July Talk
Jinxing it, Heatwave latest, Pshaw!
I jinxed it
I know I’m not the only one who thinks they jinx a match by watching it, but bear in mind these are the only games I tuned in for. The results speak for themselves.
Tuesday 7th July. Football World Cup: Having avoided all sport up until now, I turn on the TV to root for underdogs Egypt, who are causing a stir, 2–0 up against Argentina in the quarter finals. Argentina score three goals in the next few minutes and move on to the semis.
Friday 10th July – Wimbledon: Switch on for the Fery vs Zverev semi-final, after learning that wildcard Fery (5ft 9ins Brit) is doing well against the towering (6ft 6ins) German and the first set is going to a tie-break. From there on, it goes Zverev’s way. Fery is out in three sets.
Saturday 11th July, World Cup: I’m duty-bound to watch the England vs Norway quarter-final, but decide to get ready for bed when it goes to extra time at 1–1. Checking Substack Notes a few minutes later, India Knight’s cry of “JUUUUUUUUUUUDE!” catches my eye, so I know England’s Jude Bellingham has scored again and they are now ahead. I daren’t return to the telly, in case I jinx it. England stay on top.
Wednesday 15th July: England vs Argentina in the semi-final. England are 1–0 up. As soon as I pay attention, Argentina score twice, earning their spot in the final. Nothing to do with manager Thomas Tuchel’s tactics, or flagging energy levels on the England side. All my fault. Sorry!
Heatwave latest
At the beach, my youngest granddaughter (3) cries when she realises the ocean tastes of salt. Reassured by her parents, she splashes back in, gleefully, and doesn’t want to leave.
On the family WhatsApp chat, I hear of a man who has swum across a lake to cool off and then had a heart attack. My sister drives to fetch the nearest defibrillator. He lives.
I learn of children injured by a falling tree at an activity centre. Fortunately no fatalities. I read that in heatwaves stressed trees are prone to sudden “branch drop” to conserve energy. I now look up on my canopied dog walks, listening for creaks and groans.
Pshaw!
Dismay among friends that the Wordle answer yesterday was ‘pshaw’ (an expression of contempt). Pshaw to that! We agreed it was obscure. I’d gone to bed puzzling about it after three attempts, then inspiration struck when I got up for a 2am wee. Got it in four.
…
To the GP surgery for part two of my shingles vaccine.
Two women, who appear to be friends, are complaining about cab drivers.
“They come over here to work, but they should learn to speak English proper and stuff,” says one.
A man opposite says, “I’m finding your conversation offensive.”
“How? I wasn’t speaking to you,” the woman says. “Anyway, I know some of them are lovely.”
“Them,” he says. “That’s what’s offensive. You’re generalising about people.”
“Can you change the subject?” says another woman, sitting alongside her son. “There are children present.”
“I haven’t said anything offensive,” says the man.
“I know, but let’s not escalate it,” she says.
The two friends reluctantly agree to switch topic. “How’s your dog?” asks one. “Doing well, thanks,” says the other. “Rescue dogs are the best. This one came from Bosnia.”
At which point I’m called in for my jab.
Friends want to know how come I’ve been called for a shingles vaccine when they haven’t. In England you’re eligible when you turn 65 (that’s me), but otherwise, not until you’re 70. I guess it’s partly down to costs, but it also means age-specific outcomes can be tracked more easily. There’s a suggestion that the shingles vaccine has a protective effect against dementia. I want the jab anyway. I had shingles when I was 24 and don’t want a repeat. It was excruciating. It’s caused when dormant chicken pox virus resurfaces, leading to really painful blisters which can cause nerve damage.
From there, on to a church. Five years after my dad died, I’m singing with choir at someone else’s dad’s celebration of life. One of the hymns is We Plough The Fields and Scatter, which I remember word-perfect from childhood harvest festivals. My eyes are wet.
I’m thinking about why my appetite to write has returned in recent years, after a long drought, and realise it’s because I’m no longer “sandwiched”. My children are grown. My parents died in 2021, the year I turned 60. Much of what I write is to make sense of my own life and theirs, to tell histories. I needed time and space, and to get off the hamster wheel of being constantly in demand before the words returned.
Thanks for the love for last week’s teenage My Summer of '76 “slice of life” diary excerpts. And, as always, thank you for reading. Do please comment if anything here strikes a chord. I love to hear what you think.
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Until next time.
I knew the ‘pshaw’ answer was going to cause some pshaws 😅
Oh no, you are not responsible for teams that fail to score goals :-)
On a serious matter: Good for you to get your Shingles vaccine. My mother had shingles when she was 38. I was 2. It was not diagnosed at the time because it went internally, never blistered. She has lived with excruciating pain in her back On and OFF, to the point of bending forward at a 90 degrees angle when it is ON. It probably is a very rare case, but Shingles it is. No painkiller is enough. She first got it at 38. She is over a 100 now. You do the sums. Bar voodoo, she has tried everything, with no relief. Sometimes, she wriggles in pain and screams... and she is not a drama queen! So, Ladies, whoever is reading this reply to Wendy, do not put off getting vaccinated if you qualify for it.
Thanks, Wendy, for bringing this up. X