Cigarettes And Perfume
Without Prejudice
She smelled of one or the other. She chain smoked, often lighting one cigarette off the other. Benson And Hedges of course, darlings, or Dunhill. When she was feeling particularly fanciful it was Cocktail Sobranies with their pretty coloured papers and the gold paper on the filters.
She made me coin purses from packets of Craven A's. After I ran after her when she said she would leave and she ended up taking me to the races with her. Night races. I was only 4 but even then wouldn't leave her. She was " delicate ", " highly strung " they said. But she could be as tough as nails.
Chanel Number 5 was all she would wear. Dabbed behind her ears from the glass stopper, her bright blue eyes glittering in the mirror. Red lipstick, always, I was so proud of her when she wore it, made her eyes blaze even bluer. Dark curly hair, thin, like mine. And a brain that knew no bounds. She knew everything.
She dazzled, she glittered, she could be cold and brittle as glass. She couldn't cook except for a decent steak and kidney pie. She always said that a woman could bake cakes well or pastry but never both. She couldn't craft, knit or crochet and had no desire to even try.
She could rock an outfit like no other. Stylish in little black dresses with feathered necklines. Good legs and great bone structure. She didn't entertain. Preferring her own company and Wimbledon and Test Cricket left her enthralled for weeks.
She was brave and feisty and loved a confrontation, that she would be determined to win. She started going down hill about 46 and was dead by 53. At her own hand.
My Mother, Natalie. Xxx
She smelled of one or the other. She chain smoked, often lighting one cigarette off the other. Benson And Hedges of course, darlings, or Dunhill. When she was feeling particularly fanciful it was Cocktail Sobranies with their pretty coloured papers and the gold paper on the filters.
She made me coin purses from packets of Craven A's. After I ran after her when she said she would leave and she ended up taking me to the races with her. Night races. I was only 4 but even then wouldn't leave her. She was " delicate ", " highly strung " they said. But she could be as tough as nails.
Chanel Number 5 was all she would wear. Dabbed behind her ears from the glass stopper, her bright blue eyes glittering in the mirror. Red lipstick, always, I was so proud of her when she wore it, made her eyes blaze even bluer. Dark curly hair, thin, like mine. And a brain that knew no bounds. She knew everything.
She dazzled, she glittered, she could be cold and brittle as glass. She couldn't cook except for a decent steak and kidney pie. She always said that a woman could bake cakes well or pastry but never both. She couldn't craft, knit or crochet and had no desire to even try.
She could rock an outfit like no other. Stylish in little black dresses with feathered necklines. Good legs and great bone structure. She didn't entertain. Preferring her own company and Wimbledon and Test Cricket left her enthralled for weeks.
She was brave and feisty and loved a confrontation, that she would be determined to win. She started going down hill about 46 and was dead by 53. At her own hand.
My Mother, Natalie. Xxx
