The Coming of Age. January Part 3.

16th January.
At dinner Val confesses to an undying passion for Guy Prodger, her dentist.
‘He has wild eyes’ she says, ‘and looks like Niles in Frasier’
She also has an undying passion for Niles, but unlike Guy Prodger, he is a continent and an ocean away and is, allegedly, gay anyway.
‘What about Eddie Izzard?’ says Poppy. ‘I thought you were in love with him.’
‘I adore Eddie Izzard’ sighs Val .
I have never heard of Eddie Izzard and ask who he is and what he does. It turns out that he is a transvestite comedian who may be a woman in a man’s body, or a man in a woman’s body but dressed as a man, sometimes, and an actor. He doesn’t seem an ideal love object for Val, but then neither is Niles. Even Guy Prodger the wild eyed dentist is probably married and anyway thirty years younger than her. I wonder if he likes older women, says Val. What is it about women and dentists I wonder.
‘I suppose it is because you have to lie back and gaze into their eyes’, says Poppy.
‘No, actually you gaze into their nostrils’ I say.
‘That’s the answer then’, says Poppy, ‘It’s like horse taming. Perhaps Val could secretly breathe into his nostrils when he isn’t looking.’ The difficulty that Val would have with a drill in her mouth carrying out this procedure seems to elude Poppy.
An old school friend of mind has just married a dentist. Perhaps I should introduce her to Val so that Val can find out about Being Married to a Dentist. In academic circles Being Married to a Dentist is rather akin to being winched off a mountain top by a helicopter, not something you would choose except in a dire emergency. Not that we are in academic circles any more but we both were once. There are dentists in novels. I could do a PhD on The Dentist in Literature. I’ve always fancied being called Doctor instead of Missis or Muzz. Anyway, Guy Prodger is obviously out of the question and I resolve that something must be done for Val this year.
17th January.
I ring Val, determined to put my resolution into immediate effect. I will arrange a singles dinner party. She is quite enthusiastic about this idea so we start drawing up a guest list. There’ll be us of course and then some men. We go through the list of unattached men that we know. Crispin Smith, a bad-tempered poet with halitosis; Bert Hutchinson, who is six foot six and always wears a Peruvian hat and carries a stick.
‘I am not very keen on him’, I say, ‘He hit me on the ankle with his stick one day when I was trying to decide between smoked or unsmoked streaky bacon in Tesco. He thought I was in his way. I was doing a new recipe and I couldn’t remember whether it said smoked or unsmoked bacon. It turned out to be haddock anyway.’
We rack our brains for other unattached men. There is Piers Linnell an academic with long hair and a penchant for brightly coloured trousers. Sweet widower Jack Staples who doesn’t know what day it is and recently celebrated his 89th birthday. Gerald somebody or other who is only 4ft 11. Francis Jamieson, a twice divorced alcoholic.
‘My son Alex’s best mate Jools is still single,’ I say. ‘He’s looking for love.’
Val is not impressed.
Then we remember her next door neighbour, but he’s just ‘come out’ much to the embarrassment of his three grown up sons. We can’t think of anyone else except the man who stands in the library all day talking to himself and the very fat man who pushes his belongings round the town in an old Safeway trolley. We abandon the idea of having a singles party and decide to meet for lunch instead.

24th January. It is Sunday: I read my horoscope and the Lonely Hearts columns. With my sun in Virgo and the planet Mars moving into a stunning aspect with the planet Jupiter exciting events are about to be triggered. So that’s all right then. With the Lonely Hearts there is a lot of reading between the lines to be done. I spend hours wondering about the real meaning of ‘Refined male’ or ‘Enterprising male’ or ‘New Malden Male’. All the men are about 36, tall and good looking; the women are in their fifties. How would a 60 year old like myself fare in this company? Any man over 50 wants a thirty year old. The only man who seems at all possible this week in regard to age, that is over 50 - even then it is too young and he wouldn’t remember the blitz - describes himself as trendy. What can this mean? When I was younger trendy meant a man who wore a medallion and his shirt open to his waist. I wonder what it means today. I think a love of gardening and a fondness for wearing vests probably means I am not trendy. I think of asking my children but then realise I can’t as I might inadvertently reveal I was scrutinising Lonely hearts columns. They would worry about me and go into overdrive. I would have to spend every weekend with them and their children and my only escape would be to go and visit my mother.
That reminds me that I have to ring my mother. I know exactly how the conversation will go. She will tell me about her aches and pains at length, interspersed with stories about where she went with her new ‘toyboy’ as her carers have named him. He takes her out to lunch, wheelchair and all in his four-wheel drive and rings her every day. He is the same age as me. She isn’t.
When I do manage to crank myself up to ring her, she is not happy. He hasn’t telephoned her for several days and she thinks he may have gone off her.
‘Have you telephoned him?’, I ask.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly do that.’ she replies.
‘He might be ill,’ I say.
‘Oh no, I think I’ve upset him’.
‘How?’
Well I said I was going out to lunch with Pat from the Arthritis Care society and he was very short.’
‘You can’t have two boy friends at once you know. It isn’t done. Even at your age.’
‘Pat’s not a boy, she’s an old lady like me. Oh,’ she says, light dawning. ‘Perhaps he thought it was that other Pat. He’s a man. I never thought of that.’
‘Give him a ring I say, and sort it all out.’ She can’t wait to get me off the line.
I haven’t met toyboy. All I know is he is very large and has emphysema and she met him at the Disabled Group.

25th January. My cousin Maureen rings up. She is worried about mother and the toyboy.
‘What do you think he’s after?’ We sman unkindly.
‘Perhaps’ says my cousin, ‘He’s after her money?’
I decide to make another visit to Norfolk as soon as the weather improves.