My Wight Little Isle by Peter Broadbent

Author:Peter Broadbent
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Isle of Wight, Cowes, Cowes Week, Solent, Hampshire, Isle of Wight Festival, humour, romcom
ISBN: 9781909183483
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2014
Published: 2014-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

7. July: Are you a regular visitor to the mainland, sir?

Angela is about her chores. I’m going through my e-mails and the BBC is broadcasting something nice and soothing. All is tranquil until Angela suddenly stops her sweeping of the balcony. ‘And what in heaven’s name do you call this, Mr Stubbles?’

‘With you in a minute,’ I reply as I continue to read an entertaining email from Judith sent late yesterday evening.

I saunter through to the balcony.

‘This?’ Angela stands square on to my new hanging basket. With her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, she is holding the manufacturer’s label firmly between thumb and forefinger.

‘Problem?’ I ask.

‘Where did you get these… this from?’ she asks without looking directly at me.

‘B&Q.’

‘Pardon?’

‘B&Q. Big do-it-yourself superstore in Newport.

‘Yes, I know what B&Q is… you didn’t get these from there.’

‘When was the last time you went to B&Q?’

‘Ages ago. Simon does B&Q shopping.’

‘Well… they have a new and imaginative line in the gardening section these days.’

‘They’ve been used… and washed to death. The label’s faded.’

‘Distressed.’

‘Jeremy, I’m a woman. I can spot a well-used item of womanly apparel.’ She coughs.

‘Really?’

‘Whatever gave you the idea of using them as…?’

‘A hanging basket?’

‘Exactly,’ she says flicking the label.

‘I saw a picture in a magazine.’

‘I suppose they’re Judith’s?’

‘Could be.’

‘There is nothing ‘could be’ about it, Jeremy. There’s not many Island ladies that can do these justice.’

‘Agreed.’

‘What does she think about it,’ she asks, waving a hand, ‘having plants growing out of her… out of her cups?’

‘Ex cups,’ I smile… because it sounds like egg cups.

Angela attempts to poke me in the stomach with her broom and misses. ‘What does Judith think about it, then?’

‘Hasn’t seen it yet.’

‘Jeremy, you’ve turned an intimate article of your girlfriend’s underwear into a… a thingumie basket… and not asked her permission?’

Angela takes a deep breath and with both hands on her hips does her FA Cup impression. ‘If I were you I’d re-think the whole hanging basket thing before she comes round again.’

‘You don’t think it’s slightly quirky and ever so slightly amusing then?’ I ask.

‘I’ll tell you something, Jeremy,’ she taps her foot. ‘If my Simon planted something in one of my… er thingumies and then hung it outside our bedroom window for everybody to see… I would not be happy.’

‘The birds are quite taken with it.’

Angela pokes one of the cups with the handle of her broom. ‘And they’re faded.’

‘They’ve been around a while.’ I explain. ‘Judith and I know them affectionately as the ‘grotty pink jobbie’.

‘Do you really?’ Angela sniffs.

Nobby flies up, perches himself on the rim of a cup and extracts something.

‘I think it’s quirky,’ I say. ‘Judith’ll see the funny side of it.’

I wait until Angela departs before furtively giving both cups a squeeze. A sudden zephyr of warm Island air comes in from the Medina and catches the ‘jobbie’ making it swing gently… and I know… I just know that I’ve done the right thing.

I return to my office completely reassured.

Angela continues cleaning in silence.

Dad

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