Intermission

Intermission.

A few words about Ash, as she is the raison d’etre for this blog, so it’s time she was introduced.

I met Ash back in the land that time forgot (otherwise known as rural Ireland in the 1980’s). We were both in our early teens and our respective families, possibly fed up with having a hormonal horror skulking around the house like a small black cloud, despatched us to a remote riding stables for a residential riding ‘holiday’. It was run, rather surprisingly for the time and place, by a lady of West Indian origin. My dad, a racist of the old school, nearly choked on the spot when he saw her. In fact it might go some way to explaining the heart attack he suffered that night! Ash was already in residence and I was sharing a room with her. We bonded immediately, as much out of a need for self preservation as anything else. If the place existed nowadays it would be instantly shut down on the grounds of health and safety (there was none) and child protection (ditto). Dinner, when/if it happened was often baked beans on toast. Sometimes it was just toast. The sanitation facilities were to be found in the feed room and in the course of a month I didn’t manage a single bath or shower as the hot water was always used up by the proprietors children. I settled for washing bits as and when they became available and having an occasional swim in a mountain lake. We found a dead mouse in the bath once. It remained there for a week. At some point a pair of ‘gurriers’ arrived, sent by social services from Dublin. Ash and I were left in charge of them, and the three young (and deeply obnoxious) children of the house, while the proprietor and her Neanderthal husband went to the pub. There was a commotion in the sitting room and we rushed in to find one of the gurriers brandishing a loaded shotgun, which the Neanderthal had tucked safely behind the door. I don’t quite know how we managed it, but we wrested the gun from him and spent a short but satisfying time teaching him the error of his ways. When the adults returned we were paid in crisps and lager for babysitting….

We finally departed the establishment some time later, at the wrong end of said shotgun. The Neanderthal had decided to run us out of town for being rude to his eldest daughter. I can’t say it was a wrench. We hitched to the nearest big town and somehow got on the train for Dublin. I remember falling asleep on the bags while we waited at the station. I’m not sure we actually had tickets.

At some point I was given access to a pair of ponies and Ash used to come and visit. One memorable morning we started out very early and went for a hack. There are very few bridleways in Ireland, so we had to make do with the grass verge. Having exhausted the possibilities of this verge, we came across a tidy bungalow with an immaculate lawn…. And a low picket fence. The temptation was too much. We dared each other and Ash went first. As she executed a perfect landing in the middle of the lawn the front door opened and a lady in a quilted dressing gown and curlers emerged to pick up her milk. I didn’t hear what she said as the pair of us made like Shergar (gone!) down the road at speed.

A few years after, Ash came on holiday with me. I really wanted to go to my uncle’s, but wasn’t crazy about spending a couple of weeks in the exclusive company of a couple of stout soaked old gits (my dad and my uncle). Ash to the rescue! (after I had bellowed down the phone to my (deaf) uncle that Ash was a girl, honest. No immorality at all there!).

I was just learning to drive, so as soon as we were out of range of my mother (in her very precious car) my dad pulled over, put me in the driving seat and instructed me upon which pubs to stop at en route. Of course I had neither license nor insurance.

We made it, although the clutch suffered horribly and gave up the ghost shortly after we arrived. My dad refused to believe the problem lay with the car rather than my driving, which resulted in Ash and I pushing the car several miles up the road to my uncle’s. Once it had been repaired my dad and uncle sallied forth to celebrate. Ash and I were left in the house to amuse ourselves and prepare dinner. This we did, although the bacon was a rather strange colour as I had boiled it in the same pot which I had used to dye a dress… The men failed to materialise and eventually we got a phone call. Could I come and get them? They were too pissed to drive… This must have been very pissed indeed as normally inebriation was no impediment to driving at all.

I left Ash in charge of the dogs and the bacon and went to the rescue. As I approached the car I thought it looked a bit odd. This was because it had a flat tyre. Very flat indeed. When I found the terrible twosome in the depths of the bar, they refused to believe me (what could a girl possibly know about flat tyres???) and ordered another pint on the strength of it. When I finally extracted them, a scene straight from Laurel and Hardy ensued. They argued about how it had happened and whose fault it was. Then they argued about where to place the jack (in the most dangerous possible place, so the whole car constantly see sawed). Then they argued about why the nuts refused to budge (because they hadn’t removed the rubber caps first). Eventually I went and fetched the landlord as the pair persisted in ignoring me and waving wheel wrenches at each other. Ash awaited us at the front gate, and watched in awe and horror as my dad got out to direct me (waving his arms, shouting and leaping about like a demented leprechaun), the dogs escaped and kept running across my path in pursuit of the crazy man and my uncle, who for some reason had his fiddle with him, told me what a grand job I was doing and emphasised his point by walloping me repeatedly about the head with the fiddle case. The result was that I demolished the wing on the gatepost and parked up on the septic tank in the middle of the garden. The chaps seemed unperturbed and repaired inside for an aperitif. Ash did her best to soothe my frayed nerves (oh sweet Jesus my mother is going to kill me!!!) and we both watched in bemusement as the chaps re enacted their favourite scene from the Muppet Show, getting the (equally bemused) dog to play the piano.

Shortly after this Ash became a biker. I don’t know if there was any connection.

When I say biker, I do NOT mean the sort of bird who has perfect nails and rides pillion behind her testosterone laden slab of meat. Ash had her own bike and would never, ever ride pillion (although she was happy to take passengers, especially if that meant that she could give them the kind of ride that meant they had to change their pants after… and not in a good way!). My daughter was always begging for a spin, so one day Ash gave in and took her round the block… She’s never forgotten it….

I have had several memorable (I’m sure the white line is supposed to be on my right….?) excursions, but I’d better not elaborate….

While I was at college, Ash got into the habit of turning up at random having hitched down from Dublin (this was a period when she was between bikes). Occasionally she would bring an entourage. Being in possession of the kind of face and figure that could lead to misunderstandings, she was in the habit of doing her manicure whilst in a car… using a large hunting knife… She once performed for the Bishop of Cork…. Not that I’m suggesting he did anything to provoke her, it’s just that she took the view that prevention is better than cure.

I left her babysitting one day and came back to discover that my daughter would now only go to sleep if we played the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ at full volume…

I introduced her to Vindaloo (just the once)

She introduced me to schwarma (infinitely preferable).

She organised my 40^th birthday bash… I don’t remember it… That’s how good it was!

I abandoned her in a tattoo parlour in Birmingham, which resulted in her first tat..

We always forget each other’s birthdays (the 40^th was an exception, I’d just sailed in on a tallship…)

These days life is a little more sedate for both of us (well, mostly).