As she seems to be becoming a recurring theme within this blog, I thought it might be an idea to give you a fuller introduction to the cat-collecting, food-theorising Shoe Queen of Coventry - my dear friend Eleanor B.
Eleanor took me under her wing at University when I was a hapless eighteen year old armed with a Primark duvet and a frying pan i used as a base for burning candles. Not exactly the best at looking after myself and cluelessly clogging the freezer with McCains boxed goodness on a regular basis - (the phrase 'do you even own a plate?' was uttered to me by a perplexed neighbour) - and happily bloating out of my early 2000's student wear, this friendly blonde young Readingonian taught me what a bagel was, what makes Aersomith awesome and why we don't cook pizzas in their plastic wrappings (something about potential death).
As she is very much a character from my present I will stop short of dishing the absolute dirt on her and keep it pleasant light and clean.
A creative writing teacher once told me that the best way to sum up a person is by writing about the things they carry with them, and tell a few choice anecdotes illustrating their idiosyncracies. So here goes.
Eleanor carried with her:
A mini disc player (the only person i know who ever possessed such a contraption)
keys to an old Ford with a wing mirror which fell off every time a breeze crossed over Pendle Hill (Duct tape manufacturers – up your game).
A wallet with a picture of cats in
A phobia of the phrase ‘But you have one just like it’ when out shopping.
Anecdotes:
When out clubbing at University, and young men did the dancing-behind-girls-they-fancied thing (whether this mating ritual is still in existence is something I’d like to find out from someone of the younger generation) she would casually take the gentleman to one side and ask whether they really thought that was the most appropriate way to approach a girl they were attracted to. This was rarely met with a coherent reply.
We once swapped bedrooms for a week after a spider crawled under her bed and we didn’t see where it went. (After a childhood incident with a spider, pincers and a sneaker, this phobia had taken a very firm grip).
Nowadays she is encouragingly displaying many characteristics of a Proper Grown Up. She has her own flat, embroidered oven gloves, and a car with two fully operational wing mirrors... but will still punch, kick and gauge her way to the front of a Rage Against the Machine gig.
My little bag of contradictions :-)
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| me and she |
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