In search of a Smile

“I know why women have facelifts,” I shouted at the Long Suffering Husband from the bathroom. The woman looking back at me while I cleaned my teeth was starting to look like a Bassett hound with less drool. My eye bags have reached my not very high cheekbones and my jowls are beginning to cover up my windplayer’s double chin.

“It’s just that you’ve stopped smiling,” he assured me.

I looked at the miserable Bassett hound and tried to make her smile but it felt all wrong.

“I used to be a smiley person,” I told my friend, explaining the problem later, “and now all I can think about is how someone searching for their lost smile would make a good children’s book.”

The LSH had a plan. He thought my smile might be in London. We queued for day seats to see Young Frankenstein, ate breakfast at the Ivy, walked to Kensington through St James’, Green and Hyde Parks, looked at beautiful things in the V&A, had a drink in a pub, and laughed our way through most of the musical. I thought I’d found my smile, particularly in the pub. For a non drinker, I find a proper pub surprisingly comforting. The bar always looks warm and welcoming, with the different coloured liquids reflected by a good bar mirror. It is also the perfect height for leaning, while listening to conversations. 

A brief return of the smile 

Young Frankenstein has a fantastic cast. It’s based on the Mel Brooks film and so it is impossible not to laugh. Lesley Joseph gives a masterclass in comic timing. Diane Pilkington, Patrick Clancy, Nic Greenshields and Hadley Fraser are amazing musical theatre stars with stunning voices. Summer Strallen stands out for her gymnastic ability, not only with her body but I have never heard yodelling quite that good. The LSH was shocked by how much she seemed to enjoy showing her pants, which 

reminded me of the frilly waterproof over-nappy knickers that my sister wore as a baby. Even the 

ensemble were stunning.

I should have found my smile but a couple of things were bothering me. I wasn’t quite sure what until the interval when the LSH said, “I’m not sure I like the way Mel Brooks thinks of women.”

Then in the second half the Monster drags Frankenstein’s girlfriend into a cave and rapes her with his extra large body part, which makes her sing about deep love and declare her undying love for him. It was both funny and disturbing, like the way we all laughed at Benny Hill before we knew any better. Why Elizabeth and the creature couldn’t have just fallen in love I can’t comprehend. 

When we got home there was a puddle of water on the floor. I apologised to the dog for being out so long but he looked at the puddle, growled, looked at the ceiling, growled a bit more and backed away. The ball thing on the heating tank had broken off and water was coming over the top of the tank and dripping through the floor. We have a gas contract so I rang them (after turning off the water and scooping out the extra water). An automated message said, “There are no operators available to take your call. This may be because our building has had to be evacuated or our systems are down.”

This seemed a bit overly dramatic and as I rushed around with buckets and towels I passed the mirror and noticed that if I had found my smile in London, I had definitely left it there. 

I need to go back again soon.