Blog 8 - Sunday 7th January - Check Mate

The world continues to be grim grey and the bird song is eerie, like an echoing guitar twang.

At this point in the goings-on of the world, there is a war, a recession, a new strain of Covid, and great floods in the north of New Zealand. The news on everyone’s lips, however, is that Prince Harry lost his virginity behind a bar and killed 23 Afghanis.

A friend tweets, "Love you Prince Harry but you need to shut up!"

Another tweet says that Harry is exhibiting in such cringe-inducing style the precise opposite of what his grandmother exemplified: dignity, restraint, and an ability not to parade her emotions.

I do so want to be like the Queen and Mum, not Harry. I want to show dignity as I navigate the constant fallout from my divorce and fight for a fair division of the spoils, whilst Moo Hefner unfairly distributes lollies amongst his children. As I try to teach the grandchildren to spell and push them on swings, there is dissension in the ranks of my own children as Moo Hefner plays a maniacal game called "egotists and lovers." Egotists attack with power and money, and lovers defend with compassion and love. The bizarre twist of this game is that only egotists can win—and when they do, everyone loses.

My son Charley learnt this game from the succubus he was married to, who vies with Moo Hefner for supreme mastery in this devilish contest. Moo Hefner, of course, has more players to control, and the encouragement of unhealthy competition amongst our children, based on injustice ,ensures the wily old boy retains his superiority.

Charley, bless him, is teaching me the rules. "Mum," he cautions, "it is all a game to these demons; the only way to win is not to play."

"More lovely and more temperate than a summer’s day", Mum comes in with my tea and toast. She has just heard from her grandson Josh in London, and as she is telling me about him, she astonishingly breaks into song.

"Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?I’ve been to London to visit the Queen."

She claps her hands delightedly, saying, "It just came to me because I was imagining Josh in London…"

We then talk about Frankie and how she might be moving up to Auckland. Mum says she doesn’t know how she will cope as a single mother.

"Darling, I used to spend hours embroidering little dresses for Maryse that Simone would later wear. I could never have done that if I had been a single mother."

"And me?" I whisper. "Did I wear those little embroidered dresses?"

Mum shrugs. "Yes, I suppose you did."

I wrote a poem once about being the middle child; it went like this:

“The eldest stole my mother’s heart

in maternal love’s first bloom

so when I came to meet my mum

there was another in the room

the youngest stole my crumbs of love

my time as darling baby

pushing me from sunlit days

to live in places shady

but in the shadows I am free

to live my life unseen

so maybe it’s a blessing

being a middle human being.”

Gigi rings to tell me if I do up my house I will need a lift.

Then it’s Maryse’s turn to cheer me up. She informs me that my inability to sit beside chip-munching movie-goers is due to a condition called misokinesia. I add this to my list of trials and tribulations.

Nanc arrives to take me for a walk to stop my bones from crumbling. She is on a budget and makes a big show of not buying a dress in a shop, which I see her wearing a week later.

Later in the afternoon, Charley and Gus and Bella arrive with sandwiches, saying the circle of life is that they move into my house and I move into Mum’s. Bella is so happy to see me and immediately lies on her back with her legs in the air in a charade that interprets as I am paying homage to you, my Queen."

I tell them I have been writing.

"You didn’t write when you were with us."

"I didn’t find inspiration from you."

Charley says he is now carb-free and has always fancied himself as a muse.

"Mum," he explains, "a muse is someone who inspires another to create."

Charley’s teeth are now so white they flash like a lighthouse beacon every time he smiles at his own jokes. Gus says his teeth are only so perfect because he had braces.

Charley says I’m jelly of his teeth because I can’t whiten mine, as I have a bridge—which may or may not be true, I’m not sure. A dentist once told me teeth should be the same colour as the whites of your eyes.

Mum , the boys and I agree that it is very disappointing that the only Hollywood movies coming out this year will have special effects and not be about real people and events. Charley says this is okay, as Kindle has inspired him to read and he has now read Spare and the autobiography of Matthew Perry.

The two boys are off fishing tomorrow, and I start to give them sandwich advice, and Charley very firmly says, "We know how to make sandwiches, Mum."

They leave, and Bella rushes after them, her Queen quite forgotten in the shamelessly mercurial nature of dogs and small children.

Mum and I watch a programme about a small town called Waiau, which has made money by showing people the landscape after an earthquake. Mum approves of simple and clear programmes like this, but they are becoming rare. Then, just as we are watching a nice, genuine, hardworking Kiwi mother show some Americans a fissure on her farm, an advertisement pops up with a psychedelic pink animated futuristic robot striding down a supermarket aisle while various psychedelic telecommunication and digital services wink at him.

Mum is suddenly confused, and I see the world through her eyes, and I sympathise with her alienation, as I too feel the world I once knew is drifting away from me, as it becomes harder and harder to relate to it with my tools which are becoming increasingly obsolete.

We turn off the TV and talk about her university days — the olden days.

"I adored my studies," she says, "but French was boring. I got 99% and I was the star of all the French plays, and everyone thought I was wonderful, and I did too. My mother was in Paris with Metzinger and I was flatting with my father, who called me Inky Dink. He was always so pleased to see me. It was as if he had been sitting there in his chair just waiting for me to come and see him. This is all children want: the attention of their parents. By the time I had my BA I had a child too — and no complaints."

Mum eats a Roses Crunchie and I eat a peppermint one, and we share the last one — a Dairy Milk.

We watch The Queen’s Gambit, and Beth refuses to accept a Christian Society scholarship because she has to say Russia is bad, because the spread of communism means the spread of atheism.

I admire Beth enormously, and I know that she would identify an egotistical King and would rally her troops behind her and say, "Hey mate... check!"

Check Mate

Waiting for Inky Dink