Reliving our youth

With Rocksey now reliving his wasted youth in Malaga with his 14 year old ( in spirit mostly) side kicks SP and Marsh  acting like they had been let loose on their first school trip, Melody, Suki and myself had been left to our own devices!! However, this hadn’t meant acting like a provisional Hen party running round town knocking back as many  fluorescent   pink shots as we could before closing time nor had we decided to be a bit up market and spend the day at Spa sipping Champagne, eyeing up the lifeguard no the three of us weren’t even together in person ( although there had been plenty of text messages backwards and forwards during the course of the afternoon). The reason for this , as guardians of 3 hyperactive flawed geniuses, some down time in the guise of complete solitude was needed before Suki and I jetted off to join the party next week . Melody was in Florida  to discuss her new book deal and close the deal on an apartment that had  been owned by Veronica Lake.

I had spent most of the weekend in the company of The Baron and Missy  which had been lovely but as all mums know waving a way their adult off-spring although tinged with sadness also allows you to enjoy the peace and quiet even more – compounded with the absence of Rocksey I was happy to make myself a cup of Bluebird Melon tea ( a gift from Missy which was most welcome) and find a book and a quiet spot in the garden to while away a few hours.

The thing about peace and quiet is that when you crave it you don’t get it and when you finally get it, well the silence is deafening ( you know Rocksey can be quite loud!). Having had 2 phone calls from him and a video and then further requests for vegan ice cream suppliers I decided that if I was going to get some peace and quiet I would have to turn the radio on.

So with an army of cushions, sun screen, sunglasses and a large G&T I slung everything in the hammock in the dappled shade of the middle patio and tuned in for my very favourite radio show –  The Sound of the ’70’s. This is a 2 hour show on a Sunday afternoon which plays….well you’ve guessed it ….music from the1970s. Of course, the large G&T the sway of the hammock and some of my favourite tunes and I dozed off.  Now sleeping in the sun is not a good thing, we’ve all done this, I see that Marsh did it this afternoon on the beach, Suki’s done it, Rocksey says he hasn’t but he fell asleep in the toilets at a Damned concert in 1979 ( and Boy THAT was loud) so I will safely assume he has also fallen asleep in the sun. SP also says he wouldn’t do anything that stupid but he let Rocksey video him twerking in a pair of speedos last summer and so I think that was probably more stupid than falling asleep in the sun…..Anyway I digress, slumbering in the sweltering heat of a June afternoon listening to Boz Skaggs, I was transported back to the summer of 1976 when I was 13. The Summer where the UK sweltered for 6 weeks ( yes I know)  and a plague of ladybirds ate everything in sight. As an awkward  tall skinny teenager I read the likes of teen magazines where Farah Fawcett Majors shone down from every newsstand with her lions mane of hair and sparkling white teeth and the girls from Abba sashayed across the TV every Saturday night. My friends older sisters were going to the Disco with their Afro hair and FFM flicks, platforms and maxi dresses smoking those pink cocktail cigarettes and meeting boys called Steve and Darren who drive ford cortinas and could dance like Les Gray. Oh me and my friends so wanted this glamorous lifestyle and , according to my friend Alison, the way to do this was to ‘GET A TAN’. Now getting a tan was easier said than done in the land locked town where we lived, 200 miles from the nearest beach with its cooling sea breezes. GETTING A TAN meant, that you had to do some pretty hardcore sunbathing in the back garden.Alison’s sister had a tanning mat which looked like a massive sheet of Bacofoil. The idea was we covered ourselves in olive oil ( bought in A teeny bottle from the pharmacy ) and then laid on the Bacofoil mat for 4 hours between the hours of 11-3 without moving . The Beauty page in Jackie said we should squeeze fresh lemons into our hair for natural highlights. –  well as no shop in the 70’s sold lemons we made do with a bottle of PLJ. The Bacofoil mat only  ever succeeded in Alison who was ginger, getting 3rd degree burns and her mother throwing the mat on her dads bonfire where the olive oil residue made it shoot out of the brazier like a flaming rocket setting fire to next doors washing; and for me? Well I would love to say my naturally dark brown hair turned as blonde as the blonde singer in Abba and attracted Steve or Darren’s younger brother but the PLJ made it a sticky mess which only attracted wasps, the Bacofoil just reflected off my blue tinged Persil white skin and did nothing except make me hot, sweaty and bad tempered.Alison and I fell out that summer and I spent the remaining school holidays lying in a sheet attached to the two apple trees in my granddads garden listening to Bos Scaggs and counting ladybirds. 

I woke with a start almost falling out of the hammock, Melody was on the phone from Florida telling me she had secured Veronica Lakes old apartment and the book deal had made her several millions dollars in sales. Now she was celebrating at her gay ex porn star friends villa in the hills where there were several hot body guards and a tray of fluorescent pink shots had just been handed to her. 

A ladybird landed on my knee,  Blondies Denis Denis came on the Radio and I was transported back to 1979 and that fateful meeting with Rocksey……..you know the power of music is surely a great thing ! 

The Visit

So this weekend my best friend from forever ago texts out of the blue…I’m here on a visit are you in?

Nothing special in this except she and her family emigrated to Canada 4 years ago and apart from the odd FaceBook message and sharing of photos we have not really spoken in a long time. There must be big news I say to Rocksey.

So Sandra arrives, all blonde bouffant hair and blue eyeliner in a mad Princess Di sort of way in tight white clam diggers with the brightest most fluorescent, neon pink matching toe nails and finger nails and lipstick.

‘Kitten’ she exclaims air kissing me in a breathless way -possibly something to do with the chain smoking. ‘Rocksey’ she exclaims making the breathiness lower and sexier, smearing lipstick on his cheek leaving him with a neon pink streak where he had quickly turned to avoid the pink kiss on his lips.

Is it time for a drink? she asks as if she had no idea of the time. Rocksey does the honours, pours out too large glasses of Rosé from the fridge and disappears.

Is The Baron around? Sandra looks around for signs of my son. No he’s gone to a festival with Dreads this weekend I say -why is it him you’ve come to see?

Oh No says Sandra lighting a ciggie and puffing smoke towards the tropical fish tank ( poor buggers I think), lets just say it’s probably better he’s not here.

Now I am intrigued and we quickly rattle through the mundane ordinary stuff, hows life, hows your parents, etc etc. Sandra is her on a flying visit for a few days on a mission which, I think, she is about to divulge.

so, I say, hows Canada, hows the kids? Ahh, now this is what we are going to talk about, I think as Sandra’s expression changes. Prior to moving to Canada with her husbands work, the kids were aged 12 and 8. Ned who is now 16 was a Grade A student at 12, into his football, swimming, Boy Scouts etc…..however, Ned rebelled when relocated to Toronto and it all went down hill from there.

Stemming from the odd misdemeanour smoking a spliff now and again and swigs of vodka, it transpires that 6 months ago, Ned decides to go from participant to supplier, and went off to school with a large amount of weed packaged up under his school uniform and was caught on camera selling it from the boys locker room. Up on a trafficking charge, Sandra was given the name of an ex pat lawyer who came with some cast iron recommendations.

Now don’t get me wrong, The Baron has given me sleepless nights in the past and didn’t get his nickname from The Wacky Races but a federal offence? Now thats some rebellion!

Alls well that ends well though. The ex pat lawyer pleads a private meeting with the Judge and who knows what happened but Ned gets off with a slap on the wrist and Sandra has to forgo a new car to pay the lawyer. Ned is now cooling his heels at his grandparents house before he is shipped off to finish his school days at Hogworts or somewhere….not in Canada anyway.

Later The Baron sends a text, buying a bus it says, going to be a New Age traveller, see you in a few months time.

I text back…..pick up Ned on your way past but drop him off at Hogworts for the start of the new term.