The Bedside Crow

Justine's Families south east review: November 2009

WE HAVE FINALLY moved house. Having been one of the East Dulwich pioneers from the days when the only lively thing about Northcross Road was the school (long since converted into bijou dwellingettes), and Lordship Lane boasted a Co-op, four butchers, its own dole office, a wild west saloon bar, brothel and public gibbet (okay so I exaggerated about the butchers, there were only three), we have relocated to a leafier suburb where you can actually park outside your own house. True, we are now also ring-fenced by road works which means that the only way the kids get to school on time is by hot air balloon (which drongo was it that decided that every hill in South London should be dug up simultaneously? Ah, that'll be a collective noun of drongos). Meanwhile, not unlike the bargain tins with no labels scenario, we are up to our necks in boxes without a clue as to what each one contains - could be crockery, could be cat food.

Continue reading.

We completed on the sale of our house yesterday morning.

As a consequence a lot of money went into our bank account (don't worry, most of it will shortly go out of it again).

A quarter of an hour later I went to the bank to pay in Monday's takings.

Mr Main, have you considered an ISA? I was asked, the minute the banking was completed, by the smiling cashier.

I hesitated to answer, reflecting that it was the first time in thirteen years that I had been asked this question, and then out of sympathy with the woman who had been handed the bum task of asking it, and even though I had every good reason too, I resisted the temptation to tell Lloyds Tsb to go fuck itself.

[A customer emailed me yesterday to ask if this was a genuine offer. It is, and there will be more.]

Another potter's wheel interlude.

Man, stick, fire. from Jonathan Main on Vimeo.

We are still on holiday.

Look at her, the man says, watching his dog dive into the river and begin to swim enthusiastically.

She looks like Ophelia as painted by Millais, he says proudly, before adding, except that she's not on her back and she's not dead.

And she's a dog, adds Fred.

Not, Justine says later, a conversation you would ever expect to have in Lowestoft. But we are not in Lowestoft.

Anyway, here's a film of our daughter dancing in the rain to the sound of pork chops frying in butter and sage.

Willa dancing in the rain. from Jonathan Main on Vimeo.

Memo to self: Watch this one again in November

Am I having some chicken? from Jonathan Main on Vimeo.

Abroad is funny.

 

Hey Dad! I bought you a present. Eldest spent the weekend in Berlin.

Blackbird

Blackbird from Jonathan Main on Vimeo.

Dad, you are *so* OCD when you make sandwiches for us.

Said first-born this morning as I prepared her lunch.

No, it's not that, I told her, I just don't want four years at Art school to go completely to waste.

 

It's a bloody great life if you don't, etc, etc

So, eldest was last seen disappearing into the far distance bent double with the size of her rucksack full of nail varnish, hair-dryer and high-heeled flip-flops for a weekend of camping with The Duke of Edinburgh. Middle child is spending the day filming an 'educational video' and has been pacing the kitchen with a haughtiness normally associated with Julia Roberts. Meanwhile Fred has raised himself from his sickbed for a football match and if he can't 'skill-up' the opposition he might just throw up on them instead. Let's hope it doesn't go to extra time. Justine is teaching swimming before magically becoming Mrs Crow at the Market, and me, I can hear the call of 17 boxes of unpacked books.

Laters.