(aka Bike) Part 658 by Angharad |
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I sat in my car and sent Simon a text to tell him that I was on my way home. I could hardly see the phone for tears. I gave myself quite a talking to and pulled myself together. Still shuddering, I set off for Portsmouth.
Once clear of Bristol, the roads weren’t too bad and I made good time, arriving back at the house about a quarter to eight. I locked the car and walked up to the house. I felt exhausted as I opened the door, and this whirlwind of children and dog overwhelmed me.
“Mummy,” squealed two excited voices, and Kiki barked as if not to be out done. “We saw you on the wadio,” squealed Mima.
“On the television, stoo-pid,” Trish corrected her.
“Yeah, on the tewevision, Mummy, we seed you.”
“Did you, my darlings,” I felt my eyes fill with tears.
“Yes we did, Mummy.”
“Ah, our superstar is home,” said Simon’s voice. Kiki barked again, dancing round in circles and he nearly fell over her. “Stupid mutt, outta the way.” She ran off back to the conservatory.
Once I’d hugged and kissed both the girls, I gave Simon a hug and a kiss and then told the children, “C’mon up to bed, I’ll tell you all about my time at the BBC.”
“Is that where you was?” asked Meems.
“Course it was,” Trish rolled her eyes as she answered her sister’s question.
“Yes, sweetheart, up to bed now.” I followed them up the stairs and after they’d cleaned their teeth, I tucked them into bed. I use that figuratively, as it’s difficult to tuck someone in a duvet, but you get the idea. Then I sat on the floor between the beds and told them about my adventure in Bristol.
“You said you’d take us to Bwistew, one day.”
“I will indeed, Meems. When Trish is on half term or end of term, I’ll take you both to see my house in Bristol; that’s a promise.”
“Hooway,” said Meems clapping her hands.
“I’ll look forward to that, Mummy.”
“How was school, today?”
“S’alright, bit borin’, although they let me read if I finish before the rest of them.”
“What were you reading?”
“Some story about a horse.”
“Not, Black Beauty?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“I loved that story when I was younger. It was written by Anna Sewell who was concerned about the welfare of horses in Victorian times.”
“Didn’t they have vets?” asked Trish.
“I expect so, but human life was cheap in those days, so horses were treated badly sometimes. There were few if any petrol motors, so taxis and buses were pulled by horses, and they often were treated very badly.”
“Oh, I haven’t read very much yet.”
“Okay, darling, you enjoy it and remember that mostly these days, the things that Mrs Sewell was trying to promote have happened.”
“Have you ever ridden a horse, Mummy?”
“Not really, been on a donkey at Weston-Super-Mare beach, but apart from that no. I don’t particularly like horses, they frighten me. They’re big animals and quite powerful and I actually prefer bikes. I usually know what a bike is going to do, although a front tyre blow out can be a bit hairy.”
“Oh gosh, what happens then?”
“That depends on how fast you’re going, but it can deposit you on the road. Touch wood,” I patted the leg of Mima’s bed, “it hasn’t happened to me, but it did to someone when I was riding with a group and he fell off and left some skin behind on the road.”
“Ouch,” said Trish, “that sounds perfectly beastly, Mummy.”
“It was and painful. Tarmac burns sting like blazes.”
“Have you fallen off, Mummy?”
“Yes, sweetheart, I have lots of times when I was learning to ride and occasionally since. It happens with cycling, can’t get your foot down in time or something goes wrong with the bike–brakes fail, puncture, blow out; or somebody knocks you off.”
“Did somebody knock you off, Mummy?” asked Mima.
“Once, yes. They weren’t very nice and they didn’t like women cyclists.”
“Was you hurted?”
“Yes, Meems, he stabbed me.”
“With a knife, Mummy?”
“Yes, Auntie Stella saved my life, and Daddy Simon, caught the man.”
“Gosh, what happened then?”
“I don’t actually know, Trish. I lost consciousness rather quickly, through loss of blood, but I’m told Simon wasn’t too gentle to the man.”
“What did he do, Daddy, I mean?”
“The man waved the knife about and Simon hit him with his bike.”
“What he was riding it still?”
“No, he apparently got off and I presume holding by the handlebars and seat post hit the man with the bottom of the bike, put him in hospital, too.”
“What, Daddy?” asked Mima.
“No, the nasty man. A bottom bracket, even on a carbon bike is pretty hard.”
“What’s a bottom bwacket, Mummy?”
Too much detail, when will I ever learn? “It’s the bottom part of the frame, where the pedals go through, or the spindle the pedals spin round on.”
“Oh, thank you, Mummy.” I knew for a fact she had no idea what I was talking about, so the next time I had a bike out, I’d show her.
“Right, you two little ruffians, time for sleep.” They giggled and I kissed them both and wished them a good night.
I went downstairs and Simon was pouring boiling water into the teapot. “Yes?”
“Oh, please, I’m gasping for a cuppa.”
“Hungry?”
“Why?”
“Da-rah,” he said and pulled the remains of a Chinese take-away from the oven.
I smiled at his trick and I knew the girls would have had some of this too, I wasn’t too happy about it, Chinese food is often dripping with MSG and too much salt. However, I suppose once in a while it’s okay.
I sat at the kitchen table and Simon spooned it out on to a warm plate for me, then poured me a cup of tea, and sitting opposite said, “Eat, then tell me all about it.”
Comments
The whole truth
Not sure the kids really needed all the gory details, they are a bit young to wrap their heads around all that. I predict at least one nightmare will result, apart from Cathy that is. Cathy has done a pretty good job of scaring herself in the past. ;-)
They know they can survive
Luckily, around here
MOST of the Chinese resturaunts don't use MSG! Salt now... Not directly, actually it depends a LOT on the variety of Soy Sauce, but more than is REALLY healthy? Maybe. I'll not argue that.
*sighs* Cathy, Cathy, Cathy... Get ahold of yourself. *sighs* (Yeah, easier said than done, I know...)
Thanks,
Annette
In the USA...
...although MSG must be identified if directly added by the manufacturer from a barrel that says "MSG", the manufacturer is not required to list the ingredients of "spice mixes" manufactured by other companies, so even products boldly labelled "NO MSG" may be thick with the stuff, since "spice mix," "glutamic acid," and "hydrolyzed proteins" have become "code words" for MSG that persons with MSG allergies or enhanced sensitivities have to be on the lookout for.
Restaurants have the same exemption, and the temptation to add MSG to any food which we expect to have a "rich" flavour is great, since developing flavour through traditional cooking techniques is time-consuming and expensive, since the best cuts of meat and the most flavourful vegetables must be used, prepared slowly.
Almost every "fast food" or takeaway restaurant, whose stock-in-trade is cheap food quick, uses MSG, and a perfectly amazing number of pre-processed foods, like canned soup, packaged salads, frozen entrentréees, and so on, are packed full of the stuff.
In addition, since it's a natural product of fermentation* and other cooking processes (the stuff was invented in Japan as a cheap substitute for seaweed, used raw or in fermented pickles or sauces to add flavour, which contains large amounts of glutsmic acid -- the precursor of MSG), it's fairly easy to arrange one's methods of processing food so that it appears "magically," once again bypassing almost every labelling requirement.
Puddin'
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* This is one reason we "hang" meat to age and develop "flavour." Since properly hanging meat is expensive (water is deliberately evaporated, which concentrates the flavour but also means that one loses perhaps half the weight that one can sell), MSG is a tempting alternative. Another trick one sees is selling small fresh (cheap) cuts either wrapped in or larded with bacon or other fatty, smoked, or aged meat product, because fresh raw meat tastes rather nasty to us, tasteless and bland.
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Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Oh, How Sweet!
THAT is something that Cathy needed. I know from experience with my nieces, that having them swarm me when I got there, was a treat. Ant parent that frowns upon their kids loving on them like TRish, and Meems did Cathy need to have their Hearts replaced, because the old one is dead.
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
Black Beauty
That book fascinated me as a child. I'd read it several times by the time I was 8 or 9. Can't imagine just why because horses don't interest me in the slightest now despite the number of girls (why are they all girls?) who ride down the lane past our house.
Thanks Angharad. Reliable as always. You're my bed-time cocoa :)
Geoff
>> why are they all girls?
Because girls tend to be mad for them. What's not to like?
They require constant attention, love, and care, something like a very big baby. They're usually bypassed by boys, who correctly identify them as antique and impractical relics of another era, while real men have cars, aeroplanes, motorboats, and motorcycles. Boys these days see horses as irrelevant, while girls see them both as access to a secret world of (mostly) high-status girls, and as relationship challenges that prepare them for womanhood and life.
This is, by the way, an almost complete reversal of the situation a century past, when horses, often cruelly-used commodities, were an integral part of working cattle, being in the military, hunting, and driving one's chaise into town, all manly pursuits that garnered respect and admiration, so every boy wanted to have one, whilst the often brutal treatment of them offended many women. They agitated for humane societies to lessen the sufferings of the animals, but were not nearly so motivated to participate in a cruel and "masculine" trade.
If you read modern "girl's" horse books, you find that the protagonist (who may actually be a boy) is almost always the one person who rescues, understands, and "gentles" a "wild" animal which has been abused by cruel men (they're always men), and is rewarded by lasting love and loyalty.
These are beginner's versions of the romance novels read by adult women, and practice for the future, even if one's horse lives only in the imagination.
What's not to like?
Cheers,
Puddin'
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Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Black Beauty
Went through every book in the library, then went on to the dogs stories. Finally wound up in the scifi section, there weren't enough to keep me reading.
A sweet chapter
Simon and the girls were there for Cathy when she needed some loving attention. Nice job Ahgharad.
Knocked off a bike
Cathy forgot the time she was knocked off her bike by some Lady Muck...
I'm Still Following Along.
Thanks again, Angharad, for your excellent work.
I appreciate your assiduity in keeping us so well entertained.
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
x
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
I remember when i was little
I remember when i was little and on holiday in Spain, Being put on the back of a donkey,It would'nt move, So the young boy in charge decided that a stick poked into the animals rear quarters might help...It did...The donkey took off with me clinging on for dear life and the boy in hot pursuit! Peace was eventually restored but my faith in donkeys was gone...Since then i don't go anywhere near donkeys...Nor horses for that matter which as far as i'm concerned are just big donkeys!!!!
Kirri
Horses are sweeties, just let them know you aren't afraid.
Yes, I've been hit by a car, Aunt Stella hit me when my name was Charlie. She hit me so hard it changed me into a woman.
Swap breath up the horses nose, and they'll love you, always worked for me, but then I've got hoodoo on the Irish side.
Ang as Tony Tiger says, 'It's GRREAT !'
Cefin
Sort of
A horse i knew was nice as could be till the first time you got in the saddle she would turn slowly then cgarge the fence and send you over it.
Then stand there and wait for you to get back on and go for a ride.
She was fine once you knew who was really the boss.
Trish
is starting to get a bit of a mouth on her, she's going to hurt Mima soon if she keeps this up.