I'm a Common Tart

The Legs O'Man on the corner of Lime Street.
Allegedly it was full of "tarts"

Cariad and I are off to The St Tropez of the North this week to visit Mother.  There are some rules I have to adhere to so as not to qualify as being "common" or a "tart" while visiting.  Listed below here are some actions I must definitely avoid, namely:

Going to the bookies and putting a line on.

Buy a pie and eat it in the street.

Refer to the utility room as "the wash-house".

Say "fuckshitwankbollocks" if I bang my head.

Drink rum & black.

Go beyond the front door still wearing slippers.

Wear an ankle chain.

Buy some orange lilies*

Order a pint instead of a glass.

Say "youse" instead of "all of you".

Go in the "Legs O'Man" - yes, I know it's been demolished but it still qualifies as somewhere only "tarts" go.

 
*This actually comes under the classification of being a "Prod" but is equally taboo

Ekky & the Case of the Toxic Pistachio Nut

Ekky suffered numerous bouts of pneumonia - one of which was self inflicted and incurred a ban of nut products from his diet for the remainder of his years.

He had been admitted into hospital once again, blue in the face and as Mother says "blowing for tugs".  The consultant was very unhappy with his prognosis particularly as he was failing to respond to his intravenous antibiotics.  I had dashed up the M6 once again to witness "The Creaking Gate" putting us through it one more time.

Mother and I were at his bedside, me wearing one his jumpers* because I'd barely had time to pack.  Mother was very anxious - Ekky was virtually delirious and didn't know where he was.  He thought he was watching a game at Goodison which sounded like he was well on his way to purgatory to me so things were not looking too good.   His chest was rattling, wheezing, rattling, rattling, wheezing.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright and gave an almighty lung-wrenching cough that nearly took his head off and spat something into his hand.

"Eurrrgghh - what's that?" Mother and I peer at the offending object.  "Fuck me"  I thought, "He has actually coughed a bit of himself up".
 
Mother located the consultant and brought him to Ekky's bedside to  inspect the material.  "Eurrrgghh" he said.  "That looks like a rotten pistachio nut".  Ekky looked a little guilty and pouted slightly.  "Oh, I think I might have breathed it in a couple of weeks ago.  I had a bit of a coughing fit while having me lunch and I think it went down the wrong way.  Why have you got my jumper on?" he said looking at me while blatantly attempting to change the subject.

Mother belted him across the head, "A bloody pistachio nut!  We're at sixes and sevens running up and down to this hospital because you breathed in A BLOODY NUT.  That's it Ekky Phenna - nuts are BANNED".

We took him home a few days later leaving the consultant even more bewildered than ever but somewhat relieved that the Phennas were off his patch.  Once home Ekky kept up a sustained campaign of underhand and sneaky methods to hoodwink family and friends to supply him with nuts.

"Do you want some trifle Eric?" a doddering relative would ask.  He'd pull his blue-eyed boy fluttery eyelashes routine and accept the offer.  I'd already frisked it for a chopped nuts topping in the kitchen and took his spoon off him while simultaneously shoulder charging the hostess back into her serving hatch.
 

"Can I have an almond slice?" he'd ask in the bakers. 
- "No, no nuts Daddy" you 'd tell him. 

"Do you want some chocolate from the newsagents?"
- "Yes please"
"What type?"
- "Cadbury's Fruit & Nut"
"Oh, behave"

* Mother is a prodigious producer of vile knitwear, the like not seen frequently outside dog baskets

Cuz & the Carrier Bag - Epic Night # 37

A Spar Carrier Bag - Not for the Likes of Cuz

Cuz used to host the NYE celebrations at her then shared flat in Haven Green.  The evening's proceedings were based around an intended civilised dinner but due to the lethal aperitifs and amount of Cava consumed, usually by the time the cheese board came out no one knew what their own names were.  We tried very hard to be adult and urbane at these events but - pissing in the bath while wearing a cocktail frock is still pissing in the bath.

This particular NYE Cuz had been summoned into work to complete a particularly dodgy international property deal.  This blew the catering timetable to shreds so Cuz decided catering duties could be delegated to a couple of responsible and reliable acquaintances until she could return home and resume the role of hostess. Unfortunately these particular grown-ups were out when she rang them so she had to resort to giving Acton Baby and I the keys to the flat together with a strict timetable of marinating/roasting.

Acton Baby and I decided to behave for once, synchronised our watches and agreed a rendezvous time of 2pm.  Like a pair of fuckwits we agree to meet in the “North Star”. This is where it all went wrong.

Angus was working the afternoon shift and we were DOOMED.  After a couple of pints we attempted an exit with the full intention of heading over to Cuz's flat to insert the wildebeest or whatever it was into the oven.  But Angus already had a couple of pints on the bar.  Then, as Angus pointed out it was a fairly cold and dreary afternoon and it would be a blinding idea to have a whiskey each.  Every time we tried to leave he had another pint/whiskey ready for us.  After a couple of hours Acton Baby and I had to acknowledge  that we were indeed pished and the suckling pig or whatever the fuck it was hadn't yet migrated to the oven and Cuz was going to stab us.

We rang Badger and pleaded for help claiming Angus had kidnapped us and we were locked in the cellar.  Badger merely sighed, put her Mac on, mounted a bus, headed to the North Star, took the keys off us and tutting mildly headed over to Cuz's flat to manhandle the wild boar into the oven.

Knowing full well that we had nearly sabotaged dinner and were probably in the shit big time, Acton Baby and I assuaged our guilt by having some more beer.  Around 7pm we staggered across the Green to the flat and, permitted access by Badger in a fetching pinny, slumped around in Cuz's living room belching Guinness & single malt fumes quietly while pretending very hard that we were not very, very pissed.

Conscious that I may slur when pissed I completely lose my Scouse accent and morph into Noel Coward.  When I start enunciating like a 1930s BBC continuity announcer you know I've lost it big time.   I was well into Noel Coward mode this NYE; chances were Cuz was going to spot it immediately and hit me with her Mouli grater.

However I think I got away with it when she staggered through the door around 8pm, monumentally pissed and wearing a carrier bag around one ankle.

"Halloo my dahlinks” she announced in the hallway while swaying mildly.  “One's been dwinking Champagne at the orifice all ahhfternoon". 

"Fuck me sideways" I thought, "She's even more langered than I am.  And she sounds like Annette Mills".

"Does one know one has a carrier bag fashioned from ethylene monomers around one's ankle my love?" I queried.

Cuz glanced down at her feet, straightened up again and replied imperiously "At least it's from facking Next" and staggered off to the kitchen.

Things I Never get Round to Because I can't be Arsed

Someone Sitting on Their Arse

Clean all the tut out of my handbag, including the Allen keys and the pair of pliers I cart around "in case".

 

Tell HSBC to sod off.

 

Update my CV, get a better job and stop bloody moaning.

 

Throw away all the shower gel bottles in the bathroom that have a dribble of liquid left in the bottom.

 

Throw away all the shampoo bottles in the bathroom that have a dribble of liquid left in the bottom.

 

Dispose of the unmatched single sock mountain in my sock drawer.

 

Clean the car and instantly improve fuel consumption by 30%.

 

De-frag the hard drive so it stops going "grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr".

 

Unfluff the filter on the hairdrier so it stops cutting out when I've only done the left side of me head.  People must think my hairdresser is a cyclops.

Clean under the microwave.

Cleaning in general.

Chuck out my school blazer which is STILL too big for me.

Ekky Pays me the Ultimate Compliment

We Had a Green One!

Not known for congratulating his daughters on their academic successes, Ekky however pushed us very hard to obtain the best education we could - anything I suppose to get us off the estate.  Whatever qualification you gained you'd receive barely a nod in return; it was a given, you were a Phenna and you did well.  

But I did get a hug on the day I passed my driving test at the first attempt.  Ekky was a truck driver until his first serious bout of illness and he loved it, he absolutely loved driving.  He'd drive his truck all week and then on a Sunday he'd shove wife, kids and dog into the car and drive another 200 miles to Cumbria and back.  He loved driving like I love reading.

Me obtaining a clutch of 'O' levels, 'A' levels and a qualification in Marketing and then landing a job with the fifth largest company in the world was barely acknowledged.

But then one day during a visit to the St Tropez of the North I'm driving Ekky somewhere in my first Nobby Nissan which I'd bought from Middle Sis.  I can't remember where we had been or what the purpose of the trip was.  I pulled into the parking space outside Ekky's flat and just as I switched the ignition off Ekky looked at me and said "You change gear really nicely".

I nearly cried on the bonnet.