O' for the love of Shakespeare Read Online Free PDF Page A

than that, I hear women
talking about the clock ticking and that all they can think of is a little
podgy human crowning out of their area but I do not yet have that maternal
pull.  I like being able to go out in the evening at the last minute with Vic
and I am pretty sure it is classed as bad form leaving a child alone while you
pop out for a drink with your friend.  The fact that I am lacking someone to provide
the sperm is also a small piece of the missing puzzle.
    “Wouldn’t that be nice, a lovely big
traditional country wedding.”  Mum says dreamily.  “I wore a lovely yellow suit
to the wedding the other week, all my friends said I looked a good ten years
younger than I actually am.”  She runs her hand up the back of hair making sure
it is all still perfect.
    “Mmmm.”  I say rolling my eyes.  I really do
not want to talk about Stewart or weddings right now especially with my mum. 
“Anyway Mum, Vic and I are going to Stratford-upon-Avon this weekend, staying
in a really pretty looking Bed and Breakfast.  If it’s nice there maybe you
could take dad, there for a few days away?  A little break?”
    “Why would I want to do that?  I have enough of
your dad at home let alone going on holiday with him as well.”  Mum chuckles.  Silly
Jane.
    Enter Dad, rosy-cheeked from his walk. 
    Dad finally returns home from his walk and we
are ready to sit down to eat, my dad is as always quiet and brooding whilst mum
fills the house with noise.   Looking at old photos of dad, when he and mum
first met, you wouldn’t recognise him now.  He was once handsome and rakish. 
Over the years dad has enjoyed a few too many of mum’s dinners and is now a
little round.  His shirt buttons pull against the fabric in protest.  With dad
I think of the colour grey; his hair, his clothes, everything is grey.  Mum is
the stained glass to his monochrome world.
    Dad can be incredibly benevolent, but he can
also sink into pettiness especially when it comes to mum.  This is how this
house has always been, but the divide of personalities is even stronger now
that dad has lost his purpose of work.  Mum complains about dad being under her
feet at home but really I think she is in her element that he is always here
now to do her bidding.  Dad though needed that daily distance to miss her.
    Mum has cooked sausages and mash but the thing
that really makes the dish, the crowning glory, is the superb onion gravy.  I
resist licking the plate once I am finished.  Dad however comes back from the
kitchen with a slice of bread to mop up the gravy.  He makes occasional humming
noises showing his approval for the meal.  Mum beams at him pleased with the
compliment.  Once every last crumb is devoured, mum clears away the plates. 
    “I’m in all of a tither with this pudding, can
you please come help me darling?”  Mum shouts at dad through the serving hatch
between the kitchen and dining room.  Dad groans as he lifts himself from his
chair, most men my dad’s age make this noise as joints are starting to ache but
I know my dad makes this noise only when he is subject to the beck and call of
my mum.  It is a different type of a groan, more of a growl than a groan.
    I watch them through the serving hatch.  They
are on good form tonight compared to the sulking I have been witness to on
other visits.   Their relationship has been so extreme - always either absolute
contempt and hatred or unbridled passion.  Not a healthy relationship by any
stretch of the imagination.   I would catch them sometimes in the kitchen just
looking at each other, vines and trees would grow from the work tops and sink. 
Puck mischievously sat in the corner of the kitchen, watching, waiting.  Like
the ethereal King and Queen Fairies, Oberon and Titania, from A Midsummer
Night’s Dream , either all-consuming love or at the battle lines of war. 
Shakespeare’s words of ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’ could
have been written