Fi's Ability - a memoir

Fiona Ritchie

Description

'Fi's Ability - a memoir' is a charming stroll through a daughter's early years, and more recently, her experience spending lockdown with her blind, slightly deaf, cynical and wobbly nonagenarian mother.'On my Mother's Life' is a cry for help, well... that's how social services interpreted it. Throughout lockdown, many people spent more time with their family than they were comfortable with; the letters convey just how a mother and daughter muddled along. Gin features heavily to deal with the daily frustrations. Following this, 'Adventures of a Ginger Girl' is a charming peep at a childhood in Cornwall, through the eyes of a permanently red girl with strong opinions and extremely big knickers.

Sujets

• Memoir
• Philosophie et théologie

Informations

• Publié par: Distributed by eBookpartnership
• Date de parution: 01 avril 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781839784576
• Langue: English

Extrait

Fi’s Ability – a memoir
FIONA RITCHIE


Fi’s Ability – a memoir
Published by The Conrad Press Ltd. in the United Kingdom 2022
Tel: [phone] www.theconradpress.com [e-mail]
ISBN 978-1-839784-57-6
Copyright ©Fiona Ritchie, 2022
The moral right of Fiona Ritchie to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
Typesetting and Cover Design by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk
The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.


To my lovely mum and Judi


Contents
Preface
On my mother’s life
Introduction
Epilogue
Adventures of a ginger girl


Preface
I suppose everyone has had different experiences throughout lockdown; it’s been a strange old time for many, but I found myself without a job, and in my mother’s company the whole time.
I’ve been trying to fob her off on neighbours, relatives and friends, especially those living on a far-away continent, but it’s tough when the post office refuse to take her, despite being in a neatly wrapped parcel and ensuring sufficient air holes and enough water to get her across the Atlantic.
Mum is slightly deaf, very blind, intensely negative, naturally critical (‘I can’t hear you, and you’re wrong’), and has the need to wear surgical stockings on both legs. I’ve tried them over her head, but apparently that’s mean and cruel.
She moved in with me ten years ago, when her sight wasn’t quite so bad, and she had a little independence. By that I mean, she could see me in a room and tell me what mistakes I had made, whereas now, she has to ask me if I’m in the room, before starting to criticise.
I took to writing letters to share what we were getting up to. There is a little artistic licence, but you’ll just have to work out which bits are true, and which bits have been reported to the local authorities.
The words that are crossed out in ‘On my mother’s life’, aren’t lazy typing errors, they are my true feelings and thoughts, before my politically correct head kicked in. Should you be wondering if Mum actually exists, then pop along to any Co-op in north Bedfordshire and ask around, she’ll usually be loitering outside one of them; assuming I have my way, of course.
I am lucky to have a fabulous mum, which meant my childhood was a bully-free and generally a quiet, protected existence, my biggest problems were trying to work out how to get my older brother into trouble. I’ve sailed through life in blissful ignorance, with nothing particularly bad happening, and the very least I can do, is now take care of my mother, despite her glaring faults.
The letters started as a bit of fun, however, as there were demands for more, I thought I’d pay a bit more attention to what Mum was actually getting up to, so they continued. Throughout, I come across as a woman with a drink problem; give me a minute while I think of something to counteract this.
It might take a while.
I would love to write a novel that could spark your imagination, and leave you breathless at the end of each chapter, but, I’m not that clever, so instead, I’ve come up with letters I wrote throughout lockdown, and a memoir of my childhood in Cornwall that, at best, will bring on an asthma attack.
The book about my antics as a child was written following the breakdown of my business. I needed something to cheer myself up, so I ignored the present and wrote about my past. It helped shoo away any sad moods, which occasionally crept up on me, especially when I was running low on gin.
Mum was ninety-one in June, and she moaned and harrumphed her way through cornflakes, declaring that she didn’t want to be bloody ninety-one, and who else was stupid enough to live that long. I pointed out the Queen, David Attenborough, Tony Bennett and Clint Eastwood, but it fell on her slightly deaf ears.
We bumble along quite nicely, although Mum’s independence is much less, partly due to her age, but mostly down to her negative, crotchety attitude, and let’s face it, it’s hard work when she’s right all the time. I’m sorting out a care home for respite (well, that’s what I’m telling her), so I can have some time to myself and really push the boat out. You can interpret that as staying up later than nine-thirty and not emptying the dishwasher. Sadly, I’ve reached the age when the bins go out more than I do. My friends nickname me the Olympic torch because I never go out.
I have some fantastic friends and family, many of whom have been supporting me when I’ve needed it most. They’re the ones who have laughed at me, and with me, so these memoirs are for you.
Fiona Ritchie – February 2022


On my mother’s life


Introduction
M y lovely mum needed a bit of care, so a few years ago she moved from Dorset to the beautiful countryside in Bedfordshire. She has a condition called Retinitis Pigmentosa; in layman’s terms she’s as blind as a bat. Her sight loss has been a gradual thing since she was a teenager, so you’d think she’d be used to the idea. Mum can wash and dress herself, but is a liability in the kitchen mainly because she is a terrible cook, and she doesn’t know if she’s turned the hob on or off.
Mum has an opinion about everything. Usually negative.
It’s surprising how much you notice when you’re in someone’s company all day, and really helpful having access to gin at all time. I’ve become an expert in undetected poisons, smothering techniques and wrapping bodies in tarpaulin. Mum has become an expert in putting her shoes on the wrong feet, re-tuning all devices to Radio 1, losing dishcloths, and has perfected her pessimistic attitude and ratty disposition.
Writing letters was a delightful way of sharing with friends and family how Mum and I got on throughout the lockdowns. It’s surprising how much you notice when you’re in someone’s company all day, and really helpful having access to gin at all times.
31 st March 2020
I thought I’d take some time to give you an update on what Mum and I are up to and hopefully brighten your day. In the village down the road there is a tiny Co-op – in fact it happens to be the smallest Co-op in the UK – and whenever things get tough financially, I suggest that Mum tries to drum up some trade by loitering outside.
Mum and I are trying to get out for a quick walk every day – mainly because I don’t trust my car will start if I leave it for more than forty-eight hours. The last car I had, which had done over 360,000 miles, caught fire every time I moved into third gear. My local garage is shut until April 20 th (as the government have extended MOTs by six months apparently) but every time I go there for something to be done, a group of men come out and walk around the Audi, rubbing their chins in a knowing way, just amazed at the mileage, and its fat middle-aged, drunk owner.
Given I don’t know how long I’ll be off work I’ve decided to clear out some of my cupboards. I’m still at the ‘thinking about it stage’ (these things can’t be rushed you know) and I stupidly stated rather boldly to Mum that if we have a run of good weather for a few consecutive days (I reckon that will shorten my odds for a start) that I’d clear out the garage.
We had a bag of logs delivered a few months ago and they took up a fair amount of space in said garage. That’s a lie. They took up a fraction of the floor space, but when I realised I couldn’t actually stand in the garage and turn around, I figured something had to be done. The first obvious thing was to shut the door behind me and not go to the garage unless I needed logs which I could access from the front. There is no second obvious thing.
Mum is hoping things improve, otherwise she’ll be back outside the Co-op. The good news is there’s often a queue these days nicely spaced apart. I’ve said I’ll drop her off with the car in second gear all the way, to make sure she gets there without combustion.
My culinary skills in the short week I’ve been off haven’t improved one bit. That’s almost an impossible achievement, but with more practice I’ve simply produced more disasters. Mum thinks if I cut down on the drinking before I start microwaving (therefore cooking in single vision), I’ll see immediate improvements. I’ve noticed the sun is going over the yardarm a little after six-thirty, but as I don’t wake until seven, I’m wasting valuable drinking time lying in bed.
Bruce, my brother, is still working, if you call driving an empty bus around Cornwall as work, that is. I’m delighted as this obviously means people are being compliant about not making any unnecessary trips. He was telling me that two women resorted to throwing potatoes at each other in Morrisons, this occurred when one woman was caught removing toilet rolls from the other person’s trolley. They really are cultured down there. In an estate agent’s window they were advertising toilet rolls for sale for £350,000 - but it did come with a free two bedroom flat. I think it will catch on.
Anyway, my lovely friend Pam has a piece of land on a local allotment where she keeps chickens – most of which she has reared herself. When new chicks start laying for the first time, they often lay what is known as ‘wind’ eggs. Usually, this means there is nothing in the shell or perhaps just a bit of albumen and no yolk. She emailed me to ask if I wanted to name this chicken so I’ve suggested ‘whirl’.
I’m advising local people who know us, if they should see Mum outside the Co-op not to offer her a lift home. I have an agreement with the manager that she only gets to leave once she’s made £500 or has three toilet rolls.
Keep well and feel free to call us at any time.
16 th April 2020
I have just come to realise in these few short weeks how I’ve neglected the housework. I wou