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Authors: Sophie Duffy
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made good). It is a Family Show and I always
watch it with Wink on a Saturday evening. Usually Mother and Bob come over too and we have a fish and chip supper on our laps in Wink’s front room.
Wink’s front room stinks of bird pee but you soon get used to it. At first I wanted to be sick as soon as I got through the door. The only way I could eat my supper was to smother it in
vinegar and ketchup to help block up my senses.
‘It’s not Wink’s fault,’ Mother said, the first time, as Wink struggled off to the kitchen to make us a cup of tea. ‘She can’t get about like she used to.
Cleaning is tricky.’
We ducked, as Captain – to prove her point – swooped overhead and splatted the television screen, covering Frank Bough’s face with war paint.
Now, I can hardly smell Captain. I am too busy playing with him, trying to teach him new phrases such as ‘Nice to see you, to see you, nice.’ It isn’t easy. He prefers to stick
to his tried and tested ones like ‘Up The Gulls’ and ‘Keep your hair on.’
‘Give him time,’ says Wink. ‘He’s got to be in the mood.’
Now, coming over the road for a fish and chip supper and The Generation Game is part of our Saturday routine. I even start to look forward to it. I feel a warmth towards Wink that started
when she knitted the scarf for Lucas and grew when she sat in the church with her gammy leg in the aisle, tears sliding down her overly-rouged cheeks (perhaps Toni had been practising on her too).
She is one of those people that you can’t help liking despite the smell of her place. She is a survivor who has survived on her tough sweetness so that although she is widowed and disabled,
she manages to get by quite nicely thank you very much. Even Helena takes a shine to Wink. It is an unlikely friendship as Wink is neither stylish nor able to go shopping at any given opportunity
but she is kind to Helena in a way that possibly puts her in mind of her mother (though as a judge’s wife she probably wouldn’t have been too pleased with the comparison as Wink has a
criminal record for a breach of the peace that she will tell me about one day when I am old enough. I hope Wink lives to see me old enough as this disease of hers can be a Bugger).
You don’t really notice the differences in Wink because they happen so slowly. But if you were to think about it, you’d realise that Wink is doing less. That she’s started to
get Mother or Bob to put on the kettle or do bits of shopping.
Wink gets me to do jobs too.
‘Cover up Captain,’ she tells me one Saturday. ‘It’s nearly time for Bruce.’
So I reach up with the travel rug and smother Captain in darkness. We all know what will happen if I don’t. As soon as Bruce appears and strikes up Life is the Name of the Game ,
there are feathers everywhere and squawking like the cries of a newborn that can’t be ignored. Captain doesn’t share Wink’s love of Bruce. He is most probably jealous.
Tonight it is just Wink, Bob and me (and Captain, Bruce and Anthea). Helena has gone out with Auntie Sheila to the pictures to see The Poseidon Adventure after an early evening supper at
the (ironically named) Berni Inn. By the time Bob brings in the fish and chips all plated up, Anthea has already given us a twirl and the contestants are spinning plates to the audience’s
hilarity. Wink and I are in stitches as the plates come crashing to the ground. The programme whizzes by in its usual fashion and before long we are sitting with huge expectation for the finale of
the show.
‘I’d love to be one of them contestants, Philippa,’ Wink says. ‘What I wouldn’t give to be sat at that conveyor belt.’
And I have to agree. It is the height of sophistication – the music, the tension, the wonderful electrical goods that seem to come from an ideal home of the future. But while we shout out
the names of the objects we have committed to memory – ‘Fondue set! Vanity case! Picnic hamper!’ – I
watch it with Wink on a Saturday evening. Usually Mother and Bob come over too and we have a fish and chip supper on our laps in Wink’s front room.
Wink’s front room stinks of bird pee but you soon get used to it. At first I wanted to be sick as soon as I got through the door. The only way I could eat my supper was to smother it in
vinegar and ketchup to help block up my senses.
‘It’s not Wink’s fault,’ Mother said, the first time, as Wink struggled off to the kitchen to make us a cup of tea. ‘She can’t get about like she used to.
Cleaning is tricky.’
We ducked, as Captain – to prove her point – swooped overhead and splatted the television screen, covering Frank Bough’s face with war paint.
Now, I can hardly smell Captain. I am too busy playing with him, trying to teach him new phrases such as ‘Nice to see you, to see you, nice.’ It isn’t easy. He prefers to stick
to his tried and tested ones like ‘Up The Gulls’ and ‘Keep your hair on.’
‘Give him time,’ says Wink. ‘He’s got to be in the mood.’
Now, coming over the road for a fish and chip supper and The Generation Game is part of our Saturday routine. I even start to look forward to it. I feel a warmth towards Wink that started
when she knitted the scarf for Lucas and grew when she sat in the church with her gammy leg in the aisle, tears sliding down her overly-rouged cheeks (perhaps Toni had been practising on her too).
She is one of those people that you can’t help liking despite the smell of her place. She is a survivor who has survived on her tough sweetness so that although she is widowed and disabled,
she manages to get by quite nicely thank you very much. Even Helena takes a shine to Wink. It is an unlikely friendship as Wink is neither stylish nor able to go shopping at any given opportunity
but she is kind to Helena in a way that possibly puts her in mind of her mother (though as a judge’s wife she probably wouldn’t have been too pleased with the comparison as Wink has a
criminal record for a breach of the peace that she will tell me about one day when I am old enough. I hope Wink lives to see me old enough as this disease of hers can be a Bugger).
You don’t really notice the differences in Wink because they happen so slowly. But if you were to think about it, you’d realise that Wink is doing less. That she’s started to
get Mother or Bob to put on the kettle or do bits of shopping.
Wink gets me to do jobs too.
‘Cover up Captain,’ she tells me one Saturday. ‘It’s nearly time for Bruce.’
So I reach up with the travel rug and smother Captain in darkness. We all know what will happen if I don’t. As soon as Bruce appears and strikes up Life is the Name of the Game ,
there are feathers everywhere and squawking like the cries of a newborn that can’t be ignored. Captain doesn’t share Wink’s love of Bruce. He is most probably jealous.
Tonight it is just Wink, Bob and me (and Captain, Bruce and Anthea). Helena has gone out with Auntie Sheila to the pictures to see The Poseidon Adventure after an early evening supper at
the (ironically named) Berni Inn. By the time Bob brings in the fish and chips all plated up, Anthea has already given us a twirl and the contestants are spinning plates to the audience’s
hilarity. Wink and I are in stitches as the plates come crashing to the ground. The programme whizzes by in its usual fashion and before long we are sitting with huge expectation for the finale of
the show.
‘I’d love to be one of them contestants, Philippa,’ Wink says. ‘What I wouldn’t give to be sat at that conveyor belt.’
And I have to agree. It is the height of sophistication – the music, the tension, the wonderful electrical goods that seem to come from an ideal home of the future. But while we shout out
the names of the objects we have committed to memory – ‘Fondue set! Vanity case! Picnic hamper!’ – I
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