Play Rusty for me

I did not go to London in the end.  Things were far too stressful and I was not in the mood for complex theatre which required me to think.  Instead I had about two hours sleep and woke feeling like crap.  I texted Andrea and disappointed her, dooming her most apologetically to a day of trying to fix combine harvesters and bring in the harvest, and went to spend the day with my mum and dad instead.  They are quite patient and don’t mind me crying all over them every five minutes, so it seemed wise.

They were standing at an antiques fair this weekend, so I went along for the day and helped my mum with her ephemera stall. I didn’t help my dad with his carnival glass stall, because I just can’t like it, and I simply cannot summon up the wherewithal to sell it to people with enthusiasm when I have no enthusiasm for it myself.  Mouldy old bits of paper on the other hand, are right up my street.

I had a lovely time watching the world go by, selling the odd magazine on Meccano, manuals on how to build your own loom, and the Utility furniture spotters guide.  There were no children (at least none which belonged to me), no dramas and nothing required from me other than to find the right change and provide carrier bags.  It was about all I was capable of yesterday.  It was almost meditative in its simplicity.  I might compose a small pamphlet entitled: Zen and the Art of Selling Antiques.

I met mum and dad’s friends, and took lots of pictures of all the shiny things they had to sell, which I will post up here at a later date along with all the other photos I keep promising to upload.  I was very good, and despite being tempted by a £260 art nouveau green glass vase and a £120 jade bowl I only spent £15 on a pretty Victorian bowl and an early 19th Century tea cup, which I could not resist, and which I am looking at as I type.

One of the ladies who buys regularly from mum came and asked if she had any sheet music for the piano featuring tunes by Russ Conway.  Russ Conway, for those of you who have not had the great misfortune to hear him already, was very famous for his rendition of a tune called Side Saddle.  It is like speeded up lounge music, thusly:

It is not my favourite, or even my second favourite type of music.  Not at all.  In fact, the phrase: ‘I would rather stick red hot needles in my eyes,’ comes to mind when faced with the question of which Russ Conway tune I would rather listen to.

This lady wanted it because she loved Russ with a capital L for Lurve.  Not only that, but her husband was a pianist and she made him play Russ Conway for her.

She told us that he prefers to play Gershwin (as would any sane person), but that if he wants his dinner he has to stick to playing Russ or she stops cooking.  She announced that they were having bacon that evening, and if he didn’t play Side Saddle, he wouldn’t be getting any.

How fierce.

I can only imagine the scenes of piano related sadism in their house.

I had to hide behind a stack of magazines to cover my smiles by this time, because she was very serious about it.  Russ is no laughing matter I’ll have you know.

I’m glad I don’t live with her, I only ever mastered chopsticks and a wheezy rendition of God Saved the Queen as long as my granny put the right stickers on the keys for me.  I’d have been dead of starvation in a fortnight.

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