Walk dreamily hand in hand from the candy store to the chapel on the hill

‘HAND in hand from the candy store to…’ Crikey! What the hell was he singing to himself ? What would the lads in the Ramones Appreciation Society think if they heard him? Thank heavens, here in the privacy of his own abode, there was actually no chance that the lads could hear. He gave himself a good ticking off and resumed sweeping the kitchen floor, telling himself sternly that such a lapse in taste must not be repeated.

Sweeping the kitchen floor was a task that, pre-Covid, he used to perform perhaps once a year – and then only when handed the brush and given explicit orders. But somehow, with lockdown time on his hands, it was becoming part of the daily routine.

The Pooch looked up briefly as his master glided past, then resumed his morning nap before the Aga. Out in the hall the Manor’s old grandfather clock proclaimed the hour with mellow bongs. A flock of starlings could be heard disputing the pecking rights over a fat-ball hanging on the trellis outside the kitchen window.

Normally a keen ornithologist, Medders was too absorbed to spare any attention for their antics and their chatter. He was honing his technique, concentrating on development of his own sweeping style. Best results, he reckoned, were achieved with a light grip.

A rigid clench of the handle had proven much less effective than a gentle grasp. And he favoured a soft bristle too, on this point he was fully convinced. A light hold and a soft bristle, that was the ticket. Now he needed to fine tune his tempo.

A stabbing motion was all but useless. Though such staccato efforts went well with ‘I Fought the Law’ delivered at full volume, the nett effect was a mist of airborne dust. A smoother approach with caressing long strokes was required – as the actress no doubt said to the bishop. Smoother, yes. Caressing, yes. Longer, yes. ‘…from the candy store to the chapel …’

Omigod, he was at it again.

‘Oh, Medders, don’t stop. That was lovely.’ Hermione had come in, a shimmering mirage of gorgeousness in house-coat and slippers.

‘Lovely? Did you not recognise it, dreamboat? That was atrocious sixties slush as rendered by Dickie Rock.’

‘I prefer your version.’

‘But darling, my version, as you call it, is a denial of all that I have ever stood for in pop music.’

‘Don’t be so pompous. Here, I’ ll join in.’ She struck up in trembling soprano: ‘dream some day they will…’

‘No! Please desist. Long live Blondie! Long live Chuck Berry!’ He put down the brush in order to clamp his hands over his ears.

‘I think you’ ll find that Chuck is dead, God rest him…from the candy store to the chapel on the hill.’

She stood in his way as her husband attempted to stalk out of the kitchen and she looked him straight in the eye.

‘Medders, we all have our guilty pleasures, you know.’

‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about. And I implore you, on no account are you to mention this sorry episode to the lads. I really cannot think what came over me.’

‘Your little secret is safe with me. Here, I’ ll let you in on something even more scandalous. Sometimes, just sometimes, I have chocolate for breakfast and then I turn on the central heating for the entire morning. That’s when you are not around, obviously’ ‘Gosh!’

‘There’s really nothing wrong with loving The Carpenters.’ ‘How did you know, plumcake?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with thinking Ronan Collins is the best deejay on the radio either or that Gloria’s ‘One Day at a Time’ is the best hit single of all time.’

She picked up the discarded sweeping brush, but not to resume domestic duties. In her hands the brush was magically transformed into Fred Astaire opposite her Ginger Rogers.

‘Here. You must remember this one.’ She began to croon: ‘I’m nobody’s child. I’m nobody’s child. Just like a flower.’

Medders was irresistibly drawn to tap Fred on the shoulder and take over as leading man.

‘It’s not ‘One Day at a Time’ though.’ He was insistent as they soft shoed past the dresser. ‘It has to be ‘Old Flames’, Foster and Allen.’