speaking
, the book explained.
But don't worry
—
once they've started, nothing will stop them
! Oh God.
They tend to repeat words spoken with enthusiasm or excitement
, it went on.
So be very careful what you let your bird hear
. Oh. Too late for that.
'Problems problems!' Rudy yelled in Ed's voice.
'Don't be horrid, 'I' replied. 'And would you take your shoes off before you come in!'
I glanced at the book again.
The thing about mynah birds is that they are truly brilliant mimics. Parrots only ever sound like parrots, but mynahs sound like human beings
.
'Anorexic of Axminster!' shrieked Rudy. 'Your cooking's awful too. You couldn't put Marmite on a cracker with a fucking
recipe
!'
'Ed, that is SO unfair!'
'It's true!'
I stared in stupefaction at Rudy, as the implications of his sudden loquacity sunk in.
'You're
selfish
!' he shouted as he stared at me, beadily.
'And you're Rude, ' I replied. I pulled down the cover to shut him up.
'Nighty night!' he said.
Having my marital rows re-enacted at top volume by a bird had shaken me to my core, so I did what I always do when I'm feeling upset—I got out the ironing board. And as the iron sped back and forth, snorting a twin plume of steam, my heart rate began to subside. I find there's nothing more therapeutic than a nice pile of pressing when I've had a nasty shock. I iron everything, I really don't mind—tea-towels, knickers, socks. I even tried to iron my J Cloths once, but they melted. I've never really minded ironing—something my friends find decidedly weird. But then my mum was incredibly house-proud—'a tidy home means a tidy mind!' she'd say—so I guess I get it from her. Now, as I felt my pulse subside, I thought about how appalled she and Dad would be: my marriage only lasted seven months, while they made it to fifty years. I wondered too what they'd have thought of Ed—they never met him—but then they were already middle aged by the time they 'had' me. When I say, they 'had' me, I don't mean in the conventional sense. They acquired me; got me, rather than
begot
me—I was adopted at just under six months. But since you're asking I don't mind telling you that my childhood was idyllic in every way. We weren't well off but my parents were
great
—we lived down in Ashford, in Kent. Dad was the manager of an upmarket shoe shop and Mum worked in the town hall. She'd been told years before that she'd be unable to have kids, but then they got the chance to have me. Right from the start they told me that I was adopted, so there were
no
nasty surprises. At least not then.
When I was little my parents would tell me this story about how this pretty lady, seeing how sad they were at not having any children of their own, came up to them in the street one day and asked them if they'd like to have
me
. And they looked at me lying in her arms, and said, 'Oh what a sweet baby—yes please!' So she handed me over, and they took me home and I lived happily
ever
after with them. It was a nice story—and I believed it for a very long time. I used to imagine this well-dressed woman walking around with me in her arms, scanning the crowd for the kindest-looking couple who were keen to look after a special baby like me. Her search wasn't easy, because she was very,
very
fussy, but then, at last, she spotted Mum and Dad. She took one look at their kind faces and just knew that they were right.
Mum and Dad were great churchgoers—
really
keen—and they said that God had sent me to them. And I did sometimes wonder what God was up to allowing my real mum to give me away. I remember once or twice asking them to tell me about her, but they suddenly looked rather uncomfortable and said that they didn't know. And I guessed that my question had hurt their feelings so I never asked them again. But I thought about her a lot and I convinced myself that she'd had a good reason for doing what she did. I imagined that she was very busy caring for sick children in India or Africa. And
, the book explained.
But don't worry
—
once they've started, nothing will stop them
! Oh God.
They tend to repeat words spoken with enthusiasm or excitement
, it went on.
So be very careful what you let your bird hear
. Oh. Too late for that.
'Problems problems!' Rudy yelled in Ed's voice.
'Don't be horrid, 'I' replied. 'And would you take your shoes off before you come in!'
I glanced at the book again.
The thing about mynah birds is that they are truly brilliant mimics. Parrots only ever sound like parrots, but mynahs sound like human beings
.
'Anorexic of Axminster!' shrieked Rudy. 'Your cooking's awful too. You couldn't put Marmite on a cracker with a fucking
recipe
!'
'Ed, that is SO unfair!'
'It's true!'
I stared in stupefaction at Rudy, as the implications of his sudden loquacity sunk in.
'You're
selfish
!' he shouted as he stared at me, beadily.
'And you're Rude, ' I replied. I pulled down the cover to shut him up.
'Nighty night!' he said.
Having my marital rows re-enacted at top volume by a bird had shaken me to my core, so I did what I always do when I'm feeling upset—I got out the ironing board. And as the iron sped back and forth, snorting a twin plume of steam, my heart rate began to subside. I find there's nothing more therapeutic than a nice pile of pressing when I've had a nasty shock. I iron everything, I really don't mind—tea-towels, knickers, socks. I even tried to iron my J Cloths once, but they melted. I've never really minded ironing—something my friends find decidedly weird. But then my mum was incredibly house-proud—'a tidy home means a tidy mind!' she'd say—so I guess I get it from her. Now, as I felt my pulse subside, I thought about how appalled she and Dad would be: my marriage only lasted seven months, while they made it to fifty years. I wondered too what they'd have thought of Ed—they never met him—but then they were already middle aged by the time they 'had' me. When I say, they 'had' me, I don't mean in the conventional sense. They acquired me; got me, rather than
begot
me—I was adopted at just under six months. But since you're asking I don't mind telling you that my childhood was idyllic in every way. We weren't well off but my parents were
great
—we lived down in Ashford, in Kent. Dad was the manager of an upmarket shoe shop and Mum worked in the town hall. She'd been told years before that she'd be unable to have kids, but then they got the chance to have me. Right from the start they told me that I was adopted, so there were
no
nasty surprises. At least not then.
When I was little my parents would tell me this story about how this pretty lady, seeing how sad they were at not having any children of their own, came up to them in the street one day and asked them if they'd like to have
me
. And they looked at me lying in her arms, and said, 'Oh what a sweet baby—yes please!' So she handed me over, and they took me home and I lived happily
ever
after with them. It was a nice story—and I believed it for a very long time. I used to imagine this well-dressed woman walking around with me in her arms, scanning the crowd for the kindest-looking couple who were keen to look after a special baby like me. Her search wasn't easy, because she was very,
very
fussy, but then, at last, she spotted Mum and Dad. She took one look at their kind faces and just knew that they were right.
Mum and Dad were great churchgoers—
really
keen—and they said that God had sent me to them. And I did sometimes wonder what God was up to allowing my real mum to give me away. I remember once or twice asking them to tell me about her, but they suddenly looked rather uncomfortable and said that they didn't know. And I guessed that my question had hurt their feelings so I never asked them again. But I thought about her a lot and I convinced myself that she'd had a good reason for doing what she did. I imagined that she was very busy caring for sick children in India or Africa. And
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