Immobilised - Rooted to the Spot

My husband was only a five minute drive away from home when something went ‘bang’, alerts flashed on the dashboard and the car slowly rolled to a halt.

I listened to the symptoms as described by my husband when he phoned, not that I could be of any help. Green Flag, aware of the disabled driver status, would be as quick as they could. This was great news to the person who was concerned about getting their usual parking space back. The car was completely immobilised and the electronic wizardry that governed the engine was beyond my junior level of basic car maintenance and my husband’s greater skills. I could imagine the ghost of my father voicing disappointment at modern cars. ‘A bonnet full of sealed units, impossible to try to mend anything, whatever happened to engineering?’

Green Flag arrived with a clever computer that suggested an automatic gear-box failure, or something else, or something else again. The computer reset the ‘alerts’, but something still flagged up. It couldn’t be by-passed or over-ridden, so the car remained immobilised and was towed off to the garage.

It turned out to be nothing major, after assessments at more than one establishment. A belt had snapped and hit one of the electronic sensors which gave a false reading of gear-box failure to the dashboard. Repairs and or replacements were carried out. It took days. My father’s ghost was probably tutting and shaking his head. It was something he could have fixed without all this electronic ‘improvements’ getting in the way of mechanics.

This unfortunate episode marked the beginning of the end of our Citroen Berlingo, after only a couple of years. It had been the perfect vehicle to travel to the Outer Hebrides twice, with our dog and all our self-catering stuff.  I found it awkward to drive and considered it to be a beast of a vehicle with a mind of its own. I was happy to see it go and be replaced with a lovely car that I feel confident with.

 

 

The other night, as I returned to the bedroom after an early hours bathroom visit, I was aware of a flash of light through the blinds. I waited for a clap of thunder, which didn’t happen, but I slowly realised that the flash had been torchlight. Someone was out on the street, probably up to no good. I was frozen to the spot, too scared to check. Monsters exist in the small hours and tiny worries become massive. I managed to climb back into bed and close my eyes to all the shadows I hadn’t noticed before. I must have fallen asleep while listening hard and training my hearing to nocturnal activities outside. Nothing came of it, except my fear.

This poem by Mark Toney sums it up perfectly,

 

Night Sweats

Startled at night, I awake,

Frozen, motionless, immobilised,
Eyes straining into the black void,
Phantoms darting about me,
Springing from every direction,
Heart racing, rapidly breathing,
Fantasy and fear running amok.


Happy New Year! Thanks for reading, Pam xx

 

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Mouths - Open Wide!

“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings comes forth wisdom.”

 Or sometimes surprise, but nearly always truth, as they see it, and they always say it. I was mindful of this when out with my three year old son, many years ago. We were walking along a street in town when we saw a rather large gentleman taking time to get into the driving seat of his car. The car was a Metro and I was thinking he could do with a bigger vehicle when my son piped up, ‘He’s a very fat man, isn’t he Mummy?’ We were right next to the car by now and of course, he heard my son. I remember offering what I hoped was an apologetic smile to the man as we passed. My son was just saying what he saw. The innocence of his young age had not yet grasped the feelings of others. That would be a chat for later.

It was a privilege to spend a few years working with young children. They are amazing at sharing details of their lives in and out of school. I was good at keeping a straight face. ‘Mummy was being sick because she had wine.’ There was lots of ‘My Nanna/Daddy/Mummy said…’ followed by a serious sounding statement from them. I would be sympathetic hearing about fall-outs and possible consequences, who was shouting and who was crying. I shared in their joy of holidays, parties, friendships and special family occasions. I loved to feel included in their lives. Parents would have been horrified at some of the things their children said, whether truth or fiction. I’ve missed being part of that school. I should have stayed longer.

Dentistry has been a major part of my working life. I trained as a dental nurse before moving into other things, then coming full circle to work on reception in a large NHS practice. I’ve done my best to help people and I hope I’ve been successful in that but I’ve had enough of mouths and teeth now. I’m planning a slightly early retirement, soon.

And where will I be? Back to the ‘mouths of babes and sucklings’ with everything my grandchildren tell me.

Try this to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

 

‘Got my toothpaste, got my brush,

     I won’t hurry, I won’t rush.
     Making sure my teeth are clean
     Front and back and in-between.
     When I brush for quite a while,
     I will have a happy smile.’

Anon.

 

Here’s Pam Ayres,

   

 Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth

 

Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth

And spotted the dangers beneath
All the toffees I chewed,
And the sweet sticky food.
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth.

I wish I’d been that much more willin’
When I had more tooth there than fillin’
To give up gobstoppers,
From respect to me choppers,
And to buy something else with me shillin’.

When I think of the lollies I licked
And the liquorice allsorts I picked,
Sherbet dabs, big and little,
All that hard peanut brittle,
My conscience gets horribly pricked.

My mother, she told me no end,
‘If you got a tooth, you got a friend.’
I was young then, and careless,
My toothbrush was hairless,
I never had much time to spend.

Oh I showed them the toothpaste all right,
I flashed it about late at night,
But up-and-down brushin’
And pokin’ and fussin’
Didn’t seem worth the time – I could bite!

If I’d known I was paving the way
To cavities, caps and decay,
The murder of fillin’s,
Injections and drillin’s,
I’d have thrown all me sherbet away.

So I lie in the old dentist’s chair,
And I gaze up his nose in despair,
And his drill it do whine
In these molars of mine.
‘Two amalgam,’ he’ll say, ‘for in there.’

How I laughed at my mother’s false teeth,
As they foamed in the waters beneath.
But now comes the reckonin’
It’s me they are beckonin’
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

 

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