My daughter is on the phone, eagerly filling her grandparents in on what she has been up to in the holidays.
"So then we went to netball and--"
"Hang on a minute, dear. Grandpa's got to get his teeth sorted."
Daughter pauses as grandparents scuffle around in the background, words are muttered and doors are opened and slammed. She puts her hand over the phone and tells me, "Grandpa's going to the dentist. Do you want to talk to Grandma?"
I reluctantly withdraw my hands from the washing up and hastily dry them before taking the phone, only to find myself assailed in stereo by both Aged Parents gabbling and laughing at once.
"He's taken them on a motorbike!"
"Oh, hahahaha! Was he wearing leather?"
"They'll be back by three!"
I cough to get their attention. I wonder why anyone bothers calling them, as they seem to prefer to use the phone to communicate with each other from different rooms in the house rather than actually talk to the person who has phoned them.
"Ahem. It's me."
"Oh, hello!"
"I've just handed my teeth to a man on a motorbike!"
"Erm, what?"
"Your dad's false teeth have broken again, so he called the dental technician--"
"--and he came and fetched them - on his motorbike!"
Stunned silence.
I resign myself to never quite getting to the bottom of this conversation and swiftly move on to recounting benign anecdotes about the children.
The conversation progresses tolerably well with an Aged in each ear, finishing each other's sentences and correcting one another at intervals. I am about to wind the experience up and get back to slightly less baffling activities when Dad announces:
"And did we tell you about the new SatNav?"
Holding on tightly to the table I grit my teeth and say, no, they didn't.
"Well," says Mum, coming over all Hyacinth Bucket. "It's not, in point of fact, a NEW SatNav. More our old one with a New Feature."
"Right," I say.
"The New Feature being . . ." Dad pauses for dramatic effect. "It delivers directions in ITALIAN!"
Mum giggles like a blushing school girl and jibbers, "All'incrocio successivo, svoltare a destra."
"Lovely," I say.
"And she's so much politer than the English version."
I sigh. At least they haven't set it to Latin. Dad's last Christmas present request was a CD of Elvis hits sung in Latin. I decide not to voice this thought aloud.
Who knows what madness it would lead to.
"So then we went to netball and--"
"Hang on a minute, dear. Grandpa's got to get his teeth sorted."
Daughter pauses as grandparents scuffle around in the background, words are muttered and doors are opened and slammed. She puts her hand over the phone and tells me, "Grandpa's going to the dentist. Do you want to talk to Grandma?"
I reluctantly withdraw my hands from the washing up and hastily dry them before taking the phone, only to find myself assailed in stereo by both Aged Parents gabbling and laughing at once.
"He's taken them on a motorbike!"
"Oh, hahahaha! Was he wearing leather?"
"They'll be back by three!"
I cough to get their attention. I wonder why anyone bothers calling them, as they seem to prefer to use the phone to communicate with each other from different rooms in the house rather than actually talk to the person who has phoned them.
"Ahem. It's me."
"Oh, hello!"
"I've just handed my teeth to a man on a motorbike!"
"Erm, what?"
"Your dad's false teeth have broken again, so he called the dental technician--"
"--and he came and fetched them - on his motorbike!"
Stunned silence.
I resign myself to never quite getting to the bottom of this conversation and swiftly move on to recounting benign anecdotes about the children.
The conversation progresses tolerably well with an Aged in each ear, finishing each other's sentences and correcting one another at intervals. I am about to wind the experience up and get back to slightly less baffling activities when Dad announces:
"And did we tell you about the new SatNav?"
Holding on tightly to the table I grit my teeth and say, no, they didn't.
"Well," says Mum, coming over all Hyacinth Bucket. "It's not, in point of fact, a NEW SatNav. More our old one with a New Feature."
"Right," I say.
"The New Feature being . . ." Dad pauses for dramatic effect. "It delivers directions in ITALIAN!"
Mum giggles like a blushing school girl and jibbers, "All'incrocio successivo, svoltare a destra."
"Lovely," I say.
"And she's so much politer than the English version."
I sigh. At least they haven't set it to Latin. Dad's last Christmas present request was a CD of Elvis hits sung in Latin. I decide not to voice this thought aloud.
Who knows what madness it would lead to.
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