“Risin’ at the crack of dawn
And I gotta think about what wisecracks
I’m going to drop along the way (today)
Phone ringin’ off the shelf
I guess somebody had something they
Really wanted to prove to us (today)
Yeah, I’m waking on a pretty day
Floating in place, no need sayin nothin’
To explain it to my loved ones
Today “
Kurt Samuel Vile
On a … I , shamefully was going to write ‘normal Saturday’ , then I thought of ‘regular Saturday’, and stopped. No two Saturdays are ever the same. I love Saturdays. I have always loved Saturdays. Saturday morning television was so fantastic that we would wake early and sit through an hour or more of the Open University on BBC 2 until The Flashing Blade started at 9.am on BBC One. The Flashing Blade was, to us, an incredible French drama , filmed in French and incredibly comically dubbed into English by the Beeb who changed it from four 75 minute episodes into a twelve 25 minute series that they also thought was suitable for children. It was based on the bloody siege of Casale in a proxy war between the French and Spanish in 1631, with involvement from Sweden for some bizarre Protestant/Catholic reason. People died horribly , ate rats , and fell off horses. We loved it ! Then we had the Multi-Coloured Swap Shop until noon.
Saturday morning television was a habit I stuck with until it’s demise in 2003 , after even Ant & Dec outgrew the genre. I still get giggles and goosebumps when I stumble across the Banana Splits theme song.
Latterly my Saturdays have involved getting up, having a proper cup of tea and toast with Tuna before heading out to Rossmore to set up our Parkrun with Dominic. Sometimes Ray and I then run , mostly we don’t, before spending an hour or so chatting over coffee in the CoffeeDoc, calling to Mum and Dad’s for more chats, cake and tea, then home for lunch. Sometimes I make a half hearted attempt at gardening which boils down to mowing my lawn and our neighbour’s while listening to podcasts and throwing sticks for Molly. Then I prepare our evening meal, always steak, for my Soulmate and whichever of the chisellers and their partners are home. Candles are lit, wine is poured…and we only leave the table much later to go to bed.
No two are the same. There are just varying levels of wonderfulness.
Last Saturday I woke late. I was treating myself to a lie in, as we’d been in Dublin late the previous night collecting Jake and Robyn at the airport. As it was after midnight when we got home Robyn insisted or opening her birthday cards. Mine was inspired by the old Joy Division album cover, and when she opened it she exclaimed ‘No way !’ and took out Ian Curtis autobiography which she’d started reading the day before.
I got up at 11 and went downstairs for a proper cup of tea and a chat with Jake. Jake had finished a week of teacher training in a new school and was enthusiastically regaling me with his adventures. He mentioned that his friend Shaun was calling out to take him out for a walk in Rossmore, so I started putting brunch together. When all of the kids are at home no meal is straightforward. Honest to God meat eaters, kind hearted Coeliacs , and well intentioned Vegans all have to be catered for. Three types of sausages were deployed, gluten free turkey sausages, and delicious honey and mustard pork ones. Asparagus and mushrooms , warm bread rolls and a few fried eggs for the non-Vegans were all prepared.
Shaun duly arrived with Layla, a very excited spaniel. Before they got to the front door I shouted out the window “No Hippies”, then I ran to close the sitting room door where Tuna was sleeping on her armchair. Elliott and Robyn appeared the way they always do , less than a minute before food arrives on the table. Shaun told us all about his adventures studying an ology in Amsterdam, Jake told more stories of teaching, Robyn detailed the social scene in Edinburgh, the Fringe and a naked impressionist, Elliott went through how painful his graduation was, Layla ate all of the bacon, and my Soulmate and I smiled from ear to ear and drank it all in.
Jake, Shaun, and Layla left to go for their walk while I got started on preparations for tea later. Everyone else showered and changed and then watched a chunk of Lawrence of Arabia. I told Robyn that this old movie somewhat explained the current troubles in the Middle East.
“That’s a bit harsh.” Robyn stated.
“No it’s not.”
“Peter O’Toole’s ham acting is responsible for the current crisis in the Middle East ?”
“No, the portrayal of the British Imperialists promising everything to the Arabs and then betraying them , just like the Ottomans…and O’Toole got an Oscar for this !”
“They gave Gwyneth Paltrow an Oscar for Shakespeare in Love !”
Before we came to blows Jake arrived back.
We headed over to visit Mum and Dad.
Robyn and Mum share the same birthday, so there were cakes, other cousins, Aunties and Uncles all visiting, and much rejoicing. The weather was nice , so we all got to sit outside and watch Elliott give piggy backs to Conor, Caitriona, and Hannah until he collapsed in exhaustion. I took Conor’s football and showed him what his Dad, our John, used to do anytime his Uncle Stephen got a new football, by throwing it repeatedly onto the roof , trying to get it stuck behind the chimney. I succeeded on my 5th throw. I celebrated …alone.
Back at home I prepped dinner and we lit all of the candles.
Jake had organised “Happy Gravitation Day Elliott !” tee shirts for us all to wear and I very subtly asked Elliott to pour the Champagne, while we sneaked out and put them on. He pretended to be surprised, but was still happy with us.
And then…
Well.
We started dinner at 6.30pm and sat there chatting about trivial things and things that had never been said before. Laughs and tears were invoked, evoked and mopped up.
It was EPIC !
Around midnight my Soulmate and Jake sai d they were tired and were heading to bed. As it was her birthday Robyn insisted that Elliott and I sit up with her and watch Weapons. I do not like horror movies. I do not like them at all. Robyn thinks that this is funny, which is why she always asks on her birthday that I watch one.
I fell asleep on the couch.
This is the best way to watch horror movies.
At several times during last Saturday I said out loud Shaun, Layla, my kids, my Soulmate , my folks and ayone in my vicinity “If this ain’t nice, I don’t know what is.”
And then as they look confused and back away slowly from me as I explain that I heard Kurt Vonnegut talk about his Uncle…
“But I had a good uncle, my late Uncle Alex. He was my father’s kid brother, a childless graduate of Harvard who was an honest life-insurance salesman in Indianapolis. He was well- read and wise. And his principal complaint about other human beings was that they so seldom noticed it when they were happy. So when we were drinking lemonade under an apple tree in the summer, say, and talking lazily about this and that, almost buzzing like honeybees, Uncle Alex would suddenly interrupt the agreeable blather to exclaim, “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”
So I do the same now, and so do my kids and grandkids. And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, “if this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”
I am already looking forward to next Saturday…
Stay funky you crazy kids !
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. This is Wakin’ On A Pretty Day , by Kurt Vile, like you, it is sublime.
P.P.S And this is for FUN !
P.P.S Next week’s blog will be late, as I will be finishing up a week of Camino-ing , there is no cause for alarm…
