$25 a week on the cleaner. If I avoided the temptation to drink during the week it pretty much paid for itself and got rid of one of my most hated chores. It was a great trade off.
I also took the big decision not to build my future social life around my weekly trip to Coles. My feelings of social excitement and anticipation were becoming more and more subdued as the weeks went by and I failed to spot, let alone make flirtatious contact with, anyone who looked remotely interesting. At the same time, the inane drudgery of parking, wandering the aisles and packing and unpacking the car was becoming more and more frustrating. Plus, on occasions, I was forced to take a longer checkout queue because of the need to avoid Sharni. All in all, it was a couple of hours of my weekend that I wanted back, and I didn’t have many spare hours.
I didn’t give up on Coles completely because I ventured into the wonderful world of online shopping. This is not just a great labour saving device—you can shop from the comfort of your own office—but it also takes the stress out of weekend shopping. Admittedly, there is quite a lot of work to do to get started, but for a time short single parent it is a fabulous concept. It was quite overwhelming initially—there was so much on the website. There were some fifty-three different types of bread to choose from and another twenty odd types of milk—normal, low fat, no fat, 1L, 2L, 3L etc, etc. And, because I wasn’t an experienced shopper, I didn’t know what I normally bought and, in particular, how much of something I normally bought.
I found a good way forward was to blend online shopping with regular shopping for a few weeks while I developed a feel for what I needed. I kept my shopping receipts and used them to populate my standard online orders. Generally this worked well, although I still made a few volume errors in the early months. I now know 250g of mixed nuts is not very much and that 2kg of chicken is enough to feed a family of ten. On one occasion, due to an unfortunate slip of the mouse, a whole leg of ham was delivered, instead of the 250g of sliced leg ham I thought that I had ordered.
But with experience I became a proficient user. It’s a fantastic way of shopping for basics and getting them delivered to your door—as long as you avoid fruit and vegetables (it’s best to see and choose these yourself, otherwise you can end up with a bunch of skanky veg and bruised fruit). As an added bonus my social interactions with the down-to-earth delivery drivers were always much more pleasant, and embarrassment free, than those with Sharni and her associates.
Over time I developed a routine that worked for me. I made sure I always did the washing and went to the butcher and fruit shop on Saturday morning (when they were open!), did my household chores on Sunday morning and ordered a Coles online delivery for a midweek evening. This broadly left both weekend afternoons for free time. It was the only way that I could survive. I had to have order and routine at the weekends otherwise they would get away from me, I would not have enough ‘me time’ and I would get back to work on Monday feeling terribly frustrated—and I knew that if I stopped performing at work and lost my job then I really would be in trouble.
My routine, with a little bit of refinement, worked well for me over the years and generally ensured I got enough down time. It meant the basics were covered and it gave me time to focus on the really important and difficult challenges—bringing up two teenage daughters.
And anyway the cavalry were arriving; my mum was on her way to Australia.
6
Stiff upper lip
My mum was going to spend some time with me to provide a crash course in running a house, bringing up girls and any other useful skills that might come to mind. But because we English are a strange lot, it nearly didn’t happen, and I would have missed out on a very valuable and personally enriching experience.
I imagine that years ago, when one was on the battlefield standing in one’s bright shiny uniform—the one that made you stand out as a perfect target—facing a pack of charging Zulus, that the stiff upper lip approach to life was very valuable. Far better to stand to attention, unflinching in the face of danger, and take a spear in the guts, than to suffer the indignity of confiding in the soldier standing next to you that you were, in fact, a little bit apprehensive about the forthcoming hoo-ha, or worse, that you were suffering from a slightly runny botty and would much rather be back at home having a nice cup of tea and a scone. After all, there was no need to be afraid because there was the reassuring comfort of the undisputable fact that God was on your side. What could possibly go wrong? The British Empire was built on the stiff upper lip. Mind you, look at the country now.
So, in the days towards the end of our September holiday in England, before I left to return to Australia and begin my life as a single father, my mother and I, because we are English, adopted the stiff upper lip approach to life. Everyone was asking my shell-shocked mum how she had been coping in the two months since my dad had died and how she was adjusting to life on her own, doing all the things that Dad used to do, keeping it together and learning to start again.
“It’s been a bit difficult but I am fine,” my mum would reply, smiling brightly. “Don’t worry about me. Who’s for tea? Shall I put the kettle on?”
And everyone was asking the shell-shocked me the same thing. Would I be all right adjusting to life on my own, doing all the things that my wife used to do, keeping it together and learning to start again?
“It will be a bit difficult but I will be fine,” I would reply, smiling brightly. “Don’t worry about me. Oh, are you making tea? Lovely.”
It was pathetic really. I wasn’t fine. I was far from fine. To be honest, I was suffering from a slightly runny botty. The Zulus were beating their drums outside the corral and I had seen what had happened to Michael Caine. He had maintained a beautifully appropriate stiff upper lip but he had also been inconvenienced by a nasty spear wound to the stomach resulting in a brave but incredibly slow and painful death. It was one of the greatest scenes in English film history and Sir Michael wrung every last possible drop of emotion from it.
It turned out that my mum was far from fine as well. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that she was suffering from a slightly runny botty, but she had her own fears and she was missing my dad desperately. She was taking things one step at a time but had a long way to go. Apart from the emotional recovery, she had a full list of practical issues to deal with— she hadn’t yet worked out how to use the new satellite box for the TV or relight the pilot light for the gas. She was overwhelmed.
We were both putting on a brave face when all we wanted to do was have a good cry and ask for some help. But we are English—so we couldn’t. It would be a faux pas equivalent to accidentally brushing your opponent’s balls while leaning over the table during a game of snooker. People would mutter and not look you in the eye. It just wasn’t done.
It took a flash of South American fire to change the situation and turn it on its head. My brother is married to an Argentine. She doesn’t believe in the concept of the stiff upper lip but she does believe in family, and she cut a passionate swathe through our English reserve. She had observed our polite conversation and our unrivalled ability to talk around the issues long enough. And she exploded with passion.
“You two are crazy. Mark, you need help. Your mother doesn’t want to be alone. She has no ties to keep her in her house. She can go to Australia at any time and for as long as she wants. Don’t you see? She can help you and support you. And it will be good for your mum to have a break and a change of scene and to spend some more time with the girls.”
Her words were accompanied by a dramatic toss of her long, dark curls.
God it was awkward. My brother choked slightly on his tea and a little bit escaped from his mouth and ran down his chin. He had to dab it off with his hankie while looking out of
