Saturday, 24th April 2010

Babysitting is a circle of hell. Why am I telling you this? It's my way of telling you that Bel's out speed-dating again. Sorry - I mean "meeting friends". Bobbins here has to hold the fort back home. "Bobbins Here" might as well be my middle name.

It's not all bad though. Little Katie is giving me some career advice. Apparently Bel has filled her in on Uncle Joe's problems at work, and because Katie is a kind girl, she wants to help.

'I think you should dress better,' she says. 'Does it hurt, wearing a tie?'

I give her a sharp look for her sharp tongue, then remember that even middle class child prodigies are still children. Just because she can do calculus, it doesn't mean she's calculating.

'No, it's not painful. Except to women. That's why women don't wear ties.'
'How do you tie ties?'
'Well, you tie a knot around your own neck, and tighten it.'
'Why?'

Good question. It's an auto-erotic thing, I stop myself from saying. Helps make work seem fun.

'How do you know you won't strangle yourself?'
'I usually stop pulling when I feel dizzy.'
'Do you like your job?'
'Yeah, course. Work is fun. One day you'll be able to work too.'
'Can I be a postman?'

Should I feel proud of my influence, or ashamed? Really, there should be a father in her life, to avoid these questions.

'Ask your mother when she comes back.'
'Mummy's meeting gentlemen, isn't she?'
'Is that what they're called?'
'That's what mummy calls them. I don't think they sound very nice. I've seen the signs for them on toilet doors. Is that where gentlemen are from?'

I decide we should play a game of I Don't Spy.

'I don't spy with my little eye, something beginning with...'

But I hear sounds outside. Something pulling up. I picture Bel stepping out of a carriage, helped down by an upright and bearded Victorian in a top hat. Really, she could do worse. She has done worse. Katie and I, seized by the same curiosity, both rush to the window and peer into the street to see what Mummy has brought back. Hirsute Victorian, or toilet attendant? It's hard to make out, but Bel is talking to a rough-hewn man in a T-shirt and jeans. He is the taxi driver. This is enterprising and democratic for Bel, I think, but why not? Lady Chatterley's lover would no doubt have been a taxi driver, if she'd lived in the city. A girl has to take her bit of rough where she can find it. Oh, but he's driven off. The love 'em and leave 'em type, then.

Katie and I wander down the stairs to meet her.

'How was the, um...'
'Oh, they were fine, just fine. Good to meet up with the girls.'

Bel does not ever call her friend 'the girls'. Hell, sometimes she doesn't even call Katie a girl, for fear of gender stereotyping. But I let it pass. We have a more important question.

'Katie wants to know if she can be a postman.'
'Can I, Mummy?'
'Yeah, that's great, hon. We can talk about it when you wake up.'

I knew I'd forgotten something.