Hair and Now (and Then)

Posted on April 28, 2008 by Hails

I arrive at Max and Joy’s house for tea.

Mini-Joy comes running to greet me, but stops suddenly and just stares intently at me. “Hello, Mini-Joy!” I say cheerily, crouching down. “What have you been doing today?”

She continues to gaze at me. “What,” she says finally, sounding more disturbed than I’ve ever heard a small child sound before, “is going on with your hair?”

Well, really. It was bad enough when it was just adults, but The Hair has clearly reached such unprecedented levels of horror that it’s traumatising youngsters. I attempt to explain the whole Hair situation to Mini-Joy, who interrupts me mid-rant. “Are you wearing a hairband?” she asks in disbelief. I refuse to justify myself to a 4-year-old.

We retreat to the living room to colour in instead. I am very good at colouring in, and I begin to relax, forgetting about The Hair as I concentrate on staying inside the lines. “Hayley,” says Mini-Joy thoughtfully, pausing to change crayons, “you have got to get rid of the hairband. It is really very very not good.”

It’s a surreal experience, being in the company of children. As Max and Joy are putting Mini-Joy to bed (apparently a two-person job), I am left cuddled up on the sofa with Mini-Max. He is enjoying his bottle, I am enjoying my newest most favourite discovery in the whole wide world: Nick Junior‘s Classic Kids TV slot. Rainbow! Rod, Jane and Freddy! Up above the streets and houses! Thomas the Tank Engine! The Fat Controller! Ringo Starr doing deadpan commentaries! The Wombles! Underground, overground! Uncle Bulgaria! Paddington Bear! Bagpuss! Camberwick Green!

I don’t think I’ve ever before placed so many exclamations in sequence, on this blog! And I can’t stop! Such is my enthusiasm for the delights I am experiencing tonight, as memory after memory from my childhood flashes before my eyes thanks to the magic of cable. I cling tightly to the sleepy baby in my arms, who is my excuse for the fact that I am watching these shows, despite the fact that he is too small to even hold his own head up. I feel this is irrelevant, as he is bound to be experiencing the benefits of at least hearing Rod, Jane and Freddy singing about butterflies, bats etc. It will help him, somewhere in his developing subconscious.

After all, this is what I grew up with. And look how I turned out.

Filed under: classics, conversations, friends, fun, happy, kids, memories, simplicity, TV | 5 Comments »

Broken People

Posted on April 21, 2008 by Hails

“Your Granda was in an awful state the other night,” says Mum. “He came in looking all upset, holding his favourite DVD and saying Ye know them wee disks? Somebody told me that if ye get a scratch on them, they’re broke, is that true? If I scratch it, is it broke? I think it’s broke. I tripped and dropped it, and got a scratch on it, and now it’s broke.“

“Give the TV a dunt,” Dad instructs me. I look inquisitively at him, smack the side of the TV, and the sound comes back on.

“Anyway,” continues Mum, “I told him that the best way to find out if they’re broken is generally to put them in the DVD player and press play. He wanted to know how he’d be able to tell. Well, I said, if it’s not broken, it’ll play. If it is broken, it probably won’t.”

The TV falls silent again and I look uncertainly at Dad for a moment before leaning over and gently patting the screen. The sound comes back on.

“So, was it broken?” I ask Mum. She shrugs. “I don’t know. He just carried it around gently for a while, looking heartbroken.” She adjusts herself in her bizarre-looking sideways position on her favourite reclining chair, and there is a loud clunk.

“Err, Mum?” asks The Sister. “Why are you sideways?”

“The guy didn’t come to fix my chair,” says Mum unhappily. “I can’t sit properly on it or the back falls off.”

Thump! goes the TV as I give it a now instinctive sound-prompting nudge.

Dad sighs. “Everything’s broken,” he says gloomily, and rather unnecessarily.

Filed under: advice, confusion, conversations, family, life, TV, woe | Leave a Comment »

Next door is only a few channels away…

Posted on February 8, 2008 by Hails

Strewth, crikey and would you spiggin’ have it – the BBC has axed Neighbours.

I haven’t watched it for several years, mainly owing to the fact that it reaches Stiltonesque realms of cheesiness. The Beeb’s decision, therefore, fails to touch my life (and anyway, Five have bought over the rights, so you’ll still be able to watch it, if you must… it’ll just be fuzzier). There was a time, though, when Neighbours was the thing to watch. I have fond memories of post-Neighbours phone calls with my schoolfriends, sometimes to discuss the ‘plot’, but more often to obsess in that pre-teen way over one’s particular choice of Aussie dreamboat.

Mine was Dan Falzon. AKA Rick Alessi, he sent my 12-year-old heart into meltdown.

dan.jpg

I’ll never forget the day he replied to my starstruck fan letter. I carried that signed photo around in my schoolbag for weeks, bringing it out to swoon over with my envious friends in double maths, saying things like “…and he actually wrote my name!!”

Then there was Henry.  I was still of primary school age when Craig McLaughlin was sneaking around Ramsey Street wearing only a fern from Harold’s garden. I can’t remember how or why that happened, but it seems to be permanently etched upon my memory, for better or for worse. I think my mum actually had a crush on him and pretended the crush was mine. Somewhere along the line, I believed the lie, and have a distinct recollection of sticking a magazine clipping of Henry And The Fern on my bedroom door. Mum probably cut it out for me, come to think of it.

Neighbours was always a bonding thing for me, with my mother and sister. We’d watch it as we had lunch together in the summer holidays, crying at the weddings, laughing at the funny bits, talking about the characters as if we knew them personally. Dad hated the show, of course. He’d roll his eyes or make a derisory remark if it was mentioned; the rest of us would feel quite superior because we knew how much enjoyment was to be had in an afternoon with the Neighbours. It made it quite special – like our own little secret club.

Nowadays, I’m inclined to agree with Dad.

But Dan Falzon… I’d forgotten about Dan Falzon…

Filed under: crush, family, memories, Neighbours, school, TV | 2 Comments »

Trust No One

Posted on January 10, 2008 by Hails

McBouncy and He Who Brings The Coffee are discussing thon fella Hugh and his Chicken Run.

“I’m never buying cheap chicken again!” declares McBouncy, who is appalled at the cruel and filthy living conditions experienced by such poultry. “I was going to go into the Spar for a chicken today, but then I realised that they don’t do free range. And if I go to the butcher’s how do I know that I’m really getting free range? So now I have to go to the supermarket.”

He Who Brings The Coffee is unperturbed. “If that’s the way you feel about it, you’re going to have to change absolutely everything about your eating habits,” he remarks casually. “Nothing’s good for you any more, and everything’s been altered and doctored and tweaked to make it more cost-efficient and completely unnatural.”

“Well… not everything,” says McBouncy dubiously.

“Oh, yes,” replies HWBTC, getting warmed up, “it’s not about healthy animals nowadays. Get them reared and get them killed with as little expense as possible. Take milk, for example.”

Zed and I glance up from the job pages of the Ballymena Guardian with mild interest.

“Those cows out there in the fields,” explains HWBTC, “they’re not even real cows!”

The Guardian is pushed to the side and HWBTC has our undivided attention, a situation that pleases him greatly. We demand that he elaborates on this Fake Cow Theory. “Well, they’ve all been interfered with,” he says conspiratorially. Seeing our shocked expressions, he hastily adds, “I mean – you know, doctored… altered… changed from a natural cow into a sort of – of – super milk machine.”

“So what you’re saying,” I say carefully, “is that we are now dealing with a species of genetically modified cows?”

“Exactly,” says HWBTC, nodding. “Like vegetables, only the next level. And vegetables are another thing,” he adds to McBouncy, “you should really consider getting your own vegetable patch.”

McBouncy looks exhausted already. “It all sounds like an awful lot of hard work,” she says dejectedly, in a sad little voice. “And I couldn’t look after a vegetable garden. Besides, what would I use to fertilise it? Manure’s no use if there aren’t even any real cows any more.”

Another topical lunchtime discussion in the workplace.

Filed under: animal cruelty, boss, chickens, conversations, decisions, food, friends, genetically modified cows, humour, science, TV | 2 Comments »

Baby Talk

Posted on January 4, 2008 by Hails

Sister and I watched a documentary of sorts the other night. My Fake Baby, it was called. It was about dolls, but really, really lifelike ones. You can get them custom-made to your specifications. It’s weird. Like ordering a designer baby. The people who buy them actually push them around in prams and cuddle them and stuff!

One couple, who were completely barking mad  a little eccentric, decided they weren’t ready to make the necessary commitment towards having a child, but as they were quite broody they made do with these “Re-borns” instead. The woman went all the way to New York to collect her latest one (Sophie), and sat in the hotel room awaiting the courier in the manner of a dad-to-be waiting outside the delivery room. It was ridiculous. “People might think I’m strange when they see me,” she said at one point, “they say it’s weird just because I’m a grown woman pushing a doll around in a pram. But I don’t see why they should say that.”

Err, because of that reason right there, love. You’re a grown woman, pushing a doll around in a pram. You just said it.

One other lady kept coming on screen in tears, talking sadly about her little grandson, Harry. She told us how much she missed him and would give anything to have him back, showed us pictures, told us how one spot in the garden always reminds her of him, explained how it almost felt like he was her own because she used to look after him so much. As this information was gradually revealed to us throughout the programme, Sister and I began to feel compassion for the poor dear. “See, I can understand that, I suppose,” said Sister, referring to her reasons for wanting a custom-made “Harry” doll. I nodded in agreement. “Yeah… it’s a bit creepy, but if it helps her with her grief…” By the end of the show, we were very sympathetic towards her heartbreak, and couldn’t help but feel amazed and slightly deceived when she slipped in the sentence “My daughter and her husband decided to emigrate, and they took my Harry with them.”

Good grief.

She then went online to show Real Harry the Fake Harry via her webcam.

“Look, Harry,” she simpered, “look at my new Baby Harry. I’ve got a new Baby Harry.”

“Poor Harry!” cried Sister and I, fearing for the wee lad’s self-esteem and feelings. “Please tell him it’s just a doll,” added Sister, quite cross by this point.

“Is it a doll?” asked Real Harry, peering hard at his screen.

“No,” simpered Totally Deranged Woman, “It’s a real baby! It’s my new Baby Harry!”

Real Harry stared intently in silence for a moment. Sister and I shook our heads in disgust, feeling sad for the little guy. He then won our utmost respect by sitting back with a laugh.

“Don’t be silly, Grandma!” he grinned in amusement, “It’s a doll, you numpty!”

“Don’t call Grandma a numpty!” exclaimed Totally Deranged Woman, aghast.

“Ha ha ha!” Sister and I chorused in delight.

Honestly. The world is fast becoming one big farce. Something will have to be done before we all start taking pooper-scoopers along when we walk our toy dogs in the park.

Filed under: babies, confusion, dolls, mental health, sheer silliness, TV, weird | 4 Comments »

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