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A Tax rose is but a rose by any other name - Page 10 - Carers UK Forum

A Tax rose is but a rose by any other name

Socialise and chat about other areas of your life
687 posts
It's a classic Sajehar. Enjoy.
Sajehar wrote:No idea where Speyside is.
Where the whisky comes from, in the land of song and dance, where the lassies are bold and the men run scared.
I'm beginning to thing that's what SM is thinking of me!

The valentine’s ball was, rather bizarrely, held last night instead of tonight; it’s always held on the Saturday nearest the actual date, apparently. It really pisses me off when dates get changed like, like Remembrance Sunday. If something happened on the 11the Nov, then that’s when it should be commemorated, even if falls on a Thurs or whatever.
If people can’t put up with a bit of inconvenience, then they’re not really commemorating in my book. It’s only once a year, for god’s sake!
Give it time, and the Powers that Be will make Christmas Day fall on the nearest Saturday to that date, and faff around with Easter too…. To make it more “convenient.”

Back to dates of a different Nature. I’d been a bit depressed of late, and didn’t feel up to it. I was on the verge of cancelling when I read a post by Jenny Lucas (for details see Dementia section, under Nutrition & Dementia thread for details.) Thanks to Jenny’s wise words, I changed my mind.
So I did get to go to the ball with Prince Not So Charming after all.

I was ready and waiting at the appointed time. And what were his charming first words to me?

SM: Good grief, Woman! You look like a refugee bag lady from a warzone. What is the mangy looking thing on your head?

Me: It’s a scarf to keep my ears warm; it’s freezing out there. And I didn’t think my cap would be appropriate for a ball.

SM: So an army cap is inappropriate, but wearing an ancient army great coat is? Just how old is that thing anyway? The Berlin wall fell in 1989.

Me: Dunno; it was given to me when I lived in London… so at least 25 years, but probably more as it was second hand then.
Still, you’ve got to admit those East Germans knew how to make great great coats. It’s still got loads of wear left in it and it’s….

SM: For crying out loud… just wear your smart raincoat. And you’re not seriously going to a ball wearing motorbike boots and gloves.

Me: I lost my woolly mitts and, don’t worry, I’ll change into my high heels as soon as we get there.; I’m not risking hurting my ankles walking there in them. And if you think I’m wearing that flimsy raincoat in this brass monkey weather, you can think again. It’s a good 15 minutes’ walk away, and I’ll freeze to death in it.

SM: We’re going by car, to a ball, and the car is heated. We are NOT going off on an Artic trek.

I assumed we’d be walking there, so I happily divested myself of scarf, gloves and boots, and donned my high heels.

SM: You look even more ridiculous wearing that coat with stilettos than the boots.

Me: You have a point; I’ll change back to the biker’s boots.

SM: Nooo! That’s not what I meant. Just wear the raincoat instead… Please!

Me: But it’s warm and snuggly and I still have to get to car.

SM: It’s all of 15 yards away. And anyway, it’s miles too big for you. I bet you it’s probably too big for me. May I try it on to see?

Me: I bet you it isn’t.

SM: We’ll see.

I never got to find out because as soon as I’d unbuckled my bum bag (also doubling up as a belt) and took it off, he practically snatched it from me, and marched out the door. He only went and dumped it in his car boot. He’d tricked me… the toe rag!

I should explain at this point that the dress I’d chosen (I use the word chosen loosely, because it was the ONLY dress I had that was suitable for a ball) was a floor length job.
It fitted to perfection, except it was a bit too long. If I didn’t wear high heels with it, then I’d trip over the hem. So I’d hitched up the skirt bit as I didn’t want to risk breaking my neck when I was wearing it with the boots on… I’m big on Health & Safety, apart from ciggies.

Now I’d put a lot of effort into my appearance for that stupid ball; a lot for me, at any rate.
I’d had my hair trimmed by a pro and wot not, and was even wearing some make-up. The dress was a stunner; simple but eye catching. Put simply, I looked like a goddess (well, a goddesslet, anyway.) Did he even notice? Like heck he did. He was more interested in dumping my beloved great coat in his boot.
I felt like giving him the boot at that point.

By the time he got back from kidnapping my coat, I’d taken the hitch-up safety pins from my dress and unhitched it. I was waiting for him with folded arms and a glare that could fell a buffalo at 100 paces.

Me: I could have you arrested for theft, you oaf!

SM: That 1,000 mile stare won’t work on me, and I could have you arrested for crimes against womankind; I’m sure the police would agree with me. Why do you always insist on hiding your light under a bushel? You look wonderful, and that dress….well… to use your expressions, “It suits you, Marm.”

Me: It’s not bad is it? It’s a designer dress too, and it only cost £18 from a charity shop. As soon as I saw it I just HAD to have it, even though I couldn’t afford it.

SM: Last of the big spenders, hey. But I’m not surprised. If I were a woman I’d want it too.

Me: I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you try it on later if you like it that much…. Along with my army coat.

SM: That’s an offer I think I’ll pass up. Now are you going to wear the raincoat, and come to the ball or not. Your choice.

Me: What the hell. But if I get hypothermia I’m going to sue the arse of you.

SM: That’s a chance I’m prepared to take.

The car ride to this ball, not round the corner like I’d assumed but miles away, we were more in accord.

We got talking about Jeremy Hunt. Even SM thinks he’s a despicable, conniving, lying little weasel (his words not mine) and he should go.
Me: Oh good. Does that mean you signed that government petition link thing I sent you?

SM: Yes I did…. And before you ask, I also signed that 38 Degrees one too.

Me: Nice one…. What’s a 1,000 mile stare?

Something to do with snipers who go into this trance like state and they think the bullet becomes them, and they become the bullet. Once they start in pursuit of a target nothing will stop them. Such men, once recognised, are immediately discharged, usually honourably, but they’re lose cannons.

Me: Sounds a bit heavy. Are they a bit like Terminators…. From the film Terminator. I don’t know if you’ve seen this film but…

SM: Of course I’ve seen the film: I’m not that much of a buffer!

And then he got all serious.

SM: You would’ve made an excellent sniper. And make no bones about it; snipers are essential on the ground. People who can aim straight and true with no messing around are needed.
When snipers end up sniping for no reason other than sniping they become dangerous, and I think you are at that stage… it happens; it’s almost inevitable. They are stuck in fox folds; it’s the only way they can do their jobs….

Me: But I’ve never fired a gun in my life, let alone killed anybody.

SM: You don’t need to have a gun to be a sniper. So all I’m asking is that you be a real one, only when necessary, and PLEASE don’t get into any political arguments tonight. Please don’t harangue anybody…

Me: I’ll do my best.

Famous last words again.

I was doing really well, then this obnoxious little shit came up to me…. I shot him down in flames.

He came up to me asking for a dance, I refused. “I’d rather dance with Poll Pot; thank you very much.”

He turned to his friends; she thinks I’m Poll Pot.

Don’t flatter yourselves. He committed massacres on an open scale, you fuckers will do it closed…. Same difference at the end of the day. History will find you wanting.

Opps…. I broke my promise to SM. But then he kind off broke a promise to me… he couldn’t dance. He can. He can walse, but I can’t….

Oh dear!
Compromise my dear, abandon the 'plain brown paper' wrapping (warm though it might be) for a little more glam and in return he can let you campaign, (if discreetly sometimes).
The waltz is just like walking backwards, one foot after the other, with just this little side step in the middle. Not a 'Strictly' fan then?
Obviously SM appreciates what's under the wrapping, just doesn't quite like arriving with a bulky mystery package on his arm.
Bet you wore it on purpose, just to get a reaction?
The walse thing was funny.

Me: But you have two left feet.

SM: Not when it comes to the walse, the Army taught me.

Me: You’re kidding me!!!

Apparently, when it came to regimental dinners/dances if you couldn’t walse you were practically shot. He took lessons and learnt.

At last, I could get SM up on to the dance floor. There was just one problem. I’d been taught by my mother, and I’d only ever danced with her the walse.

I put my hand on his waist, and insisted he put his hand on my shoulder; he insisted it was the other way round. After some arguing about this (look at the other couples dancing) I agreed.

After a lot of faffing about arm positions we FINALLY went to dance. He tried to go one way me the other. We bashed into one another.

Me: This is not working; let’s sit this dance out.

I could see he was disappointed, so I came up with a solution. “Look, I can’t dance this dance except back to front. You can teach me it in your Living room, but that will take time. In the meantime, there are other women you can dance with, who know how to dance this dance, so dance with them.

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine, Sunshine.”

And I was too.

A little old lady came up to me, “I couldn’t help overhearing. Would you like to dance with me; I’d love to dance. My husband died.. and I don’t have a partner”

But nobody would dance with her; I’m not surprised as she was so frail looking. I was inclined to decline myself.
But I gave way to her insistence, and danced with her.

“I’d be honoured; let’s hit that dance floor.”

I’m glad I did; she was bloody sprightly.

We gave one hell of an interpretation to the Blue Danube!!!
AAh, the 'I'll be the man' syndrome. Yes, I was always 'the boy' when we were taught the basics at school. However my dad taught me better at the office Christmas party, although I still have to really concentrate as to which foot starts first and whether backward or forwards.
I taught dancing myself, when I was a teacher, but it was country dancing. I was 3 or 4 stone heavier than I am now (still not anywhere near slim) so imagine me gallumping round the school hall, attempting to introduce the delights of the 'Gay Gordons' to 30 odd 10 year olds who didn't want to associate with the opposite sex, never mind hold hands and dance for goodness sake. Good grief.
X Elaine
Elaine, I would’ve loved a teacher like you at my school. We did country dancing too at my junior school. I loved it; it was my fave lesson. They’re quite complex, and I could never get the hang of the twizzy bits. Still loved trying to do it though. I particularly liked a dance called the real.
It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one to make a prat of myself because I was taught as the boy. And it REALLY is difficult knowing where to put your feet… and that’s why I prefer free styling; you can do what you like!
If SM and me were of similar heights and weights, I strongly suspect we’d have sent one another flying as we clashed (literally) over the foot work, and that’s after we got the arm stuff sorted out. I’ll get there one day.

SheWolf, you’re right. I am angry. I’m angry that my mother died, and I could do nothing to stop it.
I was utterly powerless in the face of this thing once it was in full flow. I had to watch her face mottle, practically screaming, “Do something.”
Everybody stepped aside – but helped tremendously – and it’s that I’m having difficulty with.
From Elaine

"Bet you wore it on purpose, just to get a reaction?

From me, Yes I did actually... how did you know?
687 posts