Later today, I’ll get the rare opportunity to meet up with my sister Helen and her 4-month old daughter Alice during their odyssey from Cheshire to West Yorkshire. With not seeing either of them for over two months, the Leeds based arm of the family excitedly await meeting up with our newest addition and my sibling.
My youngest sibling, a fine lass who exhibits the similar warm, caring and loving nature of her mater. With the return of the prodigal daughter, mum has undertaken the contemporary equivalent of killing the fatted calf – She’s bought a selection of buffet snacks from M&S Food.
As we tuck into the better quality sausage rolls, pizza and pork pie I receive during my visits, it’ll be pleasant to catch up with my sis, along with the brood stealing a rare cuddle of our latest family member.
Born within the sound of Bow Bells, my sister is the only one out of the immediate family not to make their arrival into the world in West Yorkshire. Helen wasn’t born in London, in fact making an appearance over 200 miles away in Northumberland. Her hearing the bells a consequence of possessing previously unheard of long distance audio capabilities.
Now a resident in the upmarket county of Cheshire, my sis spends her maternity leave attempting to recall what it was like to sleep longer than it takes Usain Bolt to run 100 metres.
Helen utilises these excessive waking hours productively, especially since taking up knitting letters of complaint to her local paper. It takes a while for H to create the letters, however the paper always respond to my ordinarily undemonstrative sibling – Generally with a crocheted telegram telling her ‘Bollocks!”
Sadly, the opportunities to catch-up with my brother Ian and sister Helen are few and far between; a consequence of both my siblings living over an hours drive away. In our Ian’s case, the lack of invite also a result at his knack of breaking my household ornaments with his ingrained clumsy disposition.
To clarify, the above whimsical skits are predominantly tongue-in-cheek observations; in reality the three of us get on swimmingly. The only exception to the fictional points, our Ian’s cloddishness in the vicinity of bone china ornaments and crockery. This accidental breakage so frequent during his visits my dust pan and brush have taken out a restraining order on our kid.
He’s a smashing bloke though my bro (excuse the pun), also exhibiting the warm, caring, loving and humane nature of our Helen and mater – Displaying many behavioural traits I aspire to. My parody comments about him are borne from jealousy at his wealth; a consequence of Ian’s decades of accumulating Royal Doulton shares.
Like my rare rendezvous with our Helen today, I’ll get the equally infrequent opportunity to meet up with my brother later this week. Our get together during my Saturday sojourn to his metropolis in the north east of England. My venture following an invite to his home, a residence packed with rubber crockery and trip hazard signs.