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| January 27 2002 Sunday Mr Murgatroyd - he's the Irishman with the cleft palate - came to tea today. I didn't tell my mother he was coming until just before he was due to arrive, so she wouldn't be able to worm out of it. I explained to her that what happened at the football match was all a mistake, that Mr Murgatroyd had mistaken her for an old girlfriend, and that he wanted to apologise. My mother still kicked off to some tune, but I pointed out to her that I'd already spent a pound of my pocket money on a can of Guinness for him so that he'd feel at home, so it was the least she could do. Anyway, it all went very well. Mr Murgatroyd was a perfect gentleman. He bought my mother flowers, a box of chocolates, and a bottle of wine, which went down very well with the Irish Stew I'd got my mother to make. The only hiccup was when Mr Murgatroyd mentioned that he did a bit of singing, and when mother expressed an interest he asked her if she'd like him to give her a song, because due to his cleft palate it sounded like he said 'Would you like me to give you a thong?' and for a couple of minutes she thought he was offering to buy her a G-string. As it happened this was quite fortuitous because it brought the conversation round to his speech impediment - and then I had one of those 'Eureka' moments. I remembered that at the time my mother became pregnant with me she was training to be a speech therapist, but she never went back to it. So in order to keep them seeing each other I suggested to mother that maybe she could help Mr Murgatroyd with his speech impediment. And she agreed! She's arranged for him to come round the next time my father is away - she said he'd be sure to get the wrong idea if he knew - (He'll know soon enough because I'm going to tell him!) - so I'm hoping that love will blossom. |
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