This month’s writing group task is to write about ‘Something overheard’. I suggested it, thinking of the Radio 4 programme, Something Understood. It took a lot of thinking about, but the following is my offering. Within it are seventeen actual phrases which I have overheard!
Something overheard
“Do you mind if we sit here?” one of them asked – well I say asked, she was actually telling me that they were going to sit here.
“No, not all, plenty of room,” I lied. I had just bought coffee and an Eccles cake, Tim is renowned for his Eccles cakes, I’m sure most of the people come here just to treat themselves. I do like his Eccles cakes, but I come here because i find it conducive to writing. The murmur of other customers, the hiss and wheeze of the coffee machine, no BGM – background music, enough going on to inspire if I’m running out of words, but not enough to distract – usually.
The women who had just come in, pulling off their hats and closing their umbrellas were excited to be out of the rain and exclaiming loudly exactly how horrid it was, how unseasonable. I had settled myself at the table in the corner, most people like to sit by the windows, or in the little room through the arch. I always thought of this as ‘my’ table, although I was happy enough to sit anywhere else along the wall. The other, smaller room through an archway always seemed a bit chilly.
The women were settling on the table adjacent to mine and they didn’t really need to ask my permission to sit there. I couldn’t tell them the truth, that I’d prefer them to sit further away, preferably in a different café because they sounded a convivial and noisy gang and I knew they would be a distraction.
The door flung open again, and the two women who blew in as if on a gale were greeted as if they’d returned from some far flung clime.
“Celia! How lovely of you to come, you must have set off at the crack of!”
“I was on the fast train, got me here in no time!”
“It’s not the distance, Celia, it’s how far it is to get here!”
I tried to ignore my noisy neighbours who were now taking it in turns to embrace Celia and her friend, taking their coats and umbrellas as if they owned the place and asking what they wished to drink. It seemed Celia had been on a trip to the Holy Land, I heard her say it was like travelling through the Bible. The loudest of the original women to have arrived, Sarah, announced ‘I’ve done the Nile – twice!‘
They sat down on the next table, some greeted me as if they thought I was part of their gang. I nodded, mumbled, and focused on my screen. Please don’t let them ask what I’m writing, I implored the gods of story-telling. I shouldn’t have even though that.
“I say, are you a writer?” Someone had sat down on the chair diagonally opposite me – on my table! I mumbled something and stared at what I’d written.
“I love poetry, are you a poet? My current favourite was discussed on Poetry Please, I can’t remember his name, but maybe you know him?”
I can’t tell you what my answer would have been if I hadn’t bitten my tongue pretty thoroughly. I hadn’t listened to the programme,, I replied.
“David Penhaligon? Was it David Penhaligon, he write poetry doesn’t he??”
Loud-mouth Sarah must have caught what she said because she announced in a loud voice that surely Judy knew that David Penhaligon was a Cornish MP, who died donkeys years ago, tragically young in a road accident. Well that ended that conversation.
How could I escape, this horror? I closed my laptop , I’d pack up and go, even though I was in full flow and my story was racing in my head.
Just as I decided that, the door flung open again as if the wind had decided to join the party, and two sodden women staggered in and with some difficult closed the door behind them. There was no way I was going to leave with this tumult happening outside. However, I reckoned there may be spare seats through the arch in the other room. So I stood up, gathered my things, made some amiable and friendly remarks to those of the women who weren’t shrieking a welcome to the new arrivals, and sidled into the other room.
“Coffee and Eccles?” Tim called as i passed – coffee and tea-cake, please, I called back.
The little room had a few customers sitting quietly, but there was one table free, unfortunately somewhat near the main room, but at least my ears were no longer ringing. I sat down, my back to a couple of gentlemen in walking gear who were quietly discussing books and films. Enys Men – I must catch up with that, a fascinating Cornish film from the reviews I’d read, Salvation Johnny – crikey, who was that by? I may have read it many, many years ago, but the author was now lost in the mists of time.
Tim brought me my coffee and teacake and he’d given me an extra pat of butter, maybe making up for the carry-on next door. They were harmless those women, just so pleased to see each-other and loud and thoughtless… no, I revised my opinion, they were obnoxious, extremely annoying and very inconsiderate. At least I wasn’t sitting near them but I might well have been!
“I’ve got sugar all over my pants!”someone screamed to a cacophony of laughter.
“Just ‘cos I like coasters because coasters are something you can use!” I’m sure that was Judy.
“I did like it but I thought, don’t get carried away, Janette,” said Janette.
“Why don’t you get carried away Jeanette, you deserve it for once!” cried Celia.
“Alison has a wedding dress, Juicy in darkly pink across the bottom!” I’m sure there was no-one called Juicy there, it must have been Judy, but my head was ringing, even as I wondered if there was such a colour as darkly pink.
“I’ve not done anything illegally…”
Oh good grief, however vile the weather, I was going to have to escape!
“So what did Marian do exactly with the horsewhip? What did she say to Bobby which was so…”
Suddenly their voices dropped and all I could hear was a faint murmur of women’s voices. I never did find out what Marian did – it was something to do with “vegan trifle? Actual vegan trifle, Sasha’s recipe?”
Later, when they had all departed to their lunch in a nearby pub, as the downpour abated, Tim told me they were the Women Unleashed Luncheon Club.
“But where they came from I don’t know! Better than the evangelical lot from Huish Episcopi who come in for coffee on a Tuesday, after a morning of going round the village, saving people from Satan!”
I must remember not to come and try and write here on Tuesdays.
Lois Elsden 