first year at university.’
‘I never went to university.’
I’m surprised to see a little twitch. You’d have thought she’d like this in a girl. I’d be willing to bet a few thousand dollars that Lady Mary Callington-Warbeck-Wattestone never graduated anything more than finishing school. Oh, and riding school.
‘Oh,’ she says faintly. ‘So what do you do with your time?’
‘I’m a reflexologist.’
The debutante staccato begins again. ‘A reflex olo gist? How fas cinating!’
I waggle my head, take another mouthful of water. ‘Yeah, it can be pretty good. You get to meet some pretty interesting people, and it’s a portable skill, you know? I can take it pretty much anywhere in the world and it won’t take all that long to build up a client base. I spent a couple of summers working the beaches in Bali and Thailand, and it was pretty cool.’
‘I’d have thought it was jolly hot,’ she says. D’oh. ‘So tell me, what is a reflexologist?’
‘It’s sort of like – you know acupressure?’
‘Well, we don’t get much of that sort of thing in deepest Gloucestershire.’
Oh, really? I’d heard the British countryside was awash with yuppies gone feral. ‘Oh, well OK: There’s a theory that there’s a point on each part of your outer covering – your pulse points, mostly – that corresponds with your internal organs, your bloodstream, your moods, the state of your health and so forth. Acupuncturists put needles into those points to treat people. Acupressure works on a similar theory, but with massagey sort of stuff.’
‘So far so good,’ she says.
I decide to make it as simple as possible. ‘Reflexology is sort of like acupressure. I understand which parts of your feet and hands correspond to your kidneys, your liver, your lungs, your back and so forth, and I’m trained in diagnosing which parts of your body need treatment and stimulus.’
‘ Stimulus ?’ (She says this in the manner of Lady Bracknell saying ‘a hand bag?’.)
‘Uh-huh.’
Rufus jumps in. ‘It’s wonderful,’ he tells her. ‘She’s done it for me a couple of times and it’s extraordinary. I had a headache one time, and—’
‘Well,’ she interrupts, ‘I’ve always enjoyed a good pedicure.’
‘It’s a bit more …’ I begin to protest, then think: whoa! Melody girl! Humourless proselytiser alert!
She picks up her glass. Takes a sip, pulls a face and puts it down on the table.
‘Oh dear,’ she starts fishing about with her fingers to extract the ice cubes, ‘I’m afraid this is completely drowned. I should have said. I’d forgotten how obsessed you Antipodeans are with ice. I’m frightfully sorry.’
Rufus is on his feet. ‘I’ll get you another one.’
‘We’re out of tonic,’ I tell him. I’m a tad surprised, to be honest. Way I was raised, you say thank you if someone gives you food or a drink, and if it’s not done precisely the way you like it, you shut your bunghole and take it anyway. ‘There’s some juice, or Kinnie, or Coke, but I’m afraid we’re out of tonic. Maybe he can get you something else.’
‘Oh.’ Then, in a little don’t-mind-me-I’ll-be-noble voice, she says: ‘No, no, it’s fine.’
‘I’ll go and get some more,’ offers Rufus. ‘It’ll only take a few mins.’
‘It’s the middle of the arvo,’ I remind him. ‘The shop’ll be shut.’
‘The supermarket in Victoria will still be open,’ he replies.
‘No, no, darling , don’t be silly! I’m not having you driving up to Rabat just because I’m a silly fusspot! I won’t hear of it!’ she says in a do-it-or-I’ll-be-sighing-all-afternoon voice.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he says. ‘I was going to have to go and get some anyway, wasn’t I?’
‘Well, if you really … well, thank you, darling. You are kind.’
‘Bollocks,’ says Rufus.
I would never dare say ‘bollocks’ to my mother. ‘It’ll take ten minutes at the most.’
‘I’ll go,’ I offer. I’m still not
‘I never went to university.’
I’m surprised to see a little twitch. You’d have thought she’d like this in a girl. I’d be willing to bet a few thousand dollars that Lady Mary Callington-Warbeck-Wattestone never graduated anything more than finishing school. Oh, and riding school.
‘Oh,’ she says faintly. ‘So what do you do with your time?’
‘I’m a reflexologist.’
The debutante staccato begins again. ‘A reflex olo gist? How fas cinating!’
I waggle my head, take another mouthful of water. ‘Yeah, it can be pretty good. You get to meet some pretty interesting people, and it’s a portable skill, you know? I can take it pretty much anywhere in the world and it won’t take all that long to build up a client base. I spent a couple of summers working the beaches in Bali and Thailand, and it was pretty cool.’
‘I’d have thought it was jolly hot,’ she says. D’oh. ‘So tell me, what is a reflexologist?’
‘It’s sort of like – you know acupressure?’
‘Well, we don’t get much of that sort of thing in deepest Gloucestershire.’
Oh, really? I’d heard the British countryside was awash with yuppies gone feral. ‘Oh, well OK: There’s a theory that there’s a point on each part of your outer covering – your pulse points, mostly – that corresponds with your internal organs, your bloodstream, your moods, the state of your health and so forth. Acupuncturists put needles into those points to treat people. Acupressure works on a similar theory, but with massagey sort of stuff.’
‘So far so good,’ she says.
I decide to make it as simple as possible. ‘Reflexology is sort of like acupressure. I understand which parts of your feet and hands correspond to your kidneys, your liver, your lungs, your back and so forth, and I’m trained in diagnosing which parts of your body need treatment and stimulus.’
‘ Stimulus ?’ (She says this in the manner of Lady Bracknell saying ‘a hand bag?’.)
‘Uh-huh.’
Rufus jumps in. ‘It’s wonderful,’ he tells her. ‘She’s done it for me a couple of times and it’s extraordinary. I had a headache one time, and—’
‘Well,’ she interrupts, ‘I’ve always enjoyed a good pedicure.’
‘It’s a bit more …’ I begin to protest, then think: whoa! Melody girl! Humourless proselytiser alert!
She picks up her glass. Takes a sip, pulls a face and puts it down on the table.
‘Oh dear,’ she starts fishing about with her fingers to extract the ice cubes, ‘I’m afraid this is completely drowned. I should have said. I’d forgotten how obsessed you Antipodeans are with ice. I’m frightfully sorry.’
Rufus is on his feet. ‘I’ll get you another one.’
‘We’re out of tonic,’ I tell him. I’m a tad surprised, to be honest. Way I was raised, you say thank you if someone gives you food or a drink, and if it’s not done precisely the way you like it, you shut your bunghole and take it anyway. ‘There’s some juice, or Kinnie, or Coke, but I’m afraid we’re out of tonic. Maybe he can get you something else.’
‘Oh.’ Then, in a little don’t-mind-me-I’ll-be-noble voice, she says: ‘No, no, it’s fine.’
‘I’ll go and get some more,’ offers Rufus. ‘It’ll only take a few mins.’
‘It’s the middle of the arvo,’ I remind him. ‘The shop’ll be shut.’
‘The supermarket in Victoria will still be open,’ he replies.
‘No, no, darling , don’t be silly! I’m not having you driving up to Rabat just because I’m a silly fusspot! I won’t hear of it!’ she says in a do-it-or-I’ll-be-sighing-all-afternoon voice.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he says. ‘I was going to have to go and get some anyway, wasn’t I?’
‘Well, if you really … well, thank you, darling. You are kind.’
‘Bollocks,’ says Rufus.
I would never dare say ‘bollocks’ to my mother. ‘It’ll take ten minutes at the most.’
‘I’ll go,’ I offer. I’m still not
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