The country car
Roger and Matilda are frequently deployed by their daughters as free childcare, which accounts for much of the detritus in their Nissan. One grey school sock, its partner long gone to the Planet of Odd Socks; assorted sports kit, empty packets of M&Ms, a Where’s Wally? book, a swimsuit, bits of Jenga, and the dog lies on a T-shirt that says “Spread Hummus Not Hate”, belonging to granddaughter Olivia, a militant vegetarian.
Roger’s dashboard is the mobile office desk of the
retired: receipts, car parking billets-doux, an extinct coffee cup, sweets and a sandwich he is consuming when stuck behind furious cyclists on country lanes. A BLT, the tomato bit of which has got stuck down the side of the gear stick. Percy the Irish terrier has his eye on that sandwich. Meanwhile, he is filling the car with dog breath.
Matilda regrets the car being in competition for Messiest Car of the Year (winner: B Johnson, foregone conclusion) but has become oblivious because there are more important things to worry about. Like whether the traffic in Chipping Sinning will make them late for Posy’s speech day. The picnic is in the boot, safely away from the dog and wedged between wellingtons, a tool box, three folding chairs and a bag of fertiliser.
When they lived in London, Roger’s company car was immaculate, licked clean inside and out. Matilda realises standards have slipped since they came to the country, but it is so much more restful. The kitchen, her domain, at Honeysuckle Cottage is spit-spot. “Mud and mess stops at the front door” she says. Quite a lot creeps in by the back door because that is the one everyone uses in Woldshire (except the vicar, who cunningly slips a card through the front letter box saying he’s called and speeds off before he’s detected).
Sometimes Roger and Matilda think they spend more time in the car than in the cottage. Unlike Fulham, where Bailey & Sage was in walking distance, it is a two-mile drive to the village shop to get a pint of milk. Hard to find time to tidy when one is in perpetual motion.
The dog lies on a T-shirt that says ‘Spread Hummus Not Hate’
Victoria Mather
There’ll Always Be an England by Victoria Mather and Sue Macartney-Snape (Constable, £12.99). Facebook/Instagram: @social_stereotypes