I didn’t get to the café until lunchtime. I’ve not done much today. A late night after another gig was followed by several uncomfortable hours in bed, wearing a hat and despite being buried under 80 togs of bedding, still feeling this cold snap. That’s even with the super thermal Long Johns on two pairs of socks.
I visited my aunt and uncle around 11am. An hour with them put about a decade on me. My uncle, who doesn’t feel the cold, had his tracksuit bottoms rolled up to just below his knees. My aunt demanded, for decorum’s sake, he roll them back down while I was there.
My uncle wasn’t having it. "Why? He's my nephew. He's not going to fall in love with me."
We agree that next week, if her walker arrives, I’ll accompany my aunt on a trip to the shops to see how she gets on. These south London streets are so dirty, it’s going to kill me watching her walker move through all the dog muck.
My aunt is keen to replace their newly broken two-slice toaster. She’s not having anything online. She wants to see it up close and size it up. This last one lasted a year, apparently.
My uncle, not up for sourcing the new toaster, finds himself in the line of fire once again, as my aunt runs through a long list of Brixton shops he refuses to go in.
Marks and Spencer (‘Depresses me.’) – Agree with him here.
Sainsbury’s Local (‘There’s never anyone on the till’).
Argos (‘The next Covid variant will originate there’)
Morley’s (Too big’)
Fishmongers (‘Smells like a care home’)
Superdrug (‘They’re always trying to flog you something at the till’)
Body Shop (‘The woman on the till is always chewing open mouthed)
Meantime, in the café, excitement is building at Portugal’s advance to the last eight of the World Cup I’ve barely watched. Everyone, man, woman and child (why aren’t they at school?) agrees with the coach’s decision to sideline the petulant Ronaldo.
Seb K and I exchange horror stories of our various experiences with fraud and the café’s greatest barista becomes very animated as he recounts some of his worst experiences, including the time his wife was scammed of £2k.
Before leaving the café, I call my aunt with an update on what medicines she can take to manage some pain today.
My uncle, who rarely picks up the phone, picks up.
"She's on the bog," he tells me.
I guess this is where 57 years of marriage leaves you. "I could've been an admirer of hers and you're telling me that, shattering her mystique," I say.
"She's been up there for 20 minutes," my uncle shoots back.
It’s the use of the ‘on’ that really troubles me.
I never leave their flat jealous of them or anyone else in a relationship. I know that much about this life.
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