Last Of The Two Parters

My recent spate of two part posts has been unplanned and unintentional. I don't want LLD to be some kind of soap opera, nor do I want my life (as wittily portrayed by me) to be one. The main reason for the flurry of two parters has been simple; I started to write each one and realised that it was going to be a huge long thing so gave up at a reasonable point with some dots and the intention of finishing later. Sorry about that, I don't want to make it a habit......

But the next episode of K, Me and the Poo has to be installed, because it was funny and because it followed where we left off, as next episodes usually do.

Remember we'd dropped off the poo infested Converse Allstar at the girls' mother's place, much to her chagrin. We headed off to Kingston, our fairly local shopping centre / town / chav's place. The only regular reader that I know for sure knows Kingston is Lady Luck, but she hasn't been heard of since about 1942.

At 11 and 13 the girls still fight for the front seat of my car. It doesn't matter if the journey is a quick half mile trip or a mammoth one, the fighting is still the same. It involves both of them arguing about who sat in it last, a run down of recent journeys and who sat where, then a furious two way sprint in the general direction of the car with some shouting paternal type things from me. Sadly the combat isn't about the pleasure of sitting in the seat next to me, it's simply about who gets control of the stereo and therefore, in theory at least, who gets to choose the music.

I've noticed something with the two of them in the last few months that I hadn't expected to be so marked and, well actually I hadn't expected it at all really. It's that they're suddenly forging out their individual identities in that big thing called life. With slightly less than two years between them they've always been best buddies as well as worst enemies and, when not at school, they've pretty much done everything together, sharing things in that way that a pair of siblings often do.

They've listened to the same music and had the same taste, they've worn clothes similar in style, though never in that Sri Lankan way when you see siblings dressed in identical clothing.

But they're now branching out on their own and finding themselves and it's quite fascinating to watch. K, the younger one who you know so well, is going down that grungey route. She's listening to the music and dressing the part. It's all angsty American bands and skinny jeans, Converse (s) and dark clothing.

A, the elder statesgirl, is more English yoof in her approach. It's one of hoodies with expensive labels, trainers and Timbaland CDs and other R+B types. More strangely she's a huge Luciano Pavarotti fan (honestly) and no one can figure out why. She's got CDs and videos of him and drives everyone around her crazy with this unusual fondness for the late tenor.

As time rolls on I know that they'll separate even more in their likes and dislikes and in their strengths and weaknesses too.

It reminds me of myself and Academic Bro, the way we have gone through similar experiences. These days he's the lucky and gifted one. He's got the intellect and sheer brainpower that I would give my right and left brain for. He writes things that people read and then they go off and write about what he's written and he's got letters after his name. I've been the one who merely got shallow and lightweight qualities, of no use in everyday life. All I have is my good looks, a brilliant sense of style, my charm and my captivating sense of humour. One has to make the most though.

K had won the battle fot the front seat this time. I think her determination had been the deciding factor and most of that was because, for the ten minute trip to Kingston, she had grabbed two CDs from her bedroom that she wanted us to listen to. It's one of those touching warming things actually, that K really wanted me to listen to the CDs and to like them, some sort of approval thing. Well we spent the journey flicking through the tracks, A already knew them inside out because they had been inflicted upon her incessantly.

The CDs? One was an old My Chemical Romance album and the other was by some American sounding band called Paramor (sp?). I listened and told K that Paramor wasn't my bag of chips, too straight sounding and not even the slightest hint of funkiness present. My pleasure at the fact that they both love music and already have a passion for it far outweighs any negatives about what either of them is currently listening to and I think they both know that. I get a dichotomous sense of satisfaction when I try to reverse out of their drive and can't get the car in gear because the front seat occupant has already got her hand on the iDrive thing and is "sorting out" the music. It makes me proud that they're so into their music and a bit pissed off that I can't get the car into gear.

We got to Kingston. The trip was littered with a selection of tracks from My Chemical Romance, Paramor and Muse, yet had only lasted about ten minutes. After being bombarded with the first two bands I had pulled rank and insisted on Muse, probably the one band all three of us like, which explains why they let me pull rank.

Our first task was to get some new school shoes for K. Her previous ones had broken, probably from moshing or something, and the requirement was urgent. As I was led into the first shop by the two of them I looked around at its customers. They were all youngish girls and women, the sort that chaps of my age feel uncomfortable looking at for fear of having "sticky" eyes and then getting arrested.

A diplomatic way of putting it would be to say that this shop didn't look like a borough approved supplier of school uniform. The first part of the shop my eyes had fallen upon was one full of bras, flimsy ones at that. I averted my gaze and peered at a bigger part of the shop. This one was full of thongs and brightly coloured G strings. You know me, I believe that pants should be subdued and kept private, so I was distinctly uncomfortable.

"Come on Dad, the shoes are over here, at the back" said a daughter, probably one of mine.

I was like one of those hypnotised people. I was fully cognisant of what was going on but I couldn't control it and I felt uneasy about it. At some level in my mind I knew I was in the middle of a scam, I just didn't know what was going to happen or how it would reveal itself.

Part 3 will follow..........