I watched a TV programme with dad about the late Larry Grayson's life. I remember like it was yesterday watching The Generation Game and thinking that nobody would ever take the place of Bruce Forsyth...who later in life got on my tits nerves as the host of Strictly Come Dancing.
When Columbo gets the chance to hang up his raincoat, dad watches ITV3 on the telly which shows old stuff from years ago. Not as far back as Larry Grayson and Co. which is a pity. I told dad that the programme was about to start and he didn't show any recognition of the comedian's name.
"We used to watch this show years ago dad," I said.
As soon as Larry's face appeared on the screen and the introduction could be heard, dad piped up, "Is he dead?"
"Yes dad," I replied. "He died many years ago now. Do you remember him?"
"Oh aye," he said. "I didn't know he had died."
As we watched the TV, I couldn't help laughing at some of the clips. I looked over at dad who sat with a stoic face. Clips of other shows were shown and the era of Larry's TV appearances brought back some great memories...for me.
"TV's not the same any more dad, is it?" I said.
"No it is not," he agreed, although I'm not sure if he agreed just to agree or if he really meant it.
I reminded him of the Saturday nights and the Sunday afternoons. Saturday nights were brilliant. Harmless variety and game shows dictated our viewing. If I was lucky, the ice-cream man would arrive in the street and I'd get a bag of Revels in the days when the centres were palatable and coffee centres weren't predominant and dad got a bar of Dairy Milk when the squares were twice the size they are nowadays and biting into one took great effort. Chocolate heaven.
There was always a matinee on a Sunday afternoon. The dinner would be cooking and we'd get ready to sit down and watch it. It was usually in black and white and featured stars like James Cagney, Barbara Stanwick or Bette Davis (mother's favourite) and the likes. It was the one time where the day was uninterrupted unless my mother was having one of her hissy fits and went on a mad cleaning spree. I'd either slip out of the house unnoticed or I'd be dragged in to tidying somewhere that had been tidied to death the previous week. I learned how to walk on egg shells when I was young. My mother's erratic mood swings often dictated the day. My dad tried to justify it to me once, telling me that she was "going through the change." I remember wishing she'd hurry up and change into whatever it was she was changing into as the alternative had to be better than this, then maybe we'd get peace to watch the movie from start to finish.
There was always a matinee on a Sunday afternoon. The dinner would be cooking and we'd get ready to sit down and watch it. It was usually in black and white and featured stars like James Cagney, Barbara Stanwick or Bette Davis (mother's favourite) and the likes. It was the one time where the day was uninterrupted unless my mother was having one of her hissy fits and went on a mad cleaning spree. I'd either slip out of the house unnoticed or I'd be dragged in to tidying somewhere that had been tidied to death the previous week. I learned how to walk on egg shells when I was young. My mother's erratic mood swings often dictated the day. My dad tried to justify it to me once, telling me that she was "going through the change." I remember wishing she'd hurry up and change into whatever it was she was changing into as the alternative had to be better than this, then maybe we'd get peace to watch the movie from start to finish.
Larry Grayson's life story was on for two hours. During the breaks I'd make a cup of tea, disposing of the one already sitting beside dad which was almost full and cold. I've started giving him a glass of orange juice occasionally as the tea thing is getting a bit out of hand. It's such a waste of tea bags as he doesn't drink all that's made. It's purely habitual and there is no way of putting a spoke in that wheel...and I'm sounding like my mother!
'Larry Grayson died at the age of 71.....' The narrator could be heard in the background.
"Did he die?" asked my dad, for probably the third time now. I lose track as I'm constantly on repeat with my responses as much as he is with his questions.
"Yes dad, he did," I said.
"Oh I didn't know he'd died," he said.
It's like living with a goldfish...
It's like living with a goldfish...
"A long time ago now dad," I said. "23 years. He was a funny man."
"Aye, he was," dad said, although he'd hardly cracked a smile throughout the programme.
............................................
It's starting to get really cold at night now. I had to scrape the ice off the car window for the first time just a couple of days ago. Dad's duvet isn't the thickest but he hasn't complained. There's a much warmer one stuffed in a cupboard which is twice the size of me and extremely heavy. When I first moved in with my dad I found EVERYthing to be over sized and complicated. My mother bought a new Tempur bed and pillows just a couple of months before she passed. She spent over £2,000 on this monstrosity. I don't know how she and my dad ever managed to change the sheets on the bloody thing because I struggle with it on my own. The pillows have already been given the heave ho. Have you ever lifted a Tempur pillow? It's a tonne weight! My mother had two of those...and FOUR other pillows on the bed....for SHOW! Six pillows and two cushions and two big teddy bears. Fck that!
Dad now has two pillows. The cushions are stuffed in a cupboard and the teddies are up for adoption.
"I'll change that duvet for you dad," I told him.
"Why?" he asked, giving me that look that suggests I'd better have the right answer.
"Because it's getting so cold now, you'll soon have icicles hanging off your arse!" I replied.
"Away ya daft buggar!" he laughed.
Humour is the best medicine.
We're off to the NEC in Birmingham on Friday until Monday.
I hope my prescription doesn't run out!
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