Diary of a Provincial Lesbian Read Online Free PDF Page A

going in there. I’m not talking really young, more your age. Attainable lesbians. So I thought, give it a try Miriam. Nothing ventured etcetera. What do you think?’
    I agreed.
    Got home late because Miriam insisted on showing me all the clothes she’d bought. Very nice. Saw several articles that I would have bought myself. Tom came in and said, ‘This is not a glorified dress shop and I hope that lots been fumigated.’
    That evening wished Georgie was at home to discuss: my meanness of spirit, Miriam’s desperation.
     
     
    Sat Feb 7th
     
    Nic dropped Thompson and Morgan seed catalogue through our letterbox while I was out at the Post Office photographic booth taking my picture for a new passport. Had spent ten pounds fifty on three attempts. First attempt so pale that I looked as if my face was made of ectoplasm and it was peering out from the 'other side’, second attempt and I’m leaning forward, mouth open in the middle of exclamation of ‘Oh blow it’ as flash goes off in my face. Third try, which had to be final as I had no money left, I look like an embittered woman who after leaving booth intends to walk into the sea with a hundredweight of stones in her pockets.
    Attached to seed catalogue was a purple post-it note saying, ‘Margaret. Maybe we can reconnoitre in the next few days?’
    (Nic’s partner Simone has no interest in gardening except for her annual demand for ‘Colour! Anything but green. We’re surrounded by green and I hate it! I’m a hot pink woman!’)
    Look up ‘reconnoitre’. As I thought - t o survey or inspect an enemy’s position.
    Nic and I have surveyed the enemy’s position for the past three years, which means the gardens in our neighbourhood. Nic’s ambition is for her garden to win the golden trowel in the Bittlesea Bay Best in Bloom Competition. It is automatically assumed that I will be happy with a Certificate of Distinction. So far Nic’s won the bronze trowel and an Order of Merit for her patio planters.
    However this year I have different ideas. I don’t want to enter the competition or spend the summer watering, weeding and worrying. With the help of Deirdre’s woman gardener I’m going to turn my hillside garden into a wildflower meadow.
    Georgie coming in from an overnight stay at a Travel Inn in Hemel Hempstead sees Nic’s note and catalogue on the kitchen table and says, ‘It’s great the way she always includes you. Any chance of a coffee?’
    Fill kettle mulling over the fact that my loved one’s inability to make herself a cup of coffee is becoming an issue. Wish there was a pleasant way to respond, ‘You know where the kettle is.’
    Georgie takes her coffee and a Mars bar up to her office. I take out secret pad of graph paper and secret paperback on how to create your own meadow. Also various colour pencils. Begin sketching.
     
     
    Feb 9 th
    Travel up on the train to London to visit Laura who is in hospital for a minor operation. Twenty years ago Laura and I worked for Marks and Spencer. She was in charge of ‘men’s socks’, I was 'leisure wear’. It was a happy time only ever spoilt when our conversation was interrupted by customers or a supervisor.
    Some days earlier when I’d told Deirdre about the possibility of my hospital visit she’d said with narrowed eyes and an accusatory note to her voice, ‘You’ve had rather a lot to do with the sick and dying over the last year or so, haven’t you?’ as if I was someone with a passion for hanging about hospitals waiting for people to die.
    Defensively I’d countered, ‘They often need to talk and I’m a good listener. I’m patient, punctual; bring in a variety of useful and imaginative gifts...’
    I’d lost her. She stretched her plump arms above her head and cried, ‘Oh why can’t we all accept death with good grace and just shuffle off when our time comes? Ill people give me the heebie-jeebies, they’re totally self absorbed.’
    ‘They have to be. They’re going through a