Home life
B ack to the
fray
Alice Thomas Ellis
Ican't really claim that the Christmas hols in the country were uneventful, what with frost, tempest and flood — Janet had to go to the village by tractor at one point because the lane had turned into a stream. She said she felt a proper lemon in her fur coat and moon-boots with the two little girls standing in the pig nuggets with a huge feathered wash spraying out high behind them. I missed this pretty sight and I'm rather annoyed since Janet's maiden name indicates that she is descended from Queen Boudicca (as I believe she is now spelt) of the Iceni and the scene must have been somewhat evocative of that lady steaming along in her chariot. I feel cheated of a good laugh.
Still, even with all that weather going on the country is more peaceful than London. Apart from the immediate family and the hired help the only contact with the human race consists of glimpses of a distant shepherd or Sir chasing his pheasants. If I ever feel lonely I can telephone someone, although the phone is situated in a particu- larly chilly bit of the house and one's hands tend to get frozen to the receiver. It is all very quiet and makes one feel that one's desiccated old spirit has been briefly put in water. Now London does not give one that impression. Living in London is rather like living in the middle of the motorway and I have the sensation that my feet haven't touched the ground since I returned. After days of placidly plodding about carrying Aga fuel and logs and doing simple rustic tasks, I found myself involved in two luncheon parties, four dinner parties, two photographic sessions and a trip to the Arts Council. I know people who can cope with all that. I can't, and drink doesn't help. It's very nice while you're drinking it but you regret it the following day, particularly if that day holds a photographic session and the bags under your eyes are making your jaw line sag.
One of these sessions was particularly interesting. A nice young fellow called Nic came along to take a few simple snapshots with a mass of equipment which would not have been inadequate on the set of a biblical epic, and he chose a room and put up all his stands and sheets and umbrellas and spread cables all over the place, and then he plugged in a sort of arc light and everything fused. The fourth son, rather brilliantly in my estimation, since these matters are a closed book to me, mended the fuse and Nic plugged in his light again, whereupon everything fused again. By the time it was sorted out we were all faintly hysterical and had less difficulty than usual in pasting grins on our faces. I never could understand how people are expected to smile while undergoing an experience as horrible as being photographed. Even Jemma, who is an actress and should be used to it, remembered an important en- gagement some distance away and fled like a rabbit at the suggestion that she should be included.
After the fuses were mended the drain flooded: a much nastier flood than the one in Wales, which was only melted snow, since it consisted of the effluent from the washing machine and cannot be doing any good at all to the castor oil plant about whose roots it ebbs and flows. The trouble is that plumbers are out all day engaged on unblocking other people's drains and I can never remember to ring them in the even- ing. The same thing goes for electricians and other artisans. They used to have homebound wives to take frantic messages, but now, I think, they're all divorced or their wives go out to work. We were very lucky to find a new window-cleaner be- cause the last one dematerialised. Alfie's brother Peter has taken up this avocation and the other day when we came home from doing the shopping there was Peter busily polishing windows and in the kitchen towering over the Aga was his bull mastiff, Portia. She was very friendly but the cats spent the morning in an alcove beside St Martin and we were very nice to her.
Someone is the opposite of me and detests the country, much preferring Lon- don. I really knew I was home again when I heard him talking to himself while shaving Perhaps there are plenty of people who talk to themselves while shaving. How would I know? But I bet there are remark- ably few who do it in Ancient Greek.
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