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Without A Trace

The Mothership is in orbit! She's due to touch down here tomorrow. She'll come bearing Cherry Ripes, Cadbury Top Deck, John West Passionfruit in a tin and other Australian essentials. Not to mention her lovely company. That is, if she ever bloody arrives. She sent me a text Wednesday morning UK time, saying she was at Canberra Airport about to begin her journey. She was due in Glasgow just over 24 hours later, BUT I HAVE NOT HEARD FROM HER SINCE. Now that sentence is unnecessarily dramatic. You see, she is travelling with her fella. What do you call it when you're fifty years old and you have a man in your life? Your partner? Your companion? Your devoted love slave? Anyway, she has a fella and he lives around the corner from her in Goulburn, but he's actually originally from Scotland (Clearly we have some sort of genetic kilt fetish). Their overseas jaunt is to begin in Glasgow where they will visit her fella's family for a few days, then tomorrow they come here to Chez SHAG*, then they're off to London to see Rhiannon before nicking off to Europe for three weeks on some sort of Contiki For The Middle Aged tour. Since I've read no reports of major air disasters, I can safely assume they made it to Glasgow. But it's been over 48 hours and The Mothership has STILL not called nor texted to confirm her arrival. I have tried calling her mobile and her fella's mobile but they're switched off. This is most likely due to fears she'll be charged £450 just for switching it on in a foreign country. I am not so much concerned for her wellbeing but bloody pissed off at her infuriating double standards! If I'd not confirmed my presence as as we arrived in Australia, she would have had a herd of sniffer dogs and helicopters on the case within five minutes! MOTHERSHIP! You are so GROUNDED young lady! They're probably having a wild old time in Glasgow. But what I'm really wanting here is an ETA for tomorrow. How long do I have left to clean underneath the oven? How long do I have to polish the doorhandles, to comb the hairs of the carpets, to scrub every individual rung of the venetian blinds with a toothbrush, to make sure I am wearing a bra? I want to be ready for inspection, you know. UPDATE:  All is well. Turns out their phone don't work in the UK and they had some trouble figuring out how to call my number without an international code. Hehe. The cleaning is also progressing nicely. * SHAG = the collective noun for SHauna And Gareth, as devised by Jane and Rory.

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About Shauna Reid

Ahoy there! I’m an author, copywriter and old school blogger. I love telling stories about life and helping my clients to tell theirs. Find out more about me and how we can work together.


14 thoughts on “Without A Trace

  1. Shauny, your mother’s companion (how 19th century does that sound?) should be known exactly as you describe – ‘her fella’. There isn’t really a term that covers it so well. Perhaps you can ask the mothership what term she uses?

    PS. Shag is also the moniker of my favourite artist (combo JoSH AGle) check it out… http://www.shag.com

  2. Well, as both of my (separated) parents have finally admitted to having ‘a fella’ and ‘a sheila’ (with ‘the fella’ unfortunately having the same name as my brother) I just refer to them as ‘the squeeze’ or ‘dad’s squeeze’ or ‘mum’s squeeze’, depending on the situation. Hmmm.

  3. Its actually a very touchy subject. Some people meet THE love of their life later in life and THE WHOLE WORLD regards and discards this kind of relationship as definitely second best to say the least.Mature decisions or meetings or intuition are also love, not just two vagrants consoling eachother and passing the time of day!!!
    If by chance your “fella” should die and he may have a crazy f… of a family then you soon realize (like one hour later despite the fact he just told you he loved you before dropping dead from a heart attack, when people invade your bedroom and even are in the bed in their shoes)you soon realize you can’t even call him your fella.
    Please forgive this rather serious intrusion or comment on what was originally just a light comment on the part of Shauna, who I love, but I have to say it because in the space of one stupid heart attack and after six years of life together I lost it all in one little instant. I think from the conversation we had the night before that we would be finally getting married this year despite his so commanding family and older children. I do not have his name and they took his body off to his second companions cemetary.

  4. Shauna,I am okay mostly, thanks for your nice words.
    I came back on to reread what splurted out from my heart this morning and then I was worried about going overboard on your blog.
    It’s been five months already and apart from very off days I do try hard.
    I promise you that your blog is a real nice moment for me .

  5. I quite like Beth’s use of “squeeze”. Perhaps you could make it a bit more personal by use of terms such as Mum’s crumpet or Mummy’s beefcake.

  6. To Sara : I bet a crumpet or a beefcake isn’t a human being but you aren’t either apparently.
    ha ha ha

  7. It could be worse, at least you’re all set up.

    My 60 year old Mum was out dating and, um, stuff, while I was so single I could have been a Catholic priest (the ones that aren’t getting arrested for having sex).

    “What time of day do you call THIS, young… er, Mum?”

    Now we’re both sad and lonely – what a happy ending.

    Well, lonely but not necessarily sad 😉

    I hope they enjoy their trip – Busabout seems a good idea (according to Mum) for people too old for Contiki but mentally young enough to go Ctrl-Alt-Del.

    Scott 🙂

  8. Thanks so much for your lovely comment on my rather melodramatic blog (a little bit of a sense of proportion has now returned to me, thank you – though D1 and I would be so honoured to have a coffee with you) – but anyway – another hilarious entry, thank you. I am another of those middle-aged people who are somewhat suspicious of technology so sympathise with the Mothership. Hope she admires your sparkling under-oven space.

  9. Damn.

    Your mother is too young for me.

    (actually that was a crack I couldn’t resist. I’ve been squeezing the same person for 22 years).

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