Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Village Life

First a message from the webmistress and community of The Center for Xena Studies

    We just wanted to let you know that the CFXS is still up and running after its recent facelift and we are actively seeking new fanfic and fan poetry for our fanfic section. It should be Xena based (of course). It can be classic Xena, conqueror, Mel and Janice or Uber Xena. We accept alt, het, and gen stories. Drop by and take a look and if you have a Xena story you'd like to see on our site then contact us. (The contact information appears on the fanfic page).


Now natter from me. A message board, of which I'm a member, recently had a discussion around the oddities of small town life. I thought my contribution would make a good ramble. We don't really have small towns here. Regardless of size if it has a Royal Charter or a Cathedral it's a city, if it doesn't then it's a town. Eighteen people and a cathedral - city. Twelve million people and no Charter or cathedral - town.

I guess the nearest we have to what you call a small town would be a village. Villages are strange places (as anyone who's ever watched The League of Gentlemen or Little Britain will know). They have wonderful names. Pratt's Bottom (Kent), Cold Christmas (Essex), High Easter (Essex).

I was born & bred in the centre of London - hardly a small town. In my early 20s I made a short migration to Essex. I wound up living on Canvey Island. It really is an island - in the Thames Estuary. It's also a village. It's where I was living when the incident of The Butch and the Bacon Sandwich occurred. But that was near the end of my time there. The story which follows takes place shortly after I first moved in.

I'd been there about a month and was nicely settled. I decided one Saturday to wander down to the village centre for breakfast as there was a little cafe there which I'd heard did a cracking fry-up. I walked in and the chap behind the counter greeted me in a thick Essex accent (a true old-fashioned one - not one of the modern related-to-London Estuary English sort. The kind where "Have you got a light, boy" becomes "ae y'go' a li' bi"). Translated what he'd said was "Morning Sir, what would you like." I was about to correct him when he looked up and blushed. He said "Sorry, you're not a sir, are you. You're that new lady who likes ladies that's moved in to Malcolm's that's studying law at the Uni".

I was gobsmacked. I mean - apart from the fact that I don't think anybody had ever called me a lady before - I wondered how he knew the rest of it. I must have looked stunned because he started to explain. "The milkie told me." Huh?? I didn't get a milk delivery. He elaborated. "He had it from the post-woman". Okay - that made some sense - she'd delivered letters with the Uni stamp on them - and my copy of Solicitor's Journal. But the rest?? At that point his wife came out. Her first words were "You shouldn't be hanging with trash like that, she's not good enough for you. You need a nice young lady to go out with. Someone who'd make a good wife". By now I was wondering if the cigarette I'd had that morning had contained something more than tobacco.

The chap chimed in again. "The post-woman's husband runs the taxi from town." Right. Gotcha. I'd been clubbing, picked up a meaningful overnight relationship and brought her home by taxi the previous weekend. That explained the knowledge. The next comment floored me. He said, "My niece is one of you. She needs a nice lady husband to make her happy. She'd like you. Do you ever go to Clacton??" I was now wondering how much I'd have to pay in penalty fees if I cancelled my six-month tenancy agreement five months early. Gamely I replied that no, I never went to Clacton. He was not to be denied. "She could come here." I agreed that yes, she probably could but no, I wasn't the marrying kind and that the trashy women I brought home were fine thanks. He looked terribly disappointed.

I got used to the fact that, by way of this bush telegraph, every single soul would know before sun rise on Saturday exactly what kind of woman I met on Friday night. They even knew all the details when I ended up in a relationship for two-and-a-half years. Some of them knew before I did!!

I often ate there during the five years or so I lived on Canvey. He always looked disappointed though every single time I went in.

They really did do a killer fry-up though.

Ze

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