I woke up in the middle of the night seriously worrying about Lon.
Please don’t concern yourself over much; Lon is
not a family member, a pet or even a close friend. He is a character in the film we were watching last night – the Youngest of the Darling Daughters, her Darling Daughter and I – and we couldn’t help thinking that he got a raw deal.
It wasn’t as if he was a total eejit, or a creep or a loser. He was a perfectly lovely guy, despite being seriously rich (well, what’s not to like?) who would
have made ideal husband material had the female lead not decided that she preferred her First Love whose one redeeming feature was an ability to quote Walt Whitman at strategic points in the film. Clearly, as Mr B would be sure to point out, I know all there
is to know about choosing an Ideal Husband, though the only poem my fella ever quotes is one about a little birdie flying high and dropping his luggage as he goes by. “Farmer wipes it from his eye / Damn good job that cows can’t fly!”
Walt Whitman, it is not.
Before leaving Mr B “Home Alone” and setting off for a couple of days with the Y of the DDs, I did my best to leave everything
“just so”. This included leaving the birds plenty of food and strict instructions to top up the feeder when the little perishers had scoffed the lot. If I popped my clogs before he did, I asked Mr B somewhat wistfully, would he still feed
the birds in my memory? Honestly, I sounded like something from Mary Poppins, any minute and you might have expected me to burst out singing “Feed the birds, tuppence a bag”, while pulling a crocheted rug around my shivering shoulders. Mr
B said of course he would, then rather spoilt the effect of this statement of undying love by adding that he might even chop me up into little pieces and feed me to them. When I said “Feed the Birds”, that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
Anyway, here I am in the village of Hook, enjoying the company of daughter and grandchildren. We have completed two Ice Bucket Challenges, one this morning (Hazel’s)
and one this afternoon when Jack returned from work. I wasn’t trusted to throw the water over either of my grand-children’s heads, presumably because everyone knows I have no sense of direction, so it was my job to film the events which means
that the resulting footage is, shall we say, a trifle wobbly. Plus each priceless moment is accompanied by my cackling like an evil old witch in the background. I am touched when Hazel mentions, to camera, that she is doing this challenge in memory of
Jacky Foskett, my lovely Canadian cousin who died of ALS. Sometimes, in all the excitement of the ice bucket, the screams of chilly horror and the fun of nominating people who will be shaking in their shoes at the thought of it (and that’s before
they get anywhere near an ice cube) it’s easy to forget what a horrible, horrible disease ALS is and how important to fund research to find a cure.
sits in a garden chair in her gym kit and bewails the fact that “everyone will see all my rolls.” We look at her beautiful flat stomach and wish we were her. There’s absolutely no way my rolls of flesh are fit for human consumption.
Maybe that’s why Mr B thinks I would make good bird food? Having said that, a tiny bit of me would quite like to do the challenge just to show solidarity. It must be my show-off side.
Oh, yes, Lon. I’d forgotten about him. So, apparently, had the writers, producers and directors of the film we watched, because after a moving scene when Allie told him she would love him forever, there she was
turning up at her First Love’s house (the Walt Whitman guy – keep up, won’t you?) clutching the letters he had written her every day for a year and swearing everlasting love for him, too. Poor Lon was simply painted out of the picture. Not
a word about his fate. Did he find another girl to love? Or did he spend the rest of his life in mourning for the Girl Who Got Away? No wonder I couldn’t sleep for worrying.
I feel for him, I really do. He must wish he’d never fallen for Allie’s undoubted charms.
Perhaps he’d have been better off taking
up the Ice Bucket challenge?