Public enema and other modern stuff of 1989

”Any sausages left mum?” I swirl the stubby end of my last sausage in the cooling gravy, catching bits of mashed potato clinging to the edge of the plate.

“All gone Mark, need to save some for your dad,” mum at the sink, tipping frying pan fat into an empty baked bean can.  “He’s on a late shift, will be home later.”

She covers the sausages, mash, and gravy with an upside-down plate and sets it on the cooker, ready to warm over boiling water when Dad gets home.  I keep telling them to get a microwave, everyone else has one but mum heard a tale of a leaky one that cooked someone's insides while they stood in front of it watching a rotating baked potato.  So, anyway, mum won’t have one.

“I’m off to play football at six,” my plate’s empty now, if mum weren’t here I’d lick the last bits off, “mum… could I borrow a quid, for after the game, for a drink and stuff… please?”

“Mark… what?  What have you done with all your birthday money?”  Mum turns, bright pink shell suit of displeasure.  “It’s not two minutes since?  Did you even thank your Gran for the money she sent?”

“No, not yet…” mum grabs my empty plate, turns back to the sink.

“Don’t you think you’d better ring her, she’ll be upset if you don’t.  Do it now before Neighbours starts, you know how she likes to watch that after tea,” mum bats me, grey dishcloth around my ears, “get on with it, before football.”

The phone sits squat on the little spindly legged table at the bottom of the stairs, pile of telephone directories beneath, a jam jar filled with coppers and the odd five pence, meant to pay the phone bill but usually given to the football pools man who comes round every Wednesday.

I sit on the second to bottom stair and dial, it takes ages to ring Gran on our old phone.  Most of my mates parents have push button phones, you can dial in seconds, Robert’s mum even has ten phone numbers programmed into hers, you just press one button, not like this infernal dial as my finger clicks it round, so many eights and nines in Gran’s number.

The burrr, burrr, ringtone reverberates down the receiver, I pick at the frayed edge of the stairs carpet, dust forms in little piles on the cream painted wood underneath.  Check my watch, it’s got a calculator on it, the tiny buttons too small for my fingers but it’s pretty cool all the same.  Still enough time before Neighbours starts.

Clunk. “Hello, Skipton eight seven eight nine.”

“Hi Gran, it’s Mark.”

“Well hello stranger, let me put my teeth in," she says, thunk the phone goes down. A scuffle and some rummaging, she returns, rattle of her nails on the receiver, “that’s better.  How are you Mark?”

“Mum said, well, good, I’m erm just ringing to say thanks for the money you sent for my birthday.”

“You’re very welcome my love.  Did you have a nice time?”  Clack of Gran’s teeth, she’s not got them in properly.

“Yeah, good thanks.”

“Did you have a party or anything?”

“Nah, Gran, I’m too old for that, I’m seventeen now.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, I remember when you were little, we had some lovely times on your birthdays.”

“Yeah…” I pick up the acme thunderer whistle that mum keeps at the side of the phone for nuisance calls or heavy breathers, smooth metal between my fingers, the pea inside rattles.

“So what did you do then?”

“Me and my mates got the train to Manchester, it was pretty good.  Went to the Arndale centre, got some new Puma trainers.  And a watch, it’s a clever one Gran, it’s got a calculator on it.”

“That does sound clever, I hope you don’t use it for cheating at college though.”

“No Gran, I need a scientific calculator for maths, with all the functions and stuff on it.”

“Scientific one?  I never heard of that, we used a slide-rule and a pen and paper, we didn’t have any of the fancy things they have now.  Did I tell you about Edith next door?  She’s got a kettle that she doesn’t have to unplug, it just sits on this little round stand, it’s very clever.”

“Right, yeah.” Gran thinks everything new is a miracle of science.  Meanwhile, I’m stuck talking to her on a phone that’s older than me, staring at wood-chip wallpaper that peels no matter how hard I try to press it down.  “I got a record too, well, a CD.”

“Was it anyone I know?  Cliff Richard?  I like him.”

“No Gran, I don’t think you’ve heard of them.  They’re called Public Enemy.  They’re a rap band.”

“Public Enema?  That doesn’t sound very nice, what do you want to listen to that for?”

“Enemy Gran, not enema!”

“Well, it still doesn’t sound very nice.  Music these days is just all noise.”

“There’s Kylie though Gran, you like her don’t you, from Neighbours?”

“Oh yes, and that lovely Jason,” Gran starts to hum to herself.

“Neighbours will be on soon won’t it Gran?”  Still need to get ready for football.

“Oh, yes, mustn’t miss that, do you watch it?”

“Not really Gran, I’ve got too much homework.”

“Is your mum there?  Aerobics tonight isn’t it?”

“Yeah, she’s in the kitchen.”

“Remind her that auntie Doris is having her ingrowing toenail done next week will you, might be nice if she pops on to visit.  So did you spend all your birthday money then?”

“Pretty much, yeah, need to start saving up again, I want to get a Game Boy.”

“What sort of a boy?”

“A Game Boy, you play games on it.”

“A boy that you play games on?  I hope it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“No Gran, it doesn’t hurt,” stifle a giggle, “I promise.”

“If you say so Mark, honestly, what’s the world coming to with public enemas and playing games on boys?”

“It’s okay Gran, honest.”  I twist the phone’s cord, each loop wrapping around my fingers.  “Our maths teacher was telling us today of a new thing coming called the world wide web.”

“A web?  What will that do?  Catch people?  Hope it’s nothing to do with spiders.  You know how I hate them.”

“Some sort of information thing that will take over the world, that’s what my teacher says anyway.”

“Sounds like poppy-cock to me.”

“Me too Gran.” Glance at my watch, “Hey Gran, Neighbours starts in a minute.”

“Oh, you’re right, I’d better go, thank you for ringing Mark, you be a good lad won’t you?”

“Yes Gran, and don’t worry about the spider web thing, it’ll never happen.”

“I hope not, goodbye then.”

“Bye Gran.” thunk.

I put the warm receiver back in its cradle and smile.  Gran thinks the world is going mad, but she’ll still happily natter away with me like none of it matters.  Maybe she’s right.