21/10/2020

21/10/2020

Another rainy day: the weekend seems now far away.  Impromptu modeling for a handsome content producer against an autumnal tree (never happened to me in my forties) much to the amusement of my husband also in his forties but still dashing and still 29.

Back home we had a glass of wine with Indian takeaway, still feeling amused. Today is hair colouring day after the school run- I choose amber this time and black cherry (hoping all my greys will be news of yesterday). I listen to psychedelic Turkish rock of my youth. The husky voice of an Audry Hepburnesque singer brings a few tears back in my eyes. God I am homesick now. How I finally hit the pre-midlife? My children have only ever been back to motherland once when they were so very tiny. When will it be the next time? My previous attempts to teach them my mother tongue fell into deaf ears for my son only regards himself nothing more than English! Others have different ideas of my offspring, I am sure of it. Especially my daughter! For a kindly looking grandma (of my daughter's classmate) at the school run shoots  a scornful look at my outfit this morning- scarlet dress, long and flowy and a French beret. Another friend (of a blond extraction) who wears a similar outfit gets a smile from the same grandma at the school run. This I let pass; take a deep breath for I am in no mood to confront a frail looking grandma at the school run.

This brings back of a memory; an encounter with a mother of a friend; I took them for a coffee once and she didn’t stop talking about a Pakistani porter who once was kindly to her at the airport some years earlier. How kind the foreigners can be! Yes, indeed how kind, I had muttered under my breath smiling a wry smile. My friend had looked crimson.

Back to school run, earlier I would witness the lovely deputy head counseling who I assume to be the grandparents of a child. I try to imagine what kind of difficulties he must be going through? Perhaps a child of a key worker? For many of my son’s friends’  parents are also children of key workers. Those who perhaps didn’t have the luxury of homeschooling or indeed the focus for it during the lockdown! I must not grumble, I resolve! The casual racism of a frail looking grandma is nothing to grumble about in times of plague! If she does it one more time however, I shan’t hesitate to rally back for I am not known to hold my tongue!

* This text is now edited, reading back I realised I made a number of typing errors.