It Comes And It Glows

My Dear Fellow,

I used to love amusing you with Tales of Yorkshire Folk. How our family would drive to Bridlington from Scarborough EVERY SUNDAY WITHOUT FAIL to see my nan, so we could take her for lunch while she complained about immigrants, her friends and "that bloody old bat upstairs".

We'd then drive to Flamborough so we could look at the cliffs. Kind of. The car would go in the parking lot and then my parents would open their newspapers so my view would be obscured by stories of naughty vicars and call-girls in "The News of the World". As teenagers, we didn't mind too much. The top 40 would be on the radio and that seemed to keep us amused.

My nan was a big topic of conversation today in Scarborough. Waking up early from the election, I took the opportunity to walk and walk and walk around town. I covered MILES revisiting places from my youth. But afterward I caught up with Tups, my dad and both Lovely Nieces to spend the afternoon in the pub.

"If mam was here, there'd be salt all over the table," said Tups. "Mam" was what we called our nan. And it was true. At Sunday lunch she'd rattle that salt-shaker violently, like it had done something to her personally. When my mum would point out to her that she'd spilled some, she would grab a pinch and throw it over her shoulder with a "bah!" regardless of whether someone was sitting behind her or not.

There would be fag-ash everywhere too. She was a chain-smoker with a rattling cough, but she didn't inhale properly. She would just suck down the smoke and immediately blow it out again. There was always a dense blue cloud over her head that slowly descended the longer she was in the room. Christmas dinners were invariably shrouded in smog.

I have told you her catchphrases before. When visiting she would refuse to take her coat off, "I'm not stoppin'," she would always say. Hours could pass with her perched on the edge of the couch with her coat on. "I'm not stoppin', I'll just wash some pots," she'd insist. And then she would justify her visit by washing up.

If I'm making her sound awful, then I should also add that she could also be funny, great at telling stories and she loved us grandkids. Other relatives didn't fare so well. She was constantly fighting with her dark-haired sister Molly ("that black bloody crow") and didn't speak to either of my uncles for years. She could get morose with my mum too and sought attention by having random illnesses. I'd forgotten about a couple but Tups brought them back to me.

"Do you remember THE BLACK TONGUE?" she asked. I nearly spit out my drink laughing. I'd forgotten about The Black Tongue. Mam was convinced she was seriously ill because her tongue was turning black. Apparently.

"BLEAH!" she'd say, throwing her tongue out at you. "It's BLACKER, d'ye see?"

I could never see. Which was very unsatisfying for her. "No. I'm serious. Look! BLEAH!"

Well... maybe...

That seemed to mollify her.

"And then you'd be sitting watching telly," Tups added, "but you'd be aware she was sneaking her mirror out of her purse and going 'bleah' really quietly behind you."

And then there was the time she started to smell. Well she thought so anyway. "Do I smell?" she'd demand.

"No... I don't think so..."

"Well I can bluddy well smell summat!"

Doctors were unable to reassure her. "Bluddy doctors don't know nothing!" she'd spit with a flick of her fag-ash and another condiment-abuse of the salt. My dad would retreat behind his "News of the World".

Tups told me she was so convinced she smelled that she started to shove newspapers under her armpits and down her cleavage and then secured everything in place with cling-film. I never knew THAT - it must have been kept from me.

"Why are you CRINKLING?" Tups asked her one day. Mam explained it was her new regime to keep the smell down.

"Are you joking??" Tups said. "That'll just make it WORSE!"

Tactical error.

"Aha! So there IS a smell? You just said so!"

She died in the mid 90's. I don't think it was of the smell or even The Black Tongue. Even though she's been gone for over 20 years, she still feels like a big presence whenever the family are together. My dad now lives in her old flat, and no matter how much he's changed it, we still imagine her sitting there in the corner. She was such a big personality that we love to swap "mam" stories and my Lovely Nieces know all about a woman they'll never meet.

Even Er Indoors loves to hear the stories. She especially loves to hear how my nan would sit in the corner with her lurid horror novels or trashy books about Hell's Angels ("Oooh, it's disgustin'") or chain-smoking while she read true-crime magazines.

She'd look up occasionally. "He kept her head in the fridge for MONTHS, you know." And then she'd disappear behind the explicit pages again. Then we'd turn on the telly so she could watch the wrestling or an episode of "Crossroads" - a tv soap to which she was addicted even though she hated all the characters. "Ooh I 'ate 'er. Can't bluddy STAND 'im."

But after a Sunday with my nan, we'd drive back into Scarborough as the top 40 neared its conclusion and we were discovering that "Pass The Dutchie" was still number one. My dad would drive us along the sea-front and we'd get an ice-cream from Jaconelli's or Pacitto's.

Jaconelli's was higher-profile with shops all along the front, but I preferred the Pacittos cone. It came with this yellow stuff on top. Not "lemon", "yellow". And that was the most accurate description of it. It GLOWED like it was radioactive and when you tasted it, it tasted of YELLOW.

Of course, Pacitto's must be long-gone. Nothing with that many additives could still be legal. Or it must be smaller. Or not taste the same.

My Dear Fellow, I can't tell you how ecstatically overjoyed I was to find Pacitto's still in place (next to the "World-Famous Jaconelli's"). I eschewed Jaco's and got myself a "yellow top". And I could have cried.

IT GLOWED LIKE A THOUSAND SUNS.

And it tasted of nothing but yellow. I imagined that I had my own yellow glow as it slipped down. It was the best ice-cream I've had in years, and probably the best one I'll ever have in my life again ever. I don't care if it is radioactive. I don't care if I get sick from the additives. It was worth SO it.

BLEAH! Has it turned my tongue yellow? Has it? Well, has it??!

Parsones