Nancy Goes to School

We went to see another house this evening.

We are seeing four houses tomorrow.

We are seeing a house on Sunday, and one every evening next week, except for Thursday.  We would see one on Thursday, but Jason has to go away for work.

Even so, that’s a lot of houses.

And so far, not a lot of joy.

So I am not going to bore you with all the things that make me slightly sad about how you really don’t get very much for your money with a house do you?

I am going to dive back into the world of Nancy Spain and regale you with more deliciousness.

We last left Nancy bemoaning the fact that she was not a millionaire despite having been to Margate.

That well known haunt of millionaires everywhere.

And Tracey Emin.

I have not been to Margate. I wonder if I did, if I would win big on the lottery, or dig up a cool million on the beach and then we could actually buy a house we like? I might put this to Jason later on.

I won’t mention that it isn’t always a failsafe choice.

Nancy, it seems, blames her parents for a lot of her unmillionaireish state.  They were ‘neither rich enough to be a nuisance nor poor enough to go without.’  And they lived in Newcastle Upon Tyne, in a terraced house, which apparently was a bit of a handicap, despite the fact that they still managed to scrape together enough money to teach the lovely Nancy to ride a horse, and then packed her off to Roedean to be educated.

‘Our mother was determined we should get on in life.  That is why (she said) we were both sent to Roedean School, to equip us for the struggle.  Anyone who could survive Roedean, could survive anything.’

This is probably why I am not very good at the struggle that is life. My parents never equipped me properly by sending me to a staggeringly expensive boarding school outside Brighton to decline Latin verbs and wear strange uniforms called djibbahs which looked like hop sacks, but which could be purchased from all the most exclusive outfitters for ten guineas each.

No wonder I have had to have therapy, and have never preserved anything in aspic.  I just didn’t get the right start in life.

Unlike Nancy.

After Roedean, Nancy had to make do on an allowance of £50 a year and free board and lodging with her parents while she went to art school to make drawings of the sterno mastoid movement, and be treated with suspicion by the Professor of Anatomy.

She worries a lot about being treated with suspicion.  Various boyfriends’ mothers also treat her with suspicion and all in all she is troubled by a great deal of suspicion in her affairs, until she decides to move into journalism, where she can make a lot more trouble legitimately.

It was at this time that Nancy’s devil may care attitude to money got her into hot water for the first time.  After failing to pay for a round of gin and tonics for the lacrosse team, she decided to pretend to be an actress, because the pay was better and she could get a round in without shame.

And that is where I leave you for now, with Nancy, poised on the brink of stardom, having done a radio audition that lasted several hours and which she gaily describes as ‘appalling’. and taking her first part in a radio play in which she is forced to say things like: ‘Nowt tae dae but watch the coos,’ and where she confesses: ‘I screamed 765 times in that production.’

4 responses to “Nancy Goes to School

  1. I, too, have never been to Margate. I have, however, gone on 20+ viewings only to over-pay for our ‘lovely family home in a wonderful neighborhood.’ My prayers are with you.
    PS: Have reserved the only copy of Nancy’s book available in my library system. Anticipating another terrific read from your recommendation.

  2. Does she mention how she and Gilbert Harding “disliked” each other. I think they were both on 20 questions on the “wireless” radio to you.

  3. No, she didn’t. She is very good at claiming everyone else was out to get her, but that she was loveliness personified and couldn’t imagine how she could rub someone up the wrong way!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s