Home thoughts not needed abroad as rain falls and stew goes missing
THE foundation of a good marriage, a successful partnership, any joint enterprise, is being able to tell the truth. ‘Medders, how are you?’ But being able to tell the truth is not quite the same thing as actually telling the truth in every particular instance. ‘And I assume The Pooch is okay.’
There are occasions when the truth is not something that one of the parties to the marriage/partnership/enterprise actually wants to hear.
‘You must be having a right time without us.’ Circumstances arise where the truth may be shared on a needto-know basis rather than blurted out willy-nilly in response to casual enquiry.
‘And I am sure you have watered the pots.’
In this case, the circumstances are that Medders is rattling around The Manor on his own while Hermione has scooted off to warmer climes. She has taken young Persephone with her to Islas las Puentes, so the dog is now my sole companion – and we make a sorry pair back at base.
God be with the days when foreign travel, or travel to Donegal for that matter, meant a domestic news blackout. Now, thanks to the EU’s free roaming telecommunications policy, the nearest and dearest are in regular contact. From her sun lounger by the pool, glass of Aperol in hand, Hermione calls for a casual chit-chat.
It is great, of course, to learn how the travellers are blowing the family fortune on meals out, shopping expeditions and massage therapies. It is lovely, it goes without saying, to hear tell of dolphins cavorting in the bay and touching to be given the wish-you-werehere line as the vacationer enthuses about Mediterranean sunsets and Iberian cuisine.
But does the adored one really need in return to be given chapter and verse on what is happening in the land she left behind? Maybe not. Let’s review how the exchanges pan out.
She says: ‘I am sure you have watered the pots.’
He says: ‘Of course.’
The truth: No, I have not watered the pots. It never crossed my mind to water the pots. Nor has it occurred to me to put out bins, to play her regular lottery numbers or to stock up on special-offer breakfast cereal. The great advantage of the daily call from abroad is that Hermione can give me a gentle reminder of my responsibilities.
Before the call has ended the pots have actually been watered. Within minutes, I am heading out the door with the bins and on my way to buy the lottery tickets. She does not need to know this. She says: ‘You must be having a right time without us.’
He says: ‘Of course.’
The truth: The house seems awfully big, awfully echo-y, awfully cold without the womenfolk. I had intended going to the pub the other evening to watch the big match on telly. But torrential rain persuaded me to stay at home instead. The standard of football was dire. The commentary was inane. And my team lost. Yet this has been the high point of life back in Our Town since I was left alone in charge. She does not need to know this.
She says: ‘I assume The Pooch is okay.’
He says: ‘Of course.’
The truth: I have no idea how but the wretched animal managed to scoff all the chicken casserole. That is the chicken casserole which the loved one made especially with her own fair hands to keep me going while she was in distant parts. How such a small creature could scoff in one sitting a quantity of food intended to nourish an adult human for a week is a phenomenon. It seemed at first that the phrase about the smug cat that got the cream could just as well be applied to the dog that got the casserole. Then he started vomiting. She does not need to know this.
She asks: ‘Medders, how are you?’
He says: ‘I am fine, of course.’
The truth: I am fed up being rained on; fed up being cold; fed up with cleaning up dog puke. I am fed up being hungry too but I hear that the supermarket has special offers on breakfast cereals so I will survive. She really does not need to know any of this.