I Might Be Talking B*llocks

My Dear Princess and Dear Friends,

Today we had a nice afternoon with Loulou in her cottage. We love Loulou. She made us a nice cup of "gumboot tea".

"Oh whoops," she said. "I've put two different kinds of teabag in the pot. I'm going to have to start again. Soz."

She put it down to the chemo which is doing strange things to her head. "I keep losing words and doing ridiculous things," she explained. 

"That's all right, it's brought you down to my level," I replied.

"All the same I should warn you that I might be talking complete b*llocks and just making things up," she added. 

That is all right. I am fluent in b*llocks.

Funnily enough, our chat today continued on a theme which has been on my mind all weekend - family. The family you are born with and the family you create around yourself. Loulou is family to me, we love her and she says she feels completely comfortable around us. 

"It's not like my own family where there's so much nuance and subtle hidden meanings," she said. "It's just so f***ing exhausting."

We talked about her family for a while. How having her mum around for a cup of tea with Tiger's mum is a very stressful operation. Loulou's mum is very highly strung.

"If I told her someone else was going to be here at the same time, she just wouldn't sleep the night before," explained Loulou. "So I have to plan it like a military operation."

And here she started singing the Mission: Impossible theme.

"Invite my mum round for tea," she mimed the phone call.
"DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN," she sang.
"Invite Tiger's mum round for tea, but 10 minutes after the arrival of my mum so she doesn't get spooked."
"DOODLE-OOOO, DOOODLE-OOOOO, DOOOODLE-OOO - DUN! DUN!"

Her mum's nervy nature makes little sense because that is so not Loulou. At least, not that it shows. It has made Loulou's cancer diagnosis complicated because her mum is terrified of death.

"She can't even get a massage," said Loulou. "Because if someone touches her bones through her skin she remembers that she's got a skeleton underneath and that skeletons equal death."

As a consequence, it has been Loulou's dad who has helped her most of all. He takes her to chemo and the two read together in silence. It's a thing they have always done. 

"We read, and he plays with his eyelashes and I play with my eyebrows. We're a right pair of weirdos," she laughed. 

"But how did your mum get that way?" asked Caro.

It turns out that Loulou's granny was not very nice. She picked on her daughter and called her "Adder Eyes" because she was pale with red hair and this reminded Loulou's granny of snakes. 

"Who DOES that? Who does that to their own children?" Loulou asked.

This prompted Caro to tell stories about her grandmother. A tiny yet terrifying woman, bitter about the state of her marriage who took it out on everyone around her. "She never liked me," said Caro. "I would mow her lawn and tidy for her every weekend, but she always hated me."

I met this lady in 2001. She was absolutely tiny, but clearly had complete control over Caro's mum and the rest of the family. And even though Caro tried to win her over, she grew up knowing that she would never be good enough. Because Caro's mum was never good enough either.

"Would you like to hear about my granny?" I asked. I thought it might lighten the suddenly heavy mood. So I told them stories I have told you all before. And it did indeed get Caro and Loulou laughing. 

Of course, it wasn't all silly stories. I had to confess that there was no connection between me and my gran. She loved Tups best, because - from a very young age - Tups was like a mini-me version of my gran. The two of them drove my very posh mother to despair with their common-as-muck ways. 

I think my gran just thought I was a weird child. With my head in the clouds. To be fair to her, I was. And have remained so ever since.

We all agreed that even though we may share some character traits and display odd habits inherited from our relations, we are very different people from them. Closer in spirit to each other, in fact. Loulou feels like a sister to me. Tiger like a brother.

Maybe it's to do with the fact that we all left home fairly young. Caro and me were both 17 when we left home. Loulou was just 15 when she first went flatting.

"God, I must have been a nightmare for my poor flatmates!" she added.

Maybe that's why were are more alike - more like sisters and brothers - than we are to our own families. I am completely comfortable with Loulou too. I can sit and talk to her and enjoy myself. I can sit in complete silence with her, and find her company comforting. 

And it's more than just that. Maybe Loulou has picked up her eyebrow-stroking from her dad, but I'm pretty sure I've picked up some Loulou-isms from her too. There's a rhythm to our humour and our chat when we are all together. A sense of ease and a feeling of family. And it sustains me, when I'm feeling low. 

It is very comforting to know that I have this lovely extended family. 

I might be talking b*llocks. But never about this.

S.