Well - What's the Verdict?

Morven McCibbon

Let me tell you about my eventual day! Every time I think about it I wipe tears from my face.

It started with me changing the sheets, mumbling as usual about that greenish tinge on His side of the bed. Then my daughter 'phoned. She'd just heard from a neighbour that two youths had tried to break into her home by kicking in her front door. Fortunately, they'd been disturbed just in time. To make matters even worse, arrangements had been made for a surveyor to call the following day as she was planning to change her mortgage. She finished by saying that she and her boyfriend would go to her flat where I would see them later. After work I headed for her flat. As I entered the common close, I heard voices above and recognised that one was the neighbour who'd disturbed the would-be burglars. "Honestly! A young girl like that! Living ALL on her own!"

The cheek of it! Was she implying I was a neglectful mother? Huffing and puffing I rushed down the stairs towards the basement flat.

Here I noticed that the front door was slightly open. Still on my high horse, I gave it a hefty shove! Immediately there was an almighty whooshing noise as the heavy door sank majestically forward. This was followed by a loud cracking sound as this door gouged its way into the opposite lobby wall!

Standing in a petrified rabbit posture I peered through the greying atmosphere at two horrified faces. Pulling myself together I shook myself into an action mode and clambered into the kitchen, where I immediately realised I wasn't going to be offered the dusty plate of waiting strawberries and cream, never mind a seat. With as much dignity as I could muster I headed towards the gaping space where the door, taken off its hinges for repair, had once stood.

I slithered homewards, head bursting. I frantically tried to think of various ways to ease this piece of news into the evening chit chat! Incidentally, I don't think I've mentioned that my husband had just finished decorating the lobby in question. As I stepped inside the 'phone was ringing.

"Hello! I think I know who you're looking for."

Due to my disturbed state it took me a few seconds to tune into this conversation. Then I got it. There must be something in the evening paper. Here I think I'd better fill you in. For the previous week we'd been receiving mail with the wrong surname, but definitely with our address. It really had become quite worrying as 20 or so people, address and telephone No. unknown, would be delighted to come to our party the following Saturday. We'd looked up all the people with that surname in the local 'phone book, but nobody knew anything about it. I was even considering some fiddly things on a stick when my husband had one of his inspirations. He'd contact the 'Greenock Telegraph' and ask them to insert something small under the local news section. The real hosts could then call in at their office to collect their acceptances.

Back to that 'phone call. After thanking the gentleman I 'phoned the number supplied and was practically accused of being a deep breather. I slumped down to reassess the situation. How had this voice known to contact me? We'd been ex-directory for years. I began to scrutinise the 'Telegraph'. First I glanced down the local news section. Nothing there! Then I looked through the various headlines. Oh No! 'MAN HOPES TO SAVE PARTY' Even worse, this was followed by a longish article, describing how this man, 'who did not wish to give his name, but who lives at 'Blah, Blah,', and who could be contacted by phoning 'Blah Blah,' said, "I don't want anybody's party to be ruined, etc. etc." For the remainder of the afternoon I manned the 'phone. Talk about the butcher, the baker and Fred, John and Jimmy the Postie, but when my tired husband returned from work, the mystery still remained.

"Hello how was your day?" Without pausing for breath I blabbered on. When he did get the gist of things he was none too pleased.

I don't remember what we ate that night, but imbedded in my mind is the vivid recollection of husband scurrying out the door, carrying a bucket and a spare roll of wallpaper.

The phone continued to ring, until at last, "I hope you realise you've ruined my mother's party."

Not only was I a vandal, I was practically divorced, my daughter had probably disowned me and now I was the ultimate party pooper!

We exchanged a few more terse words until we got to the bottom of the mystery. There was to be a surprise party for this woman's mother. But would you credit it, the printers had somehow put our address on the invites? Even more unbelievable, the party givers were ex-directory too!

Never mind, the woman was ever so sorry for my trauma and even arrived at my door with a banana loaf. By then I was so exhausted I didn't even wrap it up before I collapsed into a cold bed. When I woke later, it wasn't even 11p.m. Drained I lay re-living the events of the day. Eventually to rid myself of the feeling of utter gloom, I struggled up. Soon I felt slightly better as I sipped a hot chocolate and munched on crispy banana bread. I took out my photograph album to stare at photos of the family in happier times. Much later a drooping figure slumped past me, heading for the bedroom.

"She said the least you can do is let the surveyor in tomorrow morning." Never again would I complain about that greenish tinge. Anyway, it was my fault for buying these cheap pyjamas.

Yes, the memory of that day always brings tears to my eyes. Genuine sad tears, or hysterical laughter? You decide!