| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) 22:58 - Dec 25 with 1604 views | Warkystache |
Merry Christmas to you all.
The walk along Frinton beach yesterday morning was cool and clear, the tide ebbing until it lapped the sand in lazy foam. Dog walkers left their footprints and used funny plastic ball chuckers to throw balls for excitable Labs to chase and worry. Those dogs who braved the sea came out with coats like a teenager's gelled hair at a disco. The gulls shrieked and wobbled as they stood in rebellious groups; teddy boys in white looking for a dropped chip or a dead crab.
I breathed in the air with lungs renewed by ten months of non-smoking, the salt on my lips a welcome addition to the dregs of the coffee I drank for breakfast. I should do this every day. It sharpens the appetite and gets me in a good mood.
I drove back via Terry's shop for a paper and a chat. It was his party last night. I needed to know what to bring. "Yerself" he said with a grin. "Nah, strate up, we got lager, red wine, brandy, whisky, tequila, white wine, bitter and gin. Then we got loadsa bottles of that Presecko stuff an' the wife's got 'er Baileys for later" He counted them off on his forearm using the forefinger of his left hand. "Ah weren't gonna invite Mickey and Kaylee; they smoke and they were going out anyway, but they might be by later". He grimaced at the word 'smoke', as if they'd got Ebola.
Paper bought and time agreed to be round the Terry's ("make it seven then you can 'elp me pick up the chinky. We're gonna order from the Noo Dragon in Manningtree. 'Undred quids werf, no chow mein") I went home and rang my mum, agreeing, stupidly, to be ready to be picked up by my dad at 8am on Christmas Day. He likes early. We can get a walk in before church at 10.30, then it's home for champagne and breakfast, followed by pressies and more champagne, before we all fall asleep in front of the Bond film. Except this year there's no Bond film. It's not natural, a Christmas Day without Roger Moore's cocked eyebrow or Sean Connery in a pastel blue shirt and shorts combo. You can fall asleep without any feeling that you've missed something.
But that was today. This is yesterday. I didn't do much. I wrapped pressies into odd shapes, swearing at them from time to time, a bottle of red open at my elbow for support. Then I watched "Bad Santa" on Sky. Then I did the crossword in the Telegraph and all the Sudokus. Then, at two, I had a stroll to the local and had a few pints chatting to Jamie the landlord, him telling me a story about one of his other regulars who'd taken a call on his mobile from (what he assumed to be) the wife asking him where he was and ordering him home. "Poor sod hadn't even drunk the first inch of his pint" said Jamie, shaking his head. Like me, Jamie is divorced and in no rush to get back on the market. Things like this keep us resolutely single. I mean, sure, you miss the company and the odd bit of sex, but you gain more in the long run. That's my excuse.
I got to Terry's just after seven. My cab was late. The driver spent the journey telling me about his sister-in-law in Epping, The wife wanted him to drive over there at five in the morning to pick her and the kids up. "Not ma fort she's on her own is it?" he asked. "Shunt 'ave divorced 'im last July - 'er wiv free kids'n'all. Gonna 'ave me 'owse bleedin' overrun tomarra; we've got two ourselves, plus me mum and 'er mum" This lasted til he dropped me, winked, said "eighteen notes please guv" and accepted the two pound tip as his birthright. He sped off and I turned round to find myself face-to-face with Tel.
"Turned up at last then?" he said, rhetorically as, unless there was a strangely fat apparition that haunted his drive and looked a bit like me, I had indeed 'turned up'. "Ah'm about ter order the chink, anyfing yer fancy 'ave a look on the menyoo and let us know". I followed him inside, wiping my feet, noting that he took his shoes off but ignoring it.
The menu was long and he'd forgotten the crispy chilli beef. So I rectified that, and he ordered two. He then ran down the list of other foods he'd added; sweet and sour pork balls, five lots of special fried rice, sticky chilli chicken, Kung Po prawns....on and on it went until I thought it might've been easier just to tell the woman serving to cook three of everything and leave it at that. I asked who else was coming and he smiled and said "neighbours, a few shop regulars, Paula and her new bloke, Chris and Daff from the bakers, Phil and Carol from the pub, you....." he paused and looked hopefully at Mrs Tel, hovering in the doorway with a lager for me. "Oh" she said. "Phil and Carol from the pub". "Said them" said Tel, irritably. "Wot about Des and Joan next door?". "Said them n'all" he added dismissively. "No you didn't!" I rejoined. "Well, I sed neighbours din't I? And last time I looked, they were our neighbours".
I eventually got my beer. And a kiss from Mrs Tel, who smelt of Chloe and Baileys. It sort of intermingled. "'Ad 'er 'air done Sat'day, cost seventy notes" said Tel, proudly. It didn't look any different, but I admired it anyway. We moved to the front room, me clutching my lager, slipping my shoes off to avoid covering their cream carpet in wet marks. We sat chatting, him looking at his watch constantly, timing when to make the call. He eventually went off to get the phone and came back ten minutes later with the news it'd take an hour and they'd deliver it.
Other people arrived. The neighbours, him jocular and wearing a Xmas jumper, her immaculate and gossipy, joining Mrs Tel in the kitchen where they both chatted excitedly, shrieking with laughter occasionally like the seagulls on the beach that morning. Tel, Des the neighbour and I sat in the front room sipping lager from glasses and talking about Brexit. "Ah voted for it" said Des, quietly, apologetically. "So'd I" said Tel. He relaxed, on firmer ground. "It was them Africans coming over wot decided me" said Des, an anxious look at the door in case a few Guardian readers might have heard him. "Aint right is it? I mean, me and the missus love a bit of the Italian coast. Every year we used ter go. They ruined it, they did. We go to Spain now". Tel's ears pricked up. "Wot bit?" he asked. "Tenereef" said Des. "The wife and I were thinking o' movin' out there but...well...." said Tel, ad we changed the conversation to the darts.
More people arrived. I didn't know them. Tel introduced us, and we chatted. Not about Brexit. One of them was a woman who worked in the baker's where he gets his breakfast bap. "Known 'im fer years" she said as Tel hovered taking drinks orders. He blushed as she pecked him on the cheek, leaving deep red lipstick smudges. Her husband was a Town fan although 'I 'avent bin for a few years. Coun't stand McCarfee. And they charge there for a game now. I remember old Bobby Robson, them were the days, Mariner, Warky, that Colin Vil-Joan" So it went on. He'd been to the same games I'd been to as a kid. We fell into that sort of chat, ignoring the others, as he relived his youth at the Town.
We were still chatting about Eric Gates' hair and how much he looked like a bird his mate had once pulled for a dare when the doorbell went and Paula arrived. She was dressed in a demure blue dress and heels, and had a strangely mute bloke on her arm, who gave the room a general smile and then stood as though glued to her side. "This is Blake" she introduced me as she did the rounds. We shook hands. He smiled but didn't look me in the eye. 'Something dodgy about him' I thought, then chastised myself for taking people at face value. Paula and he got drinks from Tel, who also shook Blake's hand and then made some sort of crack which got them both laughing. He got Blake a lager in a bottle. Desperadoes I think. Paula, who was driving, asked for a Diet Coke. "Not up the duff already?" asked Tel, in horror. They laughed again, and she blushed and said 'Nah' and then looked at him and smiled.
The food arrived. Terry paid in cash. The driver looked bored. It came in six plastic bags and two brown cardboard boxes. It was whisked into the kitchen, where Mrs Tel decanted it onto cheap plastic serving trays. There were fourteen people in the house. This looked enough to feed fifty. Everyone buzzed around the plates in the dining room. People walked out sucking on spare ribs and asking the wife to get them another pancake roll. I went in last and half filled a paper plate with starters and duck pancakes. They were tricky to eat standing up clutching a beer so folk sat down at the table. The smokers went onto the patio and ate there, a fag burning as they ate. I was disappointed to see Paula had started again. Blake was busy rolling his own one-handed. I should've asked him to do my duck.
Food half eaten, we had a bit of music. Blondie, then The Clash, and then someone (it could only have been Mrs Tel) put on a Xmas hits medley and the warblings of Mariah Carey took over. Tel said "I was enjoyin' the Clash" as she walked past. "Tough - it's Christmas Terry" she replied and walked back over to the kitchen where I assume Joan was waiting. When I went in the kitchen to get another drink, they were standing there, three of them, slagging some woman they knew who was away on a cruise for Christmas. "Where'd she get that lolly from, I'd like ter know?" said Joan. "Yer know what she was like when she worked darn the caff in Dovercourt? I bet her 'usband never saw 'er in the same frock twice".
I went at eleven. After the fireworks. Two didn't light properly and hit a neighbour's shed. "S'orlright" said Des. "We're the other side". Blake and Paula wished me a merry Xmas, she gave me a kiss, and a prolonged whiff of B&H. He held his hand out. It was like shaking an empty Marigold. "Got a good grip you've eh?" he smiled. "Sorry?" I said. "Yer andshake. Good grip". "Oh yes" I said. "Big hands, sorry about that". He nodded, eyes like a viper about to attack. I don't like him. I'm sorry and all that. But there's just something about him.....
I said goodnight to Tel and he drew me into their bedroom. My momentary alarm was allayed by him opening their wardrobe and bringing out a Morrison's bag for life stuffed with four presents. "Fer you fer Christmas from me and the wife" he said. I'd given them theirs already on Sunday. I thanked him and he said "S'nuffink much, not like last year. We both love yer, yer know that duncha". I wondered if he was pissed, but he patted me on the back. Then Mrs Tel came in and hugged me and we had a group hug, and then I said 'thanks for the party'' and my cab tooted outside, and I was gone.
It was a bottle of Glenmorangie, a bottle of Tequila and two bottles of Oyster Bay. I'm sipping the former as I sit here, my parents snoring to Call the Midwife. Happy Christmas. [Post edited 25 Dec 2018 23:09]
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| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 23:28 - Dec 25 with 1528 views | Eireannach_gorm |
Complements of the season an' all, Warky.
Really enjoy your reports, keep up the good work.
p.s. Reckon Blake is the murderer ( he doesn't work as a butler by any chance?}. [Post edited 25 Dec 2018 23:29]
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| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 23:32 - Dec 25 with 1520 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 23:28 - Dec 25 by Eireannach_gorm |
Complements of the season an' all, Warky.
Really enjoy your reports, keep up the good work.
p.s. Reckon Blake is the murderer ( he doesn't work as a butler by any chance?}. [Post edited 25 Dec 2018 23:29]
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Many thanks Eireannach, same to you!
Blake's bad news. I hate myself saying it because I'm usually quite tolerant, but there's ust something about him I don't like. You know those sorts of people you just know you won't ever get on with? | |
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| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 00:00 - Dec 26 with 1495 views | jeera |
| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 23:28 - Dec 25 by Eireannach_gorm |
Complements of the season an' all, Warky.
Really enjoy your reports, keep up the good work.
p.s. Reckon Blake is the murderer ( he doesn't work as a butler by any chance?}. [Post edited 25 Dec 2018 23:29]
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Blake and Butler?
I can't help but think they would work in some kind of public transport set-up. |  |
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| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 00:01 - Dec 26 with 1491 views | jeera |
Merry Xmas Tashers.
Cheers for the read. Gave me a smile. | |
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| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 00:13 - Dec 26 with 1472 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 00:01 - Dec 26 by jeera |
Merry Xmas Tashers.
Cheers for the read. Gave me a smile. |
Cheers Jeers - Merry Xmas to you and yours! | |
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| The Warky Report; Xmas Eve (a) on 08:28 - Dec 26 with 1346 views | Ftnfwest |
Merry Xmas, eyes did water a bit at the totally non noticeable hairdo that mrs Tel had |  | | |
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