Monday 12 December 2011

Nashelle learns something about snap judgements...

Nashelle is waiting for the bus. She is going to work. A thin lad joins her at the bus stop. He has a carrier bag full of cans of Strongbow cider. He smiles. He has a pleasant face and Nashelle thinks she knows his sister. Another lad lumbers toward the stop. He is overweight with a doughy face and has a carrier bag full of lager and is drinking a can of Strongbow. Nashelle wonders if he is the brother of a chef she used to work with.
The two lads talk about alcohol. Then Doughboy makes a call on his mobile. He talks loudly to a female. ‘I could only get Fosters,’ he tells her. ‘She’ll have to be happy about it,’ he says to Thinboy. Nashelle wonders what kind of girl would go out with that kind of boy.
Dough-boy drains his can and throws it in the bushes.
‘He’s a proper litter lout,’ Thin-boy says. He seems embarrassed. Nashelle wonders if he really did say this or if she has read his mind. She thinks Thin-boy is probably intelligent and wonders why he is wasting his life on booze. She is disgusted with Doughboy and has to stop herself from telling him how bad it is to throw cans in bushes, that little creatures can crawl in them and get trapped, and why didn’t he put it in his pocket until he finds a bin? Nashelle is not pleased to have spent the last ten minutes in the company of piss-heads.
Thinboy and his mate walk away from the bus stop. They look up and down the street, scuff the curb and chat about nonsense. Nashelle looks in the opposite direction and thinks how nice it would be to have her own car and drive to work and not have to come into contact with people like this.
‘Hey, love, the bus is coming.’
Nashelle looks up.
`Doughboy is calling to her. The bus is coming down the hill. Nashelle jumps up from the seat. She hadn’t realised she was lost in thought. Oh god, she might have missed the bus; she would have had to wait for the next one and would have been late for work. She looks at Doughboy lugging his bag of Fosters. ‘Thank you,’ she says.

Friday 2 December 2011

Last Wednesday

3.00: After work Nashelle stops at Tesco. She phones home and a deep voice answers. Who’s that? she asks. It’s me, answers the voice. It takes a moment for Nashelle to work out that this is Son2 and not her husband. What would you like for dinner? she asks. Corned beef pie or chicken, he says. Nashelle is overcome with love for this young man who knows what he likes. She wants to cwtch up on the sofa with him and watch a film like she used to before he discovered the internet. Nashelle puts her nagging thoughts of free-range and vegetarianism aside and buys a fresh chicken.

On the way home she meets Son1. He is on the way to the hairdressers. Nashelle is overcome with love for this young man standing so tall in front of her. She wants to sit him on her knee and read to him like she did when he was small enough to sit on her knee.

6.00: Dinner goes well: Husband complains about something watery on his plate and Nashelle makes a mental note not to cook pumpkin again; Son2 accuses her of deliberately forgetting that he doesn’t like parsnip; Son1 wolfs food, ignoring his cabbage, and runs back to his room. Nashelle is so happy that the family has eaten together at the table that she decides not to argue over who will do the washing up and does it herself.

7.00: Husband asks if Nashelle minds him watching the football or does she want to watch something else? Nashelle is crocheting a dolls dress for a friend’s niece and says she doesn’t mind. Nashelle is overcome with love for this man who is so considerate. She wants to lie against his bare chest and talk like they used to before the children stopped going to bed early. At half time Husband announces that he’s going to the pub to watch the rest of the game.

8.50: Nashelle watches a repeat of America’s Next Top Model. She likes to see the transformations and the final photographs. Nashelle knows she could never have been a model as she is not at all photogenic. She watches Eat Yourself Sexy. How to increase your libido – salt and sugar are out and pumpkins seeds, oats and lettuce soup are in. Nashelle thinks about oats as she eats a bowl of Maple Crunch with 15g of sugar per 45g of cereal.

11.00: Nashelle’s eyelids are drooping. She goes upstairs and tells Son2 that she is going to bed and to switch off his laptop. She takes a Sleep Aid tablet and reads Fleur Adcock poems in bed. Son1 comes in and says, have you seen the rain? Nashelle looks out of the window and sees a river running down the street. She wonders if it will be like this in the morning and if Son2 should go to school. Son1 goes back to his room and Nashelle tells Son2 to switch his laptop off.

11.40: Nashelle is uncomfortable. She twists and turns. She waits for the Sleep Aid pill to take effect. She is just drifting off when someone clatters into the bathroom and bangs the swollen door shut. Nashelle hears teeth cleaning and then husband appears in bedroom. Do you have to make so much noise? she asks. Husband says it wasn’t him it was Son1. Husband goes out again and tells Son2 to switch off his laptop because he has school in the morning.

12.45: Nashelle is uncomfortable. She twists and turns. She begins to drift off. She might even be asleep. Husband gets out of bed and bumps into wardrobe on way to bathroom. Nashelle hears tinkling. Then nothing. Then more tinkling. Nashelle worries that husband has prostate problems. Nashelle begins to drift off again. Is woken by husband shouting at Son2 to close that laptop down or have it confiscated.

1.00: Nashelle is wide awake. Did you have to make so much noise? she asks Husband. Husband grumbles and snuggles further under the duvet. Nashelle sits on side of bed and puts on a performance worthy of the RSC. ‘Oh woe is me. It’s not fair. How would you like it if every time you went to sleep you were woken up? I can’t stand this torture. I’m going to find somewhere else to live.’ Husband says, shut up, I’m trying to sleep.

1.30: Nashelle can’t stop thinking about chocolate biscuits. She thinks of Eat Yourself Sexy and fights the urge to go downstairs raid the biscuit jar and watch crap TV.

2.00: Nashelle loses fight.