Tired today. I don’t know but the news that Boris had been moved into intensive care, last night, shook me more than I realised. Amazing how important leaders are when it comes to a crisis and, not only do we take them for granted, but, for some reason, we seem to think they are infallible. The realisation that they are human and susceptible, metaphorically, makes one slip on the rug! I hate to think what will happen when the Queen, already 94 years-old, departs for sunnier climes – hate the word ‘die’! Personally, I’m dreading the loss of Prince Philip …
Tossing and turning in a bid for a few hours’ respite, I couldn’t get that intensive care unit out of my mind, while I dreaded waking to the morning news. Thankfully, it wasn’t bad – the news – and, hopefully, it remains positive. Meanwhile, I had to prize my eyelashes apart and untangle myself from my increasingly wild hair! Unable to give you any more details, at this point, as I have become adept at avoiding mirrors. It is, actually, quite liberating. No make-up, either. Not a jot! (Well, moisturiser, obviously, but that doesn’t count as make-up.) Absolutely no point and a waste of money, to boot. It does, however, lead me – somewhat precariously – onto another point: namely, the rudeness of passersby. Perhaps it is connected to my unruly hair and lack of make-up? No. Not allowing that excuse. Is it just people today, then? Is it fear of catching the coronavirus? I know I jest but it is amazing how many people look positively fearful when they see another person walking down the same road! Look, Fifers are known for being unfriendly. Incomers are not welcome. Never have been. Never will be and that was true when we moved to Cupar, from Glasgow, in 1964! Were we ever accepted? Difficult to say, really. I think we became renowned – the mad psychiatrist, his family and other animals – and those who knew us realised they had nothing to fear but we always remained incomers.
Returning after decades in Edinburgh, the genuine Fifers – with few exceptions – are still very unfriendly. That first night, last July, when Becca and I wandered up to the local tavern, we, unwittingly, made a hell of an entrance! Packed with locals, the whole place went silent as each of them, turned to stare. Does anybody remember a film, from way back when, called An American Werewolf in London? I have just looked it up and it came out in 1981 … Help! Anyway, suffice to say there is a scene, early on, in which two American backpackers walk into a pub – middle of nowhere – one stormy night and same thing happens to them: everyone stops talking and just stares. It is quite unnerving, I have to say. Anyone would think we had morphed into little green men from the planet Somewhere else other than here! Suppose we had – well, not men, God forbid, but you know what I mean.
Yes, I concede, I am just drivelling on, here, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to find topics of interest – or humour. I am conscious, though, that I have not been updating my other pages – on hold, for now, as my daily posts absorb all my rants. Thus, instead of including this on my Seriously?! page, it is easier just to blether on, here. Rudeness? Lack of manners? On our four-mile walk, the other night, a family appeared from one corner of the field and crossed straight in front of us. Both Becca and myself were poised to say ‘Hello’ but they, quite deliberately, looked straight ahead and ignored us! As Becca commented, isn’t it far more difficult not to say ‘Hello’ and acknowledge the person right in front of you? I mean, one can feel the eyes of someone looking to greet. Seemingly, not here. Ignore at all costs. We are strangers, for God’s sake, and not worthy!
Similarly, at the beach yesterday evening, I was particularly aware of two young girls jogging right past me as I waited for them so that I could cross the road from the beach to my car. Same thing. They struggled to keep looking straight ahead as my eyes followed them. Inexcusable, in my book! It takes nothing to say ‘Hello’; to greet a stranger politely. What is the worst thing that could happen? He or she smiles and returns the greeting? I despair of people today. The lack of manners is unforgiveable reflecting what really amounts to hostility. The determination to be unfriendly. Why? Sadly, there is little hope of redress. Manners are taught by one’s parents and at school – or, they were. Gone are the days.
Cheery? Funny? Something to lift the mood? Hugh Grant! We caught the end of Notting Hill, last night, and, without question, happily watched it for the millionth time. Is that a word? Probably. Anything goes nowadays – subject for tomorrow. Over twenty years old, it is just one of those films of which one never tires – and one can’t help smiling at the script one knows by heart. The characters are like old friends and Hugh Grant will, forever, be gorgeous! Now, he has the laughing eyes I was talking about yesterday? You know, like the guy in the Abba documentary? As rare as diamonds in the sand. There’s a reason I go to the beach every night! Such a lovely film and one of my favourites. Interestingly, though, I have never heard Hugh mention Julia Roberts. Many of his other co-stars but never her. He absolutely loved Sandra Bullock – Two Weeks’ Notice (hilarious!) – and, obviously got on well with Renée Zellweger but my feeling is – not so sure about Julia Roberts. Just a feeling, although, I’m sure there was another male actor who considered her difficult. Regardless, she is a superb actress and anything she is in is guaranteed to be worthwhile.
Right. That’s nearly one thousand words of drivel! I must off to the beach and – for those of you up-to-date – endeavour to buy tonic! Neat gin is pushing it and, thus, I must overcome my fear of Tesco! Tomorrow, I think my topic shall be words … so much to look forward to!
‘I’ve got four houses in my street. I live in two and the others are empty. I’ll buy more, as they come up, because I think it would be great to have the entire street!’ Hugh Grant, Hugh Grant!
Sarcasm. Oh, how I love it and its many guises …
This is Trish, signing off.
