Postcard from Upper Wheatley
What Lee-Ann did last summer
This postcard has been on Lee-Ann’s mantelpiece since the summer. You know what she’s like. There are probably more under the settee that she’ll find eventually.
Amazingly, I was out of bed before my alarm, thankful that I could wear shorts and a Simon's Cat T-shirt instead of something overwarm but office-appropriate like the day before. It was the sort of morning where you feel completely at peace with the world: clear blue skies, gentle breeze from the skylight jingling the windchimes... Naturally, I made sure my mobile phone was on silent so my sister Gina couldn't ring me and spoil it.
I booted my lazy cat out into the fresh air before breakfast. I noticed on the way out to the library that he'd immediately curled up in the sunshine on my downstairs neighbour Douglas's bike shed. Speaking of whom, when I reached the pavement he was doing warm-up stretches in lycra and a hard hat. Douglas, that is, not Lord Salisbury. I asked if he was off on a bike ride — making, as I thought, pleasant neighbourly chit-chat befitting such a pleasant morning. Douglas of course chose to commend my increasing powers of observation but being, as I may have mentioned, at one with the world I decided to rise above it. Instead of berating him for his sarcasm I said I hoped he hadn't disturbed my snoozing cat when he retrieved his bike.
Douglas said it was nigh on impossible to disturb the beast when he was comfortable, as I must surely know, but they had reached an understanding: Douglas wouldn't turf him off the roof, no matter how he made it sag, as long as Salisbury promised to remain alert enough to roll off onto any would-be bike thief, incapacitating them until they could be apprehended.
There's being at one with the world and there's turning a blind eye to animal cruelty, so I suggested that next time he felt like body-shaming a defenceless moggy of unusually large build, he might prefer not to wear a close-fitting cycling jersey that did him no favours. He opened his mouth to retort but before he could dispel my peaceful summer feeling entirely, I said 'Anyway, shouldn't you be at work'.
Douglas works from home so I suppose what I really meant was why hadn't he already installed himself at the computer in his living room for a hard day of designing graphics. He said he knew I barely listened to a word he said but honestly this must be the third time this week he'd told me he was taking a week's holiday. And then he nodded at the notebook in my hand and said surely I wasn't going to waste such a glorious day stuck indoors with a pile of books? I'd actually been planning to look at land tax records on the computer, but either way I didn't see what business it was of his, and I told him so. It all depends, I said, what you consider a wasted day.
Much to my annoyance, when I reached the library I could see Douglas's point. The windows are all high up so as not to get in the way of the bookshelves and it was distinctly cooler, darker and less summery feeling in there. I'd spent four days at work complaining that I was stuck in an air-conditioned office instead of being able to appreciate the good weather, and now here I was voluntarily spending the day in Upper Wheatley library. Even I'm not that eager for land tax records.
I would have expected Gina's power-walking to have been over at least half an hour earlier but I'd recognise my sister's lycra-clad backside anywhere, and I spotted it wiggling at speed down the road from the library as I emerged, so I ran after her. Before I'd so much as said hello she started complaining about the school summer holidays, which at least meant I wasn't about to be told off for ignoring a phonecall — always a risk when I've left my phone at home.
The holidays played havoc with her routines, she said, and it was even worse on days like today when Richard was at home. I foolishly imagined that with Richard around to keep an eye on my infant niece Jasmine, Gina was free to do what she wanted. Which, Gina being Gina, undoubtedly meant sticking to the activities set out on her lavishly-illustrated timetable. But no.
Richard, the inconsiderate sod, wanted them to have breakfast as a family, and then instead of stacking the dishwasher immediately he'd jumped up and whipped the paddling pool from the garage. Gina said she'd used the distraction as cover to get away and get exercising, albeit slightly late, and now if I'd finished delaying her further, she'd like to get on and complete her circuit.
'Don't you ever feel like having fun?' I said, though come to think of it I don't know why. Even when we were kids Gina's definition of fun involved sticky labels and colour-coded ring-binders. Letting go only came into her vocabulary once Jasmine started watching Frozen. 'Never mind Jasmine's paddling pool, we used to paddle in streams when we were her age' I said, and I dragged her down to the river.
'All the rivers are full of sewage', she said, 'have you not been paying attention?'
I said, 'You do know how rivers work? There would have to be a sewage treatment plant upstream from us, it doesn't just make it back here from the sea like salmon.'
She pondered for a moment and then sat on a rock to take her trainers and socks off. 'Of course', I added, 'there's all the fertiliser and pesticide run-off from the farms. Maybe the odd dead sheep.' Gina looked at me like I'd just tracked mud across an expensive cream rug, and put her socks back on.
Actually come to think of it, she looked a tad more murderous than that at the time of the rug incident. Who has pale deep-pile carpets when they live in the countryside? She'd have had enough to say if I'd taken my muddy jeans off and left them in the hallway with my boots. Anyway it turned out to be good practice for having a toddler.
'Let's skim stones, instead', I said and picked up a flat pebble.
You'd have thought Gina would have more sense than to stand right by my elbow, and yet it was still somehow my fault that it connected with her stomach so firmly.
I sensed a lurking presence and when I looked across at the bridge, there was Douglas leaning against the parapet. I said he was welcome to join us but he shouted back something about valuing his bike too much. Maybe he was afraid of it getting rusty.
Gina said not for the first time Douglas was the Voice of Reason and she was going to resume her power-walking before I incapacitated her. I mooched off to see if Richard had filled the paddling pool; at least Jasmine's always pleased to see me.
love, Lee-Ann xx
What on earth was that?
If that’s your response you may be unfamiliar with my audio sitcom Lee-Ann’s Spare Fridays which I made 11 episodes of between December 2022 and August 2024. You can listen at Apple podcasts, Spotify, or in your browser without having to sign in to anything at https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/jysaville.
Fortyish Lee-Ann has been moved on to a four-day week at work and wants to spend her Fridays with her portly black and white cat Lord Salisbury, or researching the history of Upper Wheatley, the Yorkshire Dales village she moved to a few years ago to be near her baby niece. Unfortunately her interfering older sister Gina doesn’t think those are worthy pursuits and tries to divert her. Lee-Ann's Scottish neighbour Douglas isn't on anyone's side but his own. It's structured like a sitcom, but I wrote and performed it as a monologue from Lee-Ann's point of view.
Lee-Ann has been scouring the charity shops and picked up a load of unused old postcards, the kind that fold out so she can ramble on in her usual fashion when she writes them. None of them depict the Yorkshire Dales.
