New life
Missing pickines
Zenga Longmore
firstly, I would like to apologise in advance for any typing errors you might spot as you go along. Omalara, you see, is balanced on my lap and is crazily pressing more keys than I am, so all the mistakes must be attributed to her. Next week you may find that she has written 'New life'
herself. .
That's got that out of the way.
Secondly, I would like to clear up something that's been niggling me for some time. Perhaps you could help me. I would like to know why, when a television character has a baby, the baby never comes
into the series again after the day of delivery. Henceforth, the only look-in the child gets is a casual mention in passing. Take EastEnders, for instance. Michelle is the 17-year-old sage who advises adults on the complexities of life. Michelle's mother Pauline is the one who, although bursting with zip and zing, is dying of some unspeci- fied but interesting disease. Both women have young children. Not that you would guess, unless, like me, you were in the know. When she's not agony aunting, Michelle spends all her spare time having affairs with married men. Every Tuesday and Thursday, there she is in the pub, drooping over G and Ts.
Olumba can no longer bear to watch EastEnders. In fact, as soon as he hears the signature tune, his eyes mist over and off he goes into the kitchen to wash feeding bottles in a marked manner.
`What about Michelle's pickine [child]? All alone somewhere while Michelle steps prettily in pubs making sweet sweet music', you'll hear him mutter. 'And Michelle's mum. What is she? When she's not work- ing in the market she's making music in the pub too! Chai! The pickine done suffer-o.'
`Don't worry,' I shout back without ungluing the eyeballs from the set. 'I'm sure Pauline and Michelle have made baby-sitting arrangements.'
`Ewoo!' And great clanks will be heard from next door. When Olumba washes feeding bottles in a marked manner, the hippies next door express their indignation by banging hard, heavy objects on the wall.
To calm Olumba and the hippies down, I say that all households have to revolve around the baby — that's if there is a baby in them. What would really happen is that Michelle's married man would have to spend hours changing nappies and amusing the infant. Their romance would consist of lugging heavy bags from Mothercare. All evening long they'd watch EastEnders, while the baby screamed. After a few hours, the married man would yearn to get back to the relative peace and quiet of his own wife and kids. He'd storm out of her house, bright red in the face, tripping over the nappy bucket in his haste. The next day, a nasty letter would appear on Michel- le's mat, telling her what a boring person she is, and why can't she be like those glamorous women you see on telly who conveniently forget they've got kids.
Olumba looks sour.
Be that as it may, the beautiful Hey Big Gita has just arrived to invite me to her wedding reception. Her name isn't really Hey Big Gita, it's just Gita, but the name sort of stuck ever since Clawhammer Jones Bingo sang her name to the tune of a Shirley Bassey hit last New Year's Eve. Olumba has de-soured now, because he loves weddings, especially the Indian cuisine which will abound at this one. He's even made the tea in the new pot. Slightly stewed and there are no biscuits, but he tries his best.
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