Enemies by David Holman-Hill Waters

 

ENEMIES

“I’ve been thinking…”

These three con-tem-plative words have become a frequent opening gambit of Mrs Waters in the Waters household’s marriage bed come a Saturday morning. Growingly of late, Mrs W. and Morpheus appear to no longer to be the most compatible of companions, and at both ends of the dusky watches... Mrs W. is to be found, forefinger intently jabbing at her phone and mind feverishly awhirl. A deeply unsettling business is this jabbing and whirling, as it inevitably produces an “I’ve been thinking…”.

These three words invariably bring with them the ominous portent of an imminent, and distinctly one sided conversation. But after twenty five years of such conversational openings, I no longer pull the quilt higher about my ears; long since having realised that protestations, even nonverbal ones, will benefit me not a jot in the outcome of these singular têtê-á-têtês.

Down the arches of the years, I’ve learned that these words, subtly followed by the rhetorical, “you’ve not got anything on today have you”, invariably mean

‘Mrs W. has decided our agenda for the day’, and requiring nothing more from me than a grumbling acceptance and acquiescence to whatever the “I’ve been thinking” think… requires.

Thus, it is that, come Saturday mornings, without the pressing shackles of Aqua aerobics, craft group, sewing group, morning coffees, lunches, drama society meetings or knitting circle, Mrs W. regularly proclaims… “I’ve been thinking…”.

On this particular Saturday morning, I, surfacing slowly from behind gummy eyelids, am filled with a sense of dread and foreboding.

“And what my love have you been thinking?” I offer warily, eyes slowly ungumming.

“Well, I was watching that program about ‘Swedish decluttering’ and was thinking about all those bundles and boxes of yours down stairs; old copies of Punch magazines, Films and Filming, studio promotional programs, stills from Dr Zhivago and Butch Cassidy, outdated copies of Design Weekly; oh, and do you know you’ve still got New Musical Expresses dated from 1966 to 1969?... There’s aged Ukulele sheet music, guitar books, The Beano and Dandy Centenary Editions… old school books, I mean, do you really still need Kennedy’s Latin Primer, ‘O’ Level Chaucer and The Theban Plays. We’re supposed to be decluttering. I just thought it might be helpful if we went through them this morning and got rid of anything we don’t really need. I’ve put them into piles, so it shouldn’t take long.”

Eyes now fully un-gummed and wide open in apoplectic horror. “What do you mean you’ve been through them and put them into piles, they’re a lifelong collection, they represent my past… they’re my blue blanket, like Wodehouse, Coren and Biggles.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do something with them, we can’t keep them all.”

Reluctantly, and slowly I work my way through these sad piles of dilapidating books, pamphlets, music scores, photos and assorted memorabilia.

“It’s no good sulking, we don’t have room for them all.”

“Yeah, I know… but what’s that jumbo pile of papers on the end?”

“Oh those? They’re your NMEs!”

  

And if you have been,

thanks for reading, and if it has amused you,

do please tell your friends.