Thursday, 18 March 2010

Guess what? Yep, it's sunny. Same old same old. I'm sick of it. The grass is going yellow. I don't care what the TV weather prophets say, it’s not another gorgeous day as far as I'm concerned. I am still praying for that elusive rain.

Fran was singing songs from Grease again in the shower this morning. Nothing I’ve seen so far of her poker face fits such good cheer. Who put the bop? I accuse Fran. With the shower gel/impromptu microphone. In the bathroom. Again. Does she ever sing anything else? Bloody hell, at this rate I'll end up knowing the words.

I’m a slob, aren't I? I realised that this morning. Five days I've been wearing the same green T-shirt. OK, it's my favourite, and I'm a man, I don’t need a walk-in wardrobe, but still, I should do better in the mornings. Fran was looking at me disdainfully when I was making myself breakfast.
‘I know,’ I said, by way of apology. ‘I do have other colours.’
She tipped her head to one side, as if I was slightly askew. ‘I know you have other colours.’
‘I don’t just wear green every day,’ I said.
‘I know you don’t, Mr Tate.’
I muttered something about her carnations, to change the subject. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Ah, you’re a good man, Stan.’
Stan?
‘You’re a good woman, Fran.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Sorry. Popped into my head. Sorry.’
Apparently I am a Stan. What does that mean? Old fashioned?
Then Fran changed the subject. ‘What are we going to do about your little sister then,’ she announced. ‘Belinda,’ she reminded me.

This took me by surprise. Mental Fran, offering to help all-conquering sophisticate and career diva Bel? It was like a mouse offering a cat a leg-up. A slightly scraggy little mouse. Or maybe a very earnest and church-attending mouse. Or a stupid mouse. I'm not sure where I'm going with this.