Knights

When I pass my fellow Mummy pilgrims on the school run, we exchange limp greetings in the bleak black wetness of December and say, ‘Thank goodness it will soon be the Christmas holidays!’ After three days of the Christmas holidays, our children unfettered, unstructured and over-endowed with energy mostly of the noise and mess-making type, we will be filled with regret that we did not buy their teachers a bigger Christmas present, and we will be overcome with the urge to embrace their teachers and kiss the apples of their cheeks in an outpouring of gratitude.

I certainly need to be shut inside for the Christmas holidays. I have to drive our children to school, much against my will, and I’ve had enough of French driving, I’ve had over 10 years enough, as illustrated by a recent incident.

Just one more male French driver made just one more life-endangering discourteous manoeuvre, which almost resulted in the death of an oncoming cyclist (who was dressed in the French style of black on a black bike with no lights) or at the very least, almost resulting in the re-skinning of my side panels.

Only this one didn’t get away, heh heh heh. He too was forced to brake and pull in, which left me right behind him, staring in through his back windscreen, pounding my horn and flashing my lights.

I chased him. When I think back on this incident, I am astounded to feel quite clearly the movement of the horse beneath me and the lance in my hand. I charged after him, I matched and met him at every bend. ‘See you how like it, see how you like it’ I shouted victoriously, ‘Someone behind you, getting at you, pushing you, niggling you, get out of my damning you, criticising your every move, determined to get ahead of you SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT!’ As we rounded the bend to the river I had my quarry in my sights in full silhouette, and I saw him finger his collar nervously and I experienced a rush of glorious, unfettered – satisfaction. With a hurrump I let him go and turned off into my favourite parking space.

Yes well, moving swiftly along. Today I went to our local shopping mall, to buy R a knight’s costume for Christmas. R was born and baptised a knight, in nappies he charged about on a wheeled horse, one arm raised as a lance. It is the Mummy’s job of course to chanel this fighting energy for The Good. The marble mall was filled with echoey ghostly Chrismash musak, and as I passed through the entrance arches of our local supermarket Carrefour, a dreadful sight met my eyes. A twice life-sized blue plastic fiend which might once have been loosely based on a cartoon cat, was caught in mid frenzied jump, its claws over its head. The message above it read: ALL THE MAGIC OF PRESENTS. The blue fiend was raised up on a mountain of electronic games in cardboard boxes. Is this what Christmas is about, All the Occult Pleasure of Getting Electronic Stuff?

Ducking my head and averting my eyes I made my way to the toy section, boys’ aisle. No sign of costumes. I spotted two youths with wearing alarming red tabards with ‘can I help you?’ written on their backs. It’s the right place to write it, because you only ever see their backs as they hurry away from you. I hurried after them and shouted HALLO so loudly that they turned round in shock and faced me. Victory.

‘Hallo there! Do you sell childrens dressing-up costumes?’

‘Ouer, ah only spiderman over there, I think...’ said Youth One

‘Yer, or batman…over there, I think’ said Youth Two as he peered into the distance.

‘I wanted a simple knight’s costume, (not a commercially marketed cartoon character)’

‘Ah na we don’t do that.’ Said Youth One, relieved.

‘But you might find some accessories – er, you know, that could go with a costume’ said Youth Two in his nicest tone, he was really trying.

My eye roved reluctantly over the ‘accessories’ for commercially marketed cartoon characters, and my eye was met by rows of evil ones, and black skulls, jagged scimitars, wands, pervy red masks, balls on chains, batons, leering hate-filled faces, fire, dark skies, and killer machines.

‘Working here,’ I said to Youth two, ‘Do you ever get the impression that you are in hell, surrounded by demons?’

Youth Two jumped. He hadn’t thought of it like that. His grandma was buying him just that sort of stuff a few years ago.

I clutched my heart, raised myself up and said ‘I’m sorry, this is appalling, I can’t stay in this shop a moment longer’. Youth Two turned back to his shelf-stacking.

I walked right out of that shop, I took back my shopping trolley and I retrieved my plastic token. I did not buy a toy, I did not buy lunch, I did not even buy my fair trade Rooibosch tea bags. And who do you think I went to see, who do you think would understand? Why Senhor H. of course. I had to go anyway, because I’d left my cheque book behind.

‘Yes yes’ he cried ‘and every one of those cardboard boxes will be SNAPPED UP!’

I spent as much time mulling over the evils of the world with him as I would have spent trailing my trolley around Carrefour, and saved the 200 Euros I would have spent, and probably my soul while I was at it.