Ted The Shed, Chapter 25 - Infamy, Infamy

Dad is an enthusiastic custodian of old sayings and catchphrases. Mr Mandy Sutter appreciates hearing these, and can usually add some of his own. Much as they both frustrate and foil my earnest attempts at more authentic communication, I am not entirely innocent and have even been known to come out with a few daft irrelevances of my own.

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Transcript

Hello there,

It's Mandy here.

Welcome back to Ted the Shed,

My memoir about my dad's allotment.

We've reached March 2018 now,

But before I go ahead,

Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable.

Settle down into your chair or your bed,

Relax your hands,

Drop your shoulders and loosen your jaw.

That's great.

So if you're nice and comfy,

Then I'll begin.

In for me,

In for me.

Now that the daffodils are coming out,

A joyous sight,

Dad keeps going off into a chorus of Ogden Nash.

Spring is sprung,

The grass is riz,

I wonder where the boidies is.

Any mention of the Arab spring triggers the same response.

He is an enthusiastic custodian of old sayings and catchphrases,

Inserting them into conversation with relish,

No matter how irrelevant.

Surely some mistake,

He says,

Rerunning the old private eye joke every time the TV subtitles slip up.

At the word infamous,

He channels Kenneth Williams in Carry On Cleo.

In for me,

In for me,

They've all got it in for me.

And if anyone mentions youth,

He always says in a cod New York accent,

At my age,

Everyone's young.

Then he laughs his head off as though it's the first time anyone's ever heard it.

This isn't an age thing completely.

As long ago as his forties,

He repeated the same jokes over and over.

When we lived in Kent,

And I was seven,

He used to walk me to the school bus stop every morning.

Our route lay along a busy road,

And the pavement was narrow.

He would keep me on the inside,

One hand holding tight to his,

The other clutching the two pence bus fare.

This is a very dangerous pavement,

He would say,

A very,

Very dangerous pavement.

He would say it again,

Then after a short pause,

Again.

The incessant repetition was meant to be funny,

Was funny,

Though even at seven,

I remember a dutiful feeling accompanying my laughter.

Perhaps even then,

I longed for a more meaningful connection with my dad.

Mr.

Mandy Sutter,

On the other hand,

Has no problem with dad's repetitions.

For one thing,

He is more generous spirited than I am,

And for another,

He has only known dad for 20 years rather than 60.

He laughs like a drain,

And says afterwards that it's great to see dad enjoying himself.

It's true that we need to make the most of dad's good moods,

He is having a lot of bad ones.

Declining health is multiplying his bugbears.

He particularly hates having to stay in for the district nurses,

Who come three times a week and are never able to give an exact time.

He finds some of the nurses tolerable,

But there are two he can't stand,

And he insults them to their face,

Calling one a mountain of flesh,

And informing the other that she has great big thumbs,

Which she digs into his leg on purpose while bandaging it.

He gets her so flustered that one day she trips over and steps right onto his bad foot.

He tells her never to darken his expletive-deleted door again,

An expression coined by Benjamin Franklin in 1729.

Dog MS has a little crocodile sticker on her file at the vets,

And I suspect that the district nurses folder will now bear something similar.

So I'm beginning to come round to Mr MS's way of thinking,

If dad's in a good enough mood to crack a terrible joke,

I should be grateful.

But then Mr MS would think that way,

Since he has a fat portfolio of stock phrases himself.

One of his chief jokes is answering yes please to a question that merely requires a yes,

Such as are you going into Leeds tomorrow?

Of questions that require a no,

He often says no no no no no.

Over the years I have put in some serious graft in the smiling and laughing department,

Just as I did and still do with dad.

It has often been through gritted teeth,

As I witnessed the failure of yet another of my earnest attempts to communicate.

Of course,

When one's nearest and dearest gives joke answers,

Something is being communicated.

But let's not dwell on that.

It isn't just a gender issue.

Mum too was sidetracked by questions of language,

Though it took a different turn with her.

As a heartbroken teenager,

I'd be confiding in her about a relationship breakup,

And she'd say,

Don't use words like dumped dear.

Where do you pick up these vulgar Americanisms?

I have to say I'm not entirely innocent myself.

Whenever a pig gets referred to,

Or when I see one in real life,

I have to squeal piggy at high volume.

When the three pigs appeared at our allotments a few years ago,

This became quite debilitating,

And even the uber-tolerant Mr MS counselled me to rein it in.

And,

Like mum,

I too often long to correct people's speech.

The other day a friend said something instead of something.

The effort of trying not to correct her brought me out in a muck sweat,

As dad would say,

And I totally lost the thread of the conversation.

I'm sure she was telling me something important.

And then she asked me a question.

Are you going to Leeds tomorrow?

Yes,

Please,

I replied.

Mid-spring arrives and dad's leg becomes too infected for the district nurse's liking.

They call the doctor,

Who is young and female,

And arrives wearing a summery dress and cardigan.

She examines the leg while dad sits in his armchair.

I can see him battling between old school suspicion at her youth,

Gender,

And lovely yellow flowery frock.

When she marks his leg with a black miracle marker and takes a photo of it,

Suspicion triumphs and he explodes.

Is this a joke?

No,

She says mildly,

Just a simple way to track the spread of your infection.

You know nothing,

He bellows.

How can you?

You're just a school kid.

I freeze,

But the doctor doesn't flinch,

Just very gently re-bandages his leg.

I'm so,

So sorry,

I say in dad's hallway.

He gets very worked up.

He feels powerless,

I think.

Totally understandable,

She says.

And how about you?

She touches my upper arm.

Are you coping okay?

I jump back as if I've been stung.

Is she trying to get me onto antidepressants?

I'm fine,

I say,

Far more curtly than I mean to.

As I show her out,

I thank her excessively to make up for it.

She must think we're a right pair.

When I return to the sitting room,

Dad's face is a mask of anguish.

I expect I'll lose the leg,

They'll have to amputate.

Oh,

Dad,

I say,

Squeezing his arm.

Have you been looking things up on the internet again?

I doubt it'll come to that.

I go to make him a cup of tea and give him time to calm down.

And calm down he does.

Don't worry about me,

He says gamely,

As I come back in with the tea.

My other leg is perfectly good.

I'm sure I can learn to manage with just the one.

When the doctor visits again a few days later,

The redness has travelled a good inch above the blood.

I'm sure it's just a black line.

You could do with some intravenous antibiotics,

Ted,

She says.

How would you feel about being admitted to hospital?

I can arrange an ambulance for this afternoon.

We need to get on top of this infection.

Ted,

He says,

Ted,

I'll thank you to call me by my full name.

It is a worrying development,

But my first and extremely trivial thought is that I'd better take back the early pickings of allotment lettuce I've just put into dad's fridge and we'll have it for tea tonight,

Perhaps with a nice quiche.

My second thought is that I have a work commitment this afternoon,

Which involves filming.

It isn't something I can miss.

I dither,

Then ring Mr MS,

Who is luckily free this afternoon and says he will sit with dad until the ambulance arrives.

Dad is disgusted by this plan.

Filming?

How can you go off to be filmed at a time like this?

I feel awful.

Look,

Dad,

The doctor thinks it's only a routine visit and I'll be back in three hours.

I'll come straight to the hospital.

I'll probably be dead by then,

He says.

I stare at him,

Then go out into the hall to ring Mr MS again,

Who can always be relied upon to pour oil on the He's just upset,

He says.

He'll be perfectly all right.

I'll come up now and have a word with him.

Mr MS is an absolute brick.

We change shifts and I say I'll ring him every half hour for updates.

In the event,

The ambulance takes three hours to arrive.

Filming,

Done and dusted,

I arrive at the hospital before either of them.

I ring Mr MS from hospital reception.

He has packed dad's overnight bag and found some news coverage of a recent earthquake on Skye,

Which has calmed dad down immensely.

He's much more resigned now,

Says Mr MS.

He's even saying he supposes things like this are only to be expected when you're 93 and three quarters.

The tears that have been waiting in the background all day spring to my eyes and I have to visit the ladies for a few muted sobs and a nose blow.

Then I dry my eyes and go to get a cup of tea before the cafe closes.

To be continued.

Reviews

You really know how to make the ordinary moments funny and entertaining! •I hope your filming went well and I hope your Dad’s infection cleared up quickly. 😆😀😁

For me I see so much at play, things falling apart and coming back together. Life happening in the moment and going back into memories to help understand the present. I laugh then I tear up and I think this is life and love and living. Such a beautiful story written out. Love the the part of holding hand with you being protected on the inside. Sometimes we just don’t have the words. Thank you for sharing your father.💝💐🌟🐕

I laughed out loud at your dad holding in his thoughts about the child doctor until he couldn’t hold it in any more. As much as I love this chapter, I also feel sad at your dads health decline and I’m anxious for the rest of the story. You tell it so well though, a lovely insight into love and life xx

Managed to fall asleep so quickly I’ll have to give it another listen to know what it was about! 🙏🏻😴💤

I Just Love these stories! The good, the bad and the ugly with Dad. I so appreciate you!❤️🙏🏼

Such a bevy (?) of dynamics! Another powerful (and growing concern) chapter with Mandy, Dad, Mr MS, a caring nurse and Dog MS. The salty talk and Crocodile stickers had me smiling! ❤️🙏