“Tell them they can visit but they mustn’t bring cake,” Mum shouts from her bed as my sister answers the phone.
The food bin is groaning and even the dog sighs, sniffs and flops on the floor refusing to mop up ‘accidentally’ dropped pieces.
My sister is far too polite to tell them anything of the sort. She knows that it’s not cake they are bringing but little parcels of love.
“Maybe we should make a list of what people should bring instead,” I suggested, “you know, milk, washing up liquid, teabags, bleach.....” (You do seem to use an extraordinary amount of cleaning products when supporting a sick person.)
Mum thought that wouldn’t work because she would only want organic full fat milk, Fairy liquid and Yorkshire tea and you couldn’t ask people to only bring organic milk.
Visitors can make or break the day. Some days are good for visits and others aren’t. Even on those days the person that stands on the doorstep with a bunch of tulips and doesn’t take offense when you don’t invite them in is appreciated.
A good visit on a good day can lift the spirits so much that you begin to wonder if it’s all been a big mistake, they’ve got it all wrong, everything is perfectly fine and you are all going to live forever. Yesterday was one of those days.
Two of my mums sisters arrived with my one legged uncle, who, with no children to entertain managed to keep his prosthetic leg on. They brought cake. Mum rolled her eyes, out loud, in the way you can only get away with in front of family.
Conversation, as it always does, turned to Mary Berry. The queen of cake and cookery shows always appears at these occasions. We discussed Bake Off and moved on to her new show which we hoped
would be more like normal cooking.
“They’re ridiculous,” Mum said, “they spent five hours making that.”
“Did you see the judge that got all emotional about that pudding?” my sister said.
We all agreed it probably tasted the same as if you’d used a packet of frozen puff pastry, some stewed apples and a scoop of ice cream.
“What is this thing with the steam?” my aunt asked. “I mean they opened up a clam shell and wafted this steam of fish smell up someone’s nose. I’d gag. Can you imagine? Stink of Canvey Island up your nose?”
“And foam.” This was clearly a subject my uncle was very passionate about. “What is it with bloomin foam? Three little dots of coloured liquid and a blob of foam. It just wouldn’t be enough for me. I’d have to send it back and say, ‘you’re having a laugh, mate.’ It’s ridiculous!”
“It looks like cuckoo spit,” my aunt observed.
“Is it actually cuckoo’s spit, like they use in bird’s nest soup?” someone asked and the conversation rolled around nests cliffs and bird spit for a while until we decided to google it.
“It’s an insect: a froghopper.” my sister with the newest phone (because she dropped the last one down the toilet) told us first.
“Is it one of those flat green triangular bugs?" I asked.
We looked at a picture.
It was brown with orange stripes.
I thought it improbable that one little bug could produce so much spit.
"It might not be little," my aunt suggested. "There needs to be a pound coin for scale."
We thought we might have noticed a great orange striped bug wandering around gobbing on all the plants.
I was stuck on the green bug. "Is it called a Katydid?" I hoped my sister would look it up.
"I used to love those books," my aunt briefly changed the subject.
We looked at the picture.
"That's not a bug. It's a leaf."
"I've never seen one of those."
Mum had. "They're always on the raspberries."
I agreed, having eaten a few in the past.
The bumble bee that my sister rescued with some sugar water flew in to give her its daily update.
"Oh look, here's my swan," she said. We laughed but words can get mixed up if you haven't slept enough.
It was a great visit which included reminiscing about dustbin flowers (hydrangeas), Chum the dog and outside toilets and it lifted everyone's spirits.
I've decided that little parcels of laughter are the most powerful gifts of love that can be given.
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