Another old post

CHAPTER FOUR – We’re Off To See The Wizard…

The next station is Gatwick Airport. And so we head off north on the long trek to Mortlake, our task to persuade the powers to give us enough money so that we can live in the poshest house in Christendom. Maybe that was why I didn’t sleep so well last night. Maybe that was why LouLou wet the bed and had a restless night. Maybe that was why. But maybe it was because there were huge winds again. The night before the storms had been so feisty that Big Nick & Juliet’s roof got damaged. Mr Princey was very worried and decided to spend the rest of the night (and following day) in bed.
Yesterday was a fine old day at college. It’s all a bit serious there now. Disturbingly Rob now has a hatt exactly the same as mine. Exactly. Black, wide brim with a brown leather band. That’s nice and I’m pleased about that. We were seen as ‘aligned’ before. Now we’re seen as twins. Or boyfriend and girlfriend. Sweetly, he still determinedly calls me “Jeremy”. So we had this meeting yesterday and there’s about six people there and everyone is referring to the new boy as Jed while Rob talks about someone else entirely. Once he let it slip, referred to Jed. I burst out laughing. No one knew what at. He means well but is a decidedly odd fish. Still, hands up who isn’t.

Fittingly, there are two big stories in the papers today. The first tells of how David Beckham has signed a new deal to play for the Los Angeles football team, to be the big star in a team that means nothing who play in a league which barely exists. Football in America is a sport that has, since the end of World War 2, been on the cusp of breaking. For this, Beckham is too earn £128million for a five year deal. That, the papers reliably tell us, is £25.6m a year which is £2.1m a month which is £500,000 a week which is £70,000 a day which is £3,000 an hour which is £50 a minute which is 80p a second. Which is nice. It’s a curious thing, but I’ve always been told I was clever by the same people who’ve always said Beckham was dumb.

The other big news story is this. Interest rates are going up and the middle classes with all their property speculations are feeling the squeeze. The new rate is 5.25%. we have now reached Gatwick Airport. It’s tempting, I can tell you. I’ve got my passport with me, the girls are being looked after, everything is taken account of. Well, almost. I had not wet cat food left this morning and Mr Prince was none too happy. Being a single parent, there’s so much to think about.

And that was that. He didn’t bat an eyelid when I said we wanted to borrow £695,000. “Yeah, OK, let’s see who’s going to give you the best deal.” While he was tapping away, he said “I’ve just quadrupled my mortgage”. It’s probably just a bit of patter, but it made us laugh. He was a funny bloke though, all rabbit and flying figures. Actually, talking to him was the first time I’ve taken Mike seriously. I’ve always thought he was nice bloke and all, but more mouth than trousers. Like when Des said he’d got an off shore account. I thought “Oooh, I know that one”. But this bloke seemed proper.

It’s just as well this wasn’t around when I was younger. I would have got into so much grief – but then again, we could be living in Laughton Manor. The biggest problem occurred when the computer couldn’t find Laughton Lodge through the postcode search. Still, the old “Don’t shout Hi till you’re over the bridge” scenario lurks in my head, but it’s looking OK. I still think it’s a good move – and I still think that it’s a good financial move. We’ll have to be a bit clever in the next couple of years though, a bit disciplined. No bad thing, really.

Potentially we’re in a good position now, vis-à-vis the house. It was interesting how little difference it would make if we sold Brighton, and as John said, regardless of the actual truth, it looks good to potential lenders if you can say you’ve got properties in London and Brighton- which we have. Anyway, it’s your problem really. As you keep saying, the chances are that I’ll die before you – so what do I care? Right now, I’m going to live in comfort – so there.

I missed you when I spoke to you today. I don’t really like speaking on the phone in public places, but I miss being with you. It’s dumb really. When we’re off doing interesting things, things that we’d talk about, things that we’d laugh about… we’re apart. When we’re doing the everyday mundane things, we’re together. I guess it’s the nature of things. Someone always has to be holding the fort, but it does seem a bit odd. Still, when the children have left home, huh? You’ve got to tell me more about what you’re doing. The World Bank? What’s that about? What is the World Bank? Do they have branches? Can they give you a mortgage? How cool if you had a credit card which said “World Bank” on it instead of Barclays. And Botswana? What?? The World Bank – which still sounds like something out of Captain Scarlet – has it’s head office in Botswana? Shouldn’t it be in Wall Street or something? Or am I being very last century?

It makes me quite envious, to be honest. I’ve got to think about what I’m going to cook for Pot Luck. But I guess what I’ve got lined up is, in the biggest sense, what people want. This is my schedule: Elly’s gone to Sophie’s after school and I’ve got to pick her up at 7. Then back to Laughton to cook. Tomorrow morning, she’s off to Mae’s house but can’t stay at Mae’s – don’t know why – so then Mae and Belle are coming back here to have a sleepover and then Mae goes back home on Sunday.
It is, on the one hand, so ordinary, but on the other hand it’s what life is all about and I love it. (And I haven’t even started on the main group meeting on Saturday. The e-mail went out “Any items for the agenda”. I suggested we could put you down and talk about you cos you weren’t there).
Oh no. The man opposite me on the train, and he’s a dead ringer for Jeff (and Heidi) who in turn is a dead ringer for Val Doonican, his phone just went. It played ‘Tubular Bells’.
Anyway, I’d love to go to Bostwana but I also love the day-to-day. It’s the balance, I guess. Now we’re back at Gatwick Airport. There. That didn’t take long. It seems like only half a dozen paragraphs we were there. Bubble was very sweet this morning, very cuddly. She’s so much more contained than Belle. She’s very little and squidgy but takes it all in her stride. With Belle it’s like this. Yesterday I had to go out in the evening…
Me: “Girls, come here. I’ve got to go out tomorrow night. Who do you want to have dinner with?”
Bubble: “I want to go to Sassy’s house”
Belle: “I don’t mind”.
Me: “Rachel said she’d take care of you. What do you think of that?”
Girls: “OK”
(At this moment, Rachel walks in)
Rachel: “Do you still want me to feed the girls tomorrow night?”
Me: “Lovely, thanks. You OK with that girls?”
Girls: “OK”

That all sounds well and good, no? The question is this. How many times did Elly phone me the next day to check if Rachel was feeding them? A) None cos she trusted, B) once, just to check, C) 3,234 times, each time imploring “Daddy, are you sure? Can you phone Rachel again?”
Bubble thought it was “fine”.

14.27. I’ll be back soon. Lewes car park and then I’m going to stop on the way home to get some cat food. And I’m going to go to Tesco. Yes, Tesco. Lalalalalalalalalalala. And what can you do about it? Nothing. Ha. Anyway, my eco friend Tony shops at Tescos (His explanation? “Well…..”) Then I’m going to go for a walk with my puppy. And I’m going to have a look on the map and see where Botswana is. I might even tap “music festivals Botswana” into Google and see if anything comes up…