More madness from the woman who feeds frogs bread and lettuce...
As the summer drags on I thought I'd do my good deed yesterday and paint my Nan's garden frame for her. In hindsight it perhaps wasn't the greatest idea in the world, but it needed doing, and she'd only either a) do it herself and injure herself in the process, or b) leave it and worry about it (she worries about everything). So there I was yesterday morning, bright and early at 9 oclock out in my Nan's back garden painting her old garden frame in her favourite colour, bright green.
Now green is a strange colour - certainly not the usual contender for anyone's 'favourite colour' - but in my Nan's case it really is her favourite colour and if ever something is to be painted and colour is an option, it will invariably be painted green. Her front door is green, her decking is green, her shed is green and now once again, her garden frame is green.
I might add here at this point that her grandson is also now green, but she wasn't too worried about that as she did her best to get in my way and ensure I didn't spill any paint on her plastic flowers. The plastic flowers are, like the clocks, another strange 'thing' that can be associated with my Nan. If you have read my blog on clocks then you will perhaps not be suprised to learn that the ol gal' has now taken to planting plastic flowers in her garden as they need less attention than normal flowers and she thinks they look nice.
They do not, readers, look nice. They look fake and tacky. But as with all things my Nan does, she is not to be reasoned with and is as stubborn as a mule when it comes to anything she does, be it right, wrong, or more often than not, clinically insane.
But anyway, the fake plants in her garden are not the point. The point is that I left my Nan's house some four hours or so later covered in green hamorite paint from head to toe. The problem of course arises when you consider that hamorite paint is metal paint (very hard to get off) and the paint itself is of the variety where in it has been found at the back of the shed and probably dates back to the 1980s. A combination of these two factors means that I sit here today readers still covered in the stuff and was at one stage worried as to whether or not I would be able to get it out of my hair or (worse case scenario) if I would have to cut it all off.
Fortunately enough, panic was averted as far as my hair went (*phew*), but I still have a right leg covered in the stuff, and am still furiously picking the stuff off my hands so I don't look like a complete idiot when I go out down Margate later tonight. I am not a happy bunny.
But anyway, enough of that - back to the garden...
My Nan, as with most old people, hasn't got the best hearing in the world. Like most old people she refuses to admit she hasn't got the best hearing in the world. What this means in a practical sense, is that a conversation with Nan is a three-way process and requires an intermediary in the form of my sister. Fortunately my good sister, who is blessed with the patience of a saint, was helping Nan with other garden-related tasks while I was painting. This not only had the benefit of enabling me to communicate with the crazy old lady, but also meant she was sufficiently distracted so as not to get in my way. Conversation then, would go something thus:
Nan: Are you alright there Mike?
Mike (bad mood): Yes I'm fine.
Nicky (to Nan): He's fine Nan.
Nan: Would you like a cup of tea?
Mike: Not just yet, I want to finish this first.
Nan (to Nicky): What did he say?
Nicky: He said he's going to wait until he's finished painting before he has a cup of tea.
Nan: So you don't want my cup of tea then?
Mike: I'm covered in paint.
Nicky (to Nan): He says he's covered in paint Nan. I don't think he wants to get paint all over your cups.
Nan: I hope you're not getting paint on my flowers.
Mike: No I'm not getting paint on your flowers. (mumbles to self) Even if I did it wouldn't matter: they need brightening up anyway!
Nan (to Nicky): Is he taking the mickey out of my flowers?
Nicky: He says he's not getting paint on your flowers.
Nan: Do you know what time it is Michael?
Mike: No Nan, I'm not wearing a watch.
Nan: I better go look in the shed...
You know my painting experience at Nan's house has led me to form the conclusion that the small shed with the massive clock in it serves one purpose and one purpose only: that being to store said clock. It is essentially, as far as I can tell, to house the clock so that Nan can tell the time. She actually felt the need to leave the shed door open so that she could see the clock and kept going back and forth to check the time regardless of the fact her telly doesn't start until the afternoon and she had no reason to tell the time what-so-ever. She even then decided to moan that she wasn't getting any phone calls despite by this time the fact myself, my sister and then my Dad were all there, leaving only my uncle (at work) as the only other possible person who might phone her.
She really is a very strange lady...
As an extra special treat, and because I feel it is my duty to share musical genius with the world, here is Yngwie Malmsteen's 'Far Beyond the Sun'. Neoclassical guitar at its best. If only Beethoven and co could see the stuff this guy come up with...