ticket.
MK: (calling out) Hullo, warden (walking quickly), I’m here now.
Traffic Warden: (placing ticket).
MK: (takes ticket and offers it back to the warden) I was only a minute late.
TW: (backs away, avoiding ticket) I’m sorry, madam.
MK: But I’m here now.
TW: The ticket is issued, I’m afraid.
MK: (points to litter bin).
TW: I’m sorry, madam.
MK: It seems unsporting…
TW: I’m sorry, madam.
MK: In this weather (sunny).
TW: (smiles).
MK: Well, you smiled, that’s something.
TW: (laughs) Yes, madam.
Driving away:
MK: He was handsome…didn’t you think?
Me: I didn’t see him in that light.
MK: In what light did you see him?
Me: Authoritative.
MK: Yes, and handsome.
Later we were talking about buddleia (the horrible purple-flowered shrub that grows out of neglected masonry in places like Highfields):
AB: It can be nice, in the right place.
Me: I don’t like it—it grows out of derelict houses.
MK: Only if it has to.
AB: It’s very attractive to butterflies.
MK: (to me) There you go, butterflies like it.
Me: But it grows out of cracks and guttering.
MK: (pleased) Butterflies and squalor.
Hope all’s well with you.
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
Of course he’s the Alan Bennett. You’d know him if you saw him. He used to be in Coronation Street. He’s got a small nose and Yorkshire accent.
He’s very nice. He says, “don’t be daft” etc. He’s getting quite famous now (probably more so than Jonathan Miller actually) but he’s not bothered about it. He’s very interested in history, but he’s rubbish on nature (like MK) although he is very outdoorsy and does like it (nature) for walks etc. (unlike MK).
When he comes over for supper he does this tiny short doorbell ring, hardly a ring at all, he just touches the bell and it makes just the beginning of a ring. That’s him. Minimum fuss.
Once, late at night, when I was on my own, I thought I could hear someone creeping around in the house (burglar or worse). I got myself so scared I rang AB and asked him to come over. He came over straightaway (his mac over his pajamas) holding his brolly. He had a good look around. There was no one. I was so embarrassed I almost wished there was. I said, “I feel such an idiot.” And he said, “Don’t be daft.”
Love, Nina
PS Everyone passes with Brown School of Motoring (BSM). Really, Mr. Brown has never had a fail. The thing about Mr. T is he’s on medication and he indicates right and left by HAND. I’ve seen him. You need someone with a normal, modern car (and techniques), not a Hillman.
* * *
Dear Vic,
A man from Camden Council came round to notify us. He was only a bit older than me but acted very official and mature. He talked about “forthcoming essential street works” and gave us a typed page. He was formal and wouldn’t chat or be at all light-hearted (unlike the traffic warden the other day).
MK: So, will there be digging?
Young Man: A certain amount.
MK: Machines?
YM: I expect so.
MK: Will it be noisy?
YM: Do you go out to work during the day, madam?
Me: Why? Are you about to offer her a job?
YM: I’m not authorized to make appointments.
Later at supper:
Me: (to AB) Did a young man come to you?
AB: Not today.
Me: We had one to warn us of street works.
AB: (very interested, turns to MK for more) Oh, what?
MK: Some digging and stuff.
AB: Why didn’t the young man come and warn me?
Me: It’s not your side.
AB: But things travel across.
MK: Not the young man though, apparently.
AB returned to the subject after pudding.
AB: I can’t think what road works could be necessary.
Me: It’s not road works, it’s street works (I fetch the typed page).
AB: Oh, yes, it says here street works, you’re right.
He never believes what I say—without proof.
I remembered the wobbly slab that splashes and trips people (especially Mary-Kay).
Me: Someone should’ve told the man about the wobbly slab.
MK: (hands up) Yes! I thought that when he was here.
Me: Why didn’t you mention it?
MK: Enough was enough.
Me: I’ll bring it up.
AB: You can’t just lift paving stones willy-nilly.
Me: I meant bring it up in conversation.
Hope all well with you. Good luck with quiz. You might want to brush up on football and pop. They always ask about those. And about Mark Twain.
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
Told MK about this under-the-sink cupboard bin thing they have where Pippa lives.
Me: You open the cupboard door and the bin lid lifts off and you can just toss rubbish in and shut the door again.
MK: (seeming unimpressed) Oh.
Me: It’s really good.
MK: How is it better than the one we’ve got?
Me: Well, you don’t have to touch the bin lid with your hand.
MK: I don’t like those hidden bins.
Sam: Me neither, I like things out in the open.
AB: Very Brechtian.
So we’ll carry on with the swing-top even though the swingy bit has disappeared (must’ve fallen in) and it’s just a big hole. MK doesn’t care about having all our peelings and fag ends on display.
On the subject of “au pair” Pippa. I think she might be leaving her job. Keeps hinting but not saying. I can tell she wants me to ask. No chance.
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
Ben came to visit me. Mary-Kay opened the door to him. Later she said, “Well, he looked a bit—you know.”
I said, “A bit what?”
And she said, “You know.”
So I said, “I suppose so.”
She could have meant anything—you’re guessing half the time.
Sam has finally told us what his anxiety is—it’s that the queen might have an intruder at the palace. We said she’d already had one and he could stop worrying. He said he was worried she might have another—a copy-cat intruder. When we all laughed and he realized it wasn’t a bad enough anxiety, he switched to being anxious about Shergar (will he ever be found?). He’s always up on the news.
Mary-Kay has been to the USA. And you’ll never guess what she brought back as a souvenir. A duvet cover. I couldn’t believe it. To go all that way and get yourself a duvet cover. I said it was very nice. It was OK—stripy like a bloke’s shirt, but nothing special considering. I said, “Did you get anything else?”
She said, “Yes, I stocked up on headache pills.”
Also, while in the USA she tried a new kind of sandwich, an American sandwich—bacon, tomato, and lettuce (BLT).
Remember the woman that laughed at my ponytail? Well, she was here again last night. This time she laughed at the supper and said it was the first time she’d “appreciated the qualities of Heinz Ketchup.” Then she asked who’d cooked it.
Horrible Woman: Who was responsible for the delicious supper (looking at S&W)?
Me: I was.
HW: Oh! I am sorry. I’d assumed it was one of the boys.
This morning I said something to MK.
Me: HW didn’t think much of my turkey burgers.
MK: Well, it wasn’t your best-ever supper.
That annoyed me—it was MK who bought the turkey mince in the first place (S&W are supposed to have gone low-cholesterol dietwise now since Stephen turns out to be high) and apparently turkey mince is helpfully low. Anyway, the horrible woman only came round because she wanted to tell MK about the fellow she’s having an affair with—MK mostly calls men fellow or chap, sometimes bloke, but never guy (or man, come to think of it).
Me: She deserved those turkey burgers then, two-timing cow.
MK: No one’s that bad.
Funny hearing about your old ladies and their baths. You should try washing Sam’s hair. He hates it and gets more and more annoyed, and struggles as though you’re trying to drown him and he shouts for Trevor Brooking (throughout the rinsing) plus you’re having to be very careful not to get soap in his eyes.
Mary-Kay has started washing her hair over the kitchen sink (when she’s in a hurry). I know because she keeps the shampoo in the cupboard above the sink by the sunflower oil. I’m hoping one day she’ll pick up the wrong bottle.
Love, Nina
PS Do Not practice in Dad’s car. It veers to the left. I drove down the M1(Leics to London) and my arms were killing me the day after, it’s like you’re on a permanent hairpin bend just keeping it in a straight line. I stopped at the services (Newport Pagnell) and a bloke advised me not to drive it any further.
* * *
Dear Vic,
Last night Betsy and Karel Reisz came round. I cooked a chicken and Betsy brought a cake. At supper Betsy kept saying, “Beautiful, beautiful” (about the roast chicken).
MK: Aren’t we due a break from mashed potatoes?
Betsy: No, Mary-Kay—it’s all lovely, really beautiful. I love carrots done this way (boiled in sugary water with cornflour added at the end, then sprinkled with fresh chopped parsley).
Will had his carrots raw, but even he admitted the cooked ones looked good.
Betsy’s pudding cake was very nice. Sam almost choked on a bit of tinfoil she’d accidentally left on it. But apart from that, it was really delicious (American style, homemade).
Karel and Betsy are proof that nice people don’t have to be embarrassing. I was just thinking that (aren’t they nice etc.) and I was feeling pleased with Betsy’s appreciation of the supper (esp. after the turkey burger snub), when Betsy accidentally ruined it…well, her and MK.
Suddenly, Betsy said, “You know, Mary-Kay, you should have someone come in and clean, it’d really make a difference.”
“Yeah, I know,” said MK.
“I think Carmelita could come over, I’m sure she could use the extra cash, I’ll ask her,” said Betsy.
“Great,” said MK.
The thing is, I think I’m supposed to do it (the cleaning). Well, a bit. I only don’t do it because MK isn’t bothered—if she had said something I’d have hoovered up or something (though to be honest I’ve never seen a hoover anywhere). MK never mentions the mess or seems to care. She washes up and tidies up etc. and the boys fill and empty the dishwasher. I just do the cat bowl.
Anyway, I think it’s settled (about the cleaner starting). I feel that guilty/annoyed mix.
Love, Nina
* * *
February
Dear Vic,
OK, I know Jonathan Miller isn’t an opera singer. I told you a while ago, it was a misunderstanding. I knew he had something to do with opera (people were always saying, “Have you heard Jonathan’s Rigoletto?” to each other) and he’s got a very deep voice. I just put two and two together. Anyway, I know he’s not. He’s a doctor (a writer-doctor and opera-director).
Mary-Kay has started hanging around with a friend called Susannah. She’s very nice.
S&W like her a lot. I suppose she seems really nice compared with me and MK because she’s so nice-mannered and not sarcastic, and she’s pretty.
But…she wears this startling eye makeup, even S&W have commented…thick black eyeliner—under the eye. The liquid type that only professionals can (or should) do. I was on the brink of saying something about it to MK (like it’s a shame Susannah spoils her nice face with all that black on her eyes) but thought I’d better not—seeing as they’re such good friends. Plus it would’ve sounded like I meant something else.
Then—fucking Ada—last night MK came downstairs ready to go out and was all done up the same! She looks even worse than Susannah. Susannah sort of pulls it off. Somehow it goes with the whole of her. But it’s all wrong on MK. I wish I’d said something earlier. Too late now.
I was v. pleased to get a Valentine card—it said, “Baby I dig you.” I don’t know who sent it but it was posted in this area. So I know it wasn’t you.
Also, I sent one to Tom Miller (JM’s son) who’s very nice and handsome. It was an ostrich (B&W photo—he’s a photographer). He’ll have no idea it was me.
