Late last night while Man was snoring away, I had one of those moments where I thought I was either being robbed or a horrific and deathly apparition would appear at the end of my bed. Yes Demon Dog was downstairs in the house. The truth of it is, if we did get broken in to I’m pretty damn sure Demon Dog would welcome any intruders with a cup of tea and a very large hug. Or in reality a bouncy hello and a sloppy puppy kiss.
So lying in bed thinking I was about to be murdered the sudden realisation hit me! The likelihood of the burglar/murder/deathly apparition actually being able to reach the bed or even the upstairs quarters would be highly unlikely with the amount of rubbish, clothes, cat toys and dog toys all over the floor (from the front door to the bed. Imagine a ripping tornado screaming through your home – yeah, that’s our animals, me and Man on a long week. Habits that must be broken before the little addition arrives. This little and very logical realisation lead to another – operation tidy/clean must certainly commence in the AM once the Mini had been dropped at the garage for the MOT and service.
I’ve been mad at my Grandmother for a couple of weeks. My close family will understand exactly why, and because of this I’ve not managed to see my Granddad for a couple of weeks either. This morning I had a call from her asking me to sit with my Granddad so she could do out and take some flooring back to B&Q. Initially I was mad and didn’t want to go, but this was purely for my Granddad so agreed to pop over in the afternoon once I had my car back. I finished operation tidy/clean and cracked on with lunch for man and I of scrambled eggs on toast once he had got home from work and I had pick up my failure of a car (knowing it’s going to cost me more than it did today as it is back in next Saturday as well).
Arriving at my grandparents, my Grandma faffed about a little and then left with the promise of “I’ll be as quick as I can”, leaving me and my partner in crime alone so the mischief could begin. At first he was all over the place, he was trying to tell me about the episode he had had that morning. His mind plays tricks on his eyes sometimes, it sends messages to his vision centre and he ended up seeing multiple of actual reality. His reality is doubled and skewed. He was very confused and it came across in the way he was trying to tell me about it. I picked up his Banjo, he’s had it for years. It’s probably never been re-stringed and it has never really mattered as I can’t remember him playing it since three house moves ago. I will have been about seven or eight. We used to sit in his little man cave, he would have been watching footy on the smallest TV in the world when I’d interrupt. He’d grab his banjo and start to play George Formby he would be singing along too “I’m leaning on a Lamppost at the corner of the street until a certain little lady comes by, oooh meee, oohhh myy, until a certain little lady comes by”. I can still hear him singing it with a smile on his face.
Regardless of his eye sight not being what it was, he watch intently as I unwound the strings and came to my first problem. The 5th string is wound round a key about half way down the neck of the banjo. The key was loose and I needed a screwdriver to tighten it. This triggered a little conversation in where he told me he had a guitar to show me. We broke into the conservatory (I say ‘broke in’ as my grandma keeps it locked so he cannot make a mess *sigh*) and he pulls out a barely used electric guitar he had been given. He told me it was too heavy and we packaged it back up and placed it back where he got it from. He was then adamant that there was another guitar. In his wardrobe of all places – I wasn’t really on board for the hunt for this guitar, yet I followed him like I did as a child in his garden when I used to throw up the leaves he had just raked.
Granddad started rummaging through the wardrobe like a crazy thing under my watchful eye. I couldn’t see anything, but then he asked me to look. I did. Low and behold there is a guitar stuffed at the back of the wardrobe and as I pull it from its hiding place his eyes came alive. We peel it out of the case, it’s the classical I knew he had. Haven’t seen it in a while, it’s nothing expensive but it holds memories of when he used to play. We sat in his room while I tuned in and played a few chords from my teens and a piece that I love for him. “I’m sure there’s another one” he said to me and starts looking for another guitar literally everywhere. Literally EVERYWHERE.
In the wardrobe, in the shower which is in the wardrobe (the previous house owner had a James Bond style appetite for gadgets), in the brand new kitchen, in the living room, behind the sofa, under the sofa cushions, behind the curtains, in all the cupboards. No avail. So a hunch tells me something, I follow the hunch. I present to him the electric guitar he has shown me previously. “OH where did you find that?” he was utterly amazed. I tried not to laugh and told him it was hidden away in the other room. I then played for what seemed like hours on all three different stringed boxed. Fathomed out his favourite “Duelling Banjos” on the banjo as he hummed it out perfectly by my side.
It’s taken me since Saturday to write this post, but on Sunday I got a call from my granddad asking me to get him a book so he could learn something on his Guitar. He was so excited and so him again. I’ve been stuck home since Sunday with the most relentless migraine. It has eased up today and turned in to more of a headache with a killer side of acid reflux (the joy) but my concentration span isn’t so great.
Evan managed to cause a riot on one of the lovely mum sites this morning when airing my opinion about the lack of reasonably priced brightly coloured gender neutral baby clothes. Looks like we will be finding out the gender of the baby.