Bruce

I was on the train next to a woman and her daughter, both with perfect skin and a glow of youth. The mum tapped her  i-phone with perfectly manicured hands topped with extra long mauve acrylics. She straightened the cord on her earphones. The little girl was cute: dressed in a grey hooded tracksuit with a subtle black Mickey Mouse print and a thick Aran roll neck jumper over the top. Her hair was styled to match the print on her leggings and she fiddled with the handle of her pink child-sized wheeled suitcase, that I suspected went everywhere with her.
"Can I have something?" the little girl pleaded, turning her big brown eyes briefly towards me for support. Her mum gave her a box of juice, tapped her phone with a clicky nail and chatted to a voice we couldn't hear, laughing happily about when she thought they'd be home.

The little girl finished her juice just as her mum's mood changed and she said, sadly, "He died?"
The little girl pulled one earpiece from her mother's ear and tried to listen. Her mum took it from and continued the conversation but didn't put it back in her ear.
"Oh no. He died? When?"
The little girl picked up the earpiece and twisted the cord around her finger.
"He was quite old, wasn't her?"
The little girl move the ear bud closer to her, looked at me and chuckled, making me complicit in her naughtiness. Her mum continued, unaware.
"We haven't seen him about much lately. I liked him."
The little girl put the earpiece to her mouth and whispered, 'Hello Daddy.'
Mum gave no indication that Daddy had heard.
"Yeah he was tall. "
I felt sad. I wondered what their neighbour had been like.
"I liked the way his little white moustache twitched when he smiled at you. He always said,'nice to see you.'"

I sent a text to my daughter asking if Bruce Forsyth had died (she's quicker and more reliable than google). He had.

The mum finished her conversation and turned her attention back to the little girl and her suitcase handle.

I've been looking at all the tributes today and think that overheard conversation is one of the best.  We invited Bruce Forsyth into our homes for more than seventy years.  We grew up with him.  He was like a familiar and much loved neighbour.

Should have gone to SpecSavers

I've just come back from picking up some glasses for my daughter from SpecSavers

. It's not an opticians I would choose for myself, as I am a surprisingly private person. Space is tight in this particular shop and you know that the person next to you, virtually on your lap, is taking notes of your prescription and all your personal details. 

Whilst I don't want anyone listening to me, I can highly recommend the experience of eavesdropping on other consultations if you are terminally nosey, like me. 

Next to me were a little girl and her mum having eye tests. The girl was six and probably far too wiggly to have to sit on her mum's lap but lack of chairs and space made it necessary. 

"I'm sorry, she's not in the computer."

"Of course I'm not in the computer, I'm on Mummy's lap."

Mummy shifted uncomfortably and hissed, "Yes, you are. Now, be good and be still."

"I can't find you either. I'll have to re-enter you as new patients, if that's OK."

Mummy shrugged. What else could she do?

"I'm Matilda," the girl said helpfully.

"Thank you and how do you spell that?"

The girl rolled her eyes at her mum and spelt her name out phonetically. "Everyone asks that."

"You're right everyone asks that. I don't know why."

"I don't either it's a really easy name to spell not like my friend Hermione."

The optician shuffled, brushed her hair over her ear and adjusted her collar. "There are just so many ways of spelling names now."

Then it was Mum's turn but Matilda wasn't ready to be ignored again. The optician asked about Mum's title.

"It's Mrs."

"No, darling it's Miss isn't it because I'm not married to Daddy am I?"

"Yet."

Mum's eyes widened at her daughter's certainty. 

"Well, no. I don't think so. I'm not going to marry Daddy."  Pulling a face at the thought she continued, "No, I can think of much nicer people to marry than Daddy."

"Oh, I quite like Daddy. Are you sure you're not going to marry him?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Can I marry him then?"

If only Mummy had gone to SpecSavers seven years ago then Matilda could have been saved from her Oedipal desire.