Dare I say that it’s rather reassuring to know that all families have issues?
It doesn’t seem to matter whether we originate from the highest or lowest echelons of society, where there’s a family involved, there’s bound to be the odd skeleton jangling and lurking in the cupboard with a propensity to reveal itself at the most inopportune moment. Prince Andrew’s skeletons rather fell out with a loud clatter at the public’s feet; and now the truth is out as to what Harry and Meghan really want, which is, well, not exactly what the Queen originally had in mind.
The newspapers can’t get enough of it, Twitter has become crazed with activity and I suspect there are some fairly solemn faces around the family kitchen table. Except they probably don’t have their meetings there …
What do we do when there’s a drama unfolding at home? I guess we all do things differently, from talking, shouting, slamming the occasional door, being reasonable and unreasonable. But at least we get to do it without the world watching us.
I suspect there are a couple of nervous Corgis hiding under a sofa somewhere hoping for life to go back to normal quickly. I also suspect that Her Majesty is probably the finest example of how to remain calm amidst a crisis. Hats off to her I say!
I made the mistake yesterday whilst on the underground, of asking the Colonel what he was thinking about.
He looked instantly baffled and faintly like a bunny in the headlights. Once again I think that history was paying him a visit and he thought it was a trick question. It wasn’t. I was simply curious as to how and why someone could remain completely silent for the amount of time it took to get from Baker Street to Notting Hill Gate.
‘Really,’ I grinned, nodding encouragingly, ‘What were you really thinking about for soooo long? I don’t mind if it was about the lady with the big boobies over there,’ I whispered.
‘I hadn’t noticed’ he said sanctimoniously but with a twitch of a grin. I laughed.
‘In actual fact’, he said, (he never uses normal words like ‘actually’) ‘In actual fact, I was wondering about the advert up there’ and he pointed towards one of the advertisements set in a neat row above the tube maps in our carriage. It was a drab and dreary looking picture. He carried on solemnly, ‘It’s for a new business card which apparently is being voted rather highly by Which magazine’.
I paused, it now being my turn to feel baffled. ‘Seriously?’ I asked. ‘That’s what you were thinking about?’ He nodded.
‘Crikey,’ I sighed. ‘No wonder you get so much more done in a day than I do. Shall I tell you what I was thinking?’ I carried on without waiting for an answer. ‘By the way, you do realise you didn’t say a word for at least four stops, and we had to change platforms?’ I confess this might have come out in a faintly accusatory tone.
He was starting to look a little bewildered; indeed, as though looking at the lady with the big boobies might have been a better option.
‘I too was looking at the adverts,’ I said importantly. ‘That one,’ I said and pointed to an advertisement containing a picture of a simple white bowl which was filled, indeed heaped rather artistically with peas.
‘However, I don’t know what mine is actually advertising because that isn’t important to me. But,’ I held up my finger to point out the crucial part was to follow, ‘But, I was wondering if I was to take one of the peas from the bottom of the pile, whether they would all have fallen out. And then,’ I started giggling oblivious to his bemused expression, ‘And then,’ I carried on, ‘I started thinking how funny it would be if all the peas fell out of the advert and onto the lady with the big boobies, down her cleavage even, and then into our carriage, until there were peas everywhere! Imagine it!’
By now I was laughing uproariously. My hands were clasped together in delight and I fear I was receiving a few quizzical looks from nearby strangers.
The Colonel peered closely at me whilst scrunching up his nose. He pushed up his glasses with one solitary finger and frowned. ‘Help me God,’ he muttered and started shaking his head. He then opened up the newspaper.
I sighed, my bubble momentarily burst. But seconds later, I rummaged in my handbag for two pencils and then opened up my own copy of The Standard. I silently handed one pencil to him and we glanced at each other, slowly both beginning to smirk and then, in an undignified scramble raced to find the crossword at the back of the newspaper to see who could finish it first.
Do you think it matters if you’re like chalk and cheese?