Thursday, 28 April 2011

Scene 5: Parma Violet Tea, The Movie. The End of the Affair.

Our next scene also takes place in Aunty Margaret's little terraced house.  One week has passed. Our characters are sipping tea.  There is a troubling absence of Mr Kipling French Fancies.

Aunty M:  By text?  He broke up with you by text?  Oh, the beast, the coward! What did he say?

Miss U (trying to hide her emotion)  Oh, just that he didn't think we were well suited.

Aunty M:  Had you had a row?

Miss U:  Not really.  You know I met him online?

Aunty M:  Yes, very unwise Miss Underscore.  You're lucky you weren't butchered in your bed.  For all you knew you were meeting up with a serial killer, like John West.

Miss U:   Fred West?

Aunty M:  That's what I said, John West.

Miss U:  John West is tuna.

Aunty M:  No, Fred West is tuna.  I've got a tin of Fred West in the pantry.  Shall I get it?  Would you like a sandwich? Although, maybe you'd better not.  I think you're putting on weight.

Miss U:  (indignantly) Last week you said I looked like a malnourished vegetarian!

Aunty M: (knowingly)  It must be comfort eating, what with the stress of being dumped by that worthless burger seller. Anyway, do you want a Fred West sandwich or not?

Miss U:  No thank you.

Aunty M:  (settling back into the sofa) Come on then. Tell me what happened.

Miss U:  When we . . . well, you know. . . got close I took my profile off the internet.  He, apparently, kept his on.  I was a bit hurt when I found that out. I think he's met someone else.  I just know it.

Aunty M:  I knew from the moment you told me about him that he was a wrong' un.  Never trust a man who dresses in all in black.  It's not right.  It's demonic. It's wicked. . Your Uncle Bert only ever wore black at a funeral.  (nodding, arms crossed) That's as it should be.

Miss U:  But, I thought you said Senor Boldon sounded nice?  I thought you said black clothes reminded you of the Milk Tray man?

Aunty M:  And all that silent brooding.  He may as well have been in a coma for all the entertainment he gave you.  You're an educated girl, you need more than that.  I always said he sounded like a very dull sort.

Miss U:  No, you said quiet and dignified was synonymous with Humphrey Bogart?

Aunty M:  Humphrey Bogart?  Don't get me started on him.  He was no better than he ought to be.  Chain smoking, alcoholic spiv.  Neither one of them would help a lame dog over a stile. Be honest now, Senor Boldon wasn't the one for you, was he?

Miss U: Well . . . I admit, he wasn't perfect.  He was obsessed with routines, same food every night, same place for a drink every night at the same time every night.   He only ever ate stir fry.  He drank green tea.

Aunty M:  (mortified) STIR FRY?   GREEN TEA?  I don't know what green tea is, Miss Underscore, but I tell you this, I won't even have such a thing MENTIONED in my house.

Miss U:  I haven't told you the worst yet, (tearful pause) he was a Tory.  He admired Margaret Thatcher.

Aunty M:  Heaven help us!   I think I'd have preferred John West.  It's just as well your dad isn't around to hear of such wickedness.  (pause) Have you heard from him since?

Miss U:  He's sent a couple of emails, apologising, checking I'm OK.  I just wanted a NORMAL relationship with a normal, decent guy.

Aunty M:  Well, he's not normal.  He seduced you with his black capes,  fancy cars, his house in Spain and his 'Green tea' and then it turns out he's got a harlot in every drive-thru.  Isn't what they're called, those restaurants for lazy sorts who don't even want to get out of their cars?   Now, don't cry Miss Underscore. He's not worth your tears, trust me.

Miss U: Oh, he wasn't that bad.

Aunty M: Hmmm. What was his family like?  What sort of people were they?

Miss U: He has two younger brothers. His dad left when they were very young.  The brothers sound a bit strange.   I think they've all been divorced.

Aunty M:  You see?  You're not like them. You were raised with a mother and father who loved each other and stayed together. Your dad nursed your mam when she had cancer.  And then, after she died, he said that there would never be anyone else.  Just like me and Bert.  And let me tell you, Miss Underscore, your father was not short of offers.  Those spinsters at church wouldn't leave him alone.  He was like cat-nip in a tank top.

Miss M:  (laughing) I knowOh Aunty Margaret. Senor Boldon was such a dour, miserable sod, where will I find someone as grumpy as that again?

Aunty M:  You could always look for a nice widower.  Single AND miserable.  I'll keep an eye on the obituaries for you.  Now.  Shall I go and get that pistol?


  1. I love Aunty M! A text - dumped by a text! I'm outraged!

    Now do I have to go back through the archives for the start of Rochester? As so far I am reading through "the end of the affair". I'm being awkward as continuity isn't my strong point; I like just picking a month at random and devouring its contents!

    Help! I need to know what I should read next! Is there more coming? Or are my answers already here?

    Yours, Hooked and Needy!

  2. Catnip in a tank top. Now that's quality.

    These scenes with Aunty Margaret work really well, providing an ideal framing and anchoring device for the whole narrative. Subtle prefiguring and commentary using carefully-judged confectionery is a nice touch.

    Is it really the end? Will there be another one about Rochester?

  3. Hi Frances,

    Do not fear, I shall be covering Rochester in future scenes. Rochester is dotted all over the blog though, my favourite ever Rochester posts are

  4. Hi Nellig,

    Thanks for the comment! There will be plenty of Rochester scenes. He is quite a character. Aunty Margaret hated him too mind!

  5. We all need an Aunty Margaret! I'll never look at a tuna salad in the same way again.

  6. A green tea drinking tory - Miss Underscore, I take back my comment about Senor Boldon - what were you thinking?

  7. I loved this post. Once again you've made me hoot with laughter.
    Aunty Margaret should have her own film; or at the very least a column in a Sunday supplement, giving advice to the troubled and love-lorn.