Chapter Eight (Have you forgotten something?)

After Googling David Bailey to make sure he was actually a photographer Phil settled down in his armchair. Google had come up with names like Henri Cartier-Bresson, Alex Hyde, Steve Bloom, Tony Worobiec, Simon Palmer, Ansel Adams and Annie Liebovitz but David Bailey would do fine for now. He’d throw the others into conversation later….well the ones he could pronounce anyway.

None of the others seemed to specialise in domestic cats so Phil decided that that would be his field of expertise. People seemed to like cats, the internet was full of them and his Googling session had ended up with him watching every Simon’s Cat video ever made. And looking at the 100 cutest cat photos. And the 100 most adorable kitten photographs. And then watching almost 100 cat videos on YouTube. The day was almost gone and Paula was coming back in through the back door.

‘Are you there dear?’ She called through.

‘No, I’m down the pub on my twentieth pint looking for a fight for Tony Worrybecky to photograph.

‘Tony who dear?’

‘Tony Worrobandy….Tony Wookieshookie…..Tony W….W…..David Bailey.’

‘Isn’t he the one that shot John Lennon?’ Paula asked.

‘No that was Attila the Hun.’

‘Of course’ Paula replied as she came into the living room with a smile on her face ‘so who was it that shot President Kennedy?’

‘Muslamic rayguns’ they both said in unison laughing.

‘How’s the camera?’ Paula asked giving Phil a quick kiss on the lips.

‘Well that was what I was trying to tell you earlier’ he said ‘look at this picture.’

Forty five minutes later and the tea was on the table. Phil finally worked out how to show the picture he’d taken to Paula.

‘Thanks for your help with the cooking’ she said.

‘I, er….’

‘I know’ she said ‘you’ve been busy.’


Paula had long since got used to this. It wasn’t that Phil was lazy or being an old fashioned male who thought women should do the housework. No, in his own head, he was incredibly busy and could only find the time when Paula really insisted. He also didn’t notice what was going on around him. He hadn’t noticed the passage of time between Paula arriving and the tea being put out on the table so he had actually been shocked when it ‘suddenly’ appeared there.

And so they ate whilst having one of their usual irreverent conversations.

‘So what did you do today?’

‘I joined an intergalactic space mission and we wiped out all the Martians on Jupiter.’

‘What were they doing there?’

‘The tango.’

‘Damned fools got what they deserved.’

And so on. It doesn’t matter who said what but it matters that they shared these precious moments together, they made each other laugh and they loved each other without question. They that laugh together, stay together would be a pretty good maxim for Phil and Paula, or two P’s in a pod as they liked to call themselves. (Paula had made a giant pea pod one year and they’d been photographed inside it holding holly and ivy. Much hilarity was had by the recipients of their Christmas card that year!).

Now if Paula would just stop letting her hair fall across her face like that Phil would be the happiest man alive. He couldn’t explain why it aggravated him so much and he never said anything, which wasn’t like him at all. He wanted to reach across and gently push the offending strands back on her head but he never did. Instead he wound himself up inside and mainly at the stupidity of something so insignificant winding him up like that. Fortunately Paula didn’t get wound up as her list of things would have stretched from here to tangoing Martians on Jupiter. Instead she embraced Phil’s foibles and loved him all the more for them.

After a discussion involving two pin cushions, four leaping llamas and a bucket of chocolate sauce Paula asked the question that relates to the bit in brackets at the start of this chapter. A question I’m sure has been bugging you for a while now and, if it hasn’t, why aren’t you paying attention??

‘So what’s in your other parcel?’

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About the author

Fresh from failing to be an actor, a singer and retaining a full head of hair Glyn is now attempting to be a photographer and a novelist. He has taken more pictures today than he has written words of his novel in the last six months. Some of them he regards as okay..

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