Mrs Minerva writes...
The art of
SAYING ‘YES’ Passionate about quintessential English customs, our incognito columnist reminds us to do the best things in life in the most elegant fashion, always with a twinkle in her eye
BELOW I had been toying with several sophisticated neutrals for the hallway but Mr M had other ideas.
T
here is a saying that goes something like: ‘what other people think of you is none of your business’. Whilst I wish I could rise above tittle-tattle, I admit to having been a little discombobulated when I heard I have a nickname amongst the regulars in the Rose & Crown. It seems they call me Bibi. I could not understand why I had been assigned this name and initially thought it a term of endearment, and was, I confess, quite touched. This warm glow was not to last long. Cornering Mr M in the shed, I asked him if he was aware of my new moniker. He shuffled awkwardly on the spot and his cheeks took on a pinkish hue. “I’m sure they mean no harm,” he eventually muttered, toying nervously with an oily rag being used to wipe down an engine part of some description. He then admitted that Bibi was, in fact, BB, and it stood for Bossy Boots. “We need to talk,” I said, and Mr M adopted the demeanour of a schoolboy called to the headmistress’s office. I was shocked. I think of myself as helpful rather than bossy, supportive rather than interfering. I pride myself on competence – something others do not seem to value as highly. Mr M and I then spent the evening having one of our occasional ‘life assessments’, and I resolved to try to understand what might be behind the villagers’ perception of me. I eventually learned that he did “at times, just a little bit, if it’s all right to be honest, feel a little, well, um, henpecked”. This led to some self-reflection on my part, and I agreed to throw caution to the wind and allow Mr M to be in charge of everything for the following three months. Things began at home. We had been planning to paint the hallway and I was torn between four architectural shades, which Mr M described as “Beige, Beige Two, Beige Three and Most Beige”. He wanted something altogether bolder, so, in line with my new
approach, I said he should decide and I would support his choice. As DIY is neither a joint activity nor a spectator sport, he sent me off to the spa for a day whilst he got down to the painting. I had a simply lovely day being buffed and polished, but my inner calm and Zen-like glow deserted me upon opening the front door. The walls were painted in the gaudiest of blood reds, offset by skirting boards, doors, and – inexplicably – a new dado rail, in the kind of bright, clinical white prescribed for hospital operating theatres. The whole effect was of what one might imagine to be a 1980s low-rent bordello. Mr M had literally created a hallway of disrepute. I could practically smell the cheap scent. “Is that strange expression one of delight, darling?” Mr M said, his face smudged with the red paint. “Are you thrilled? Ah… Do you think it a little…” He cast around for the right word. “Brave…?” “Perhaps,” I replied, feeling cold shivers of shock run through me. After a strong cup of sweet tea, I took a deep breath and mentally scrolled through my Rolodex to come up with a decorator who could put this right at short notice. However, the problem was fixed the next day by Mr M himself. When I returned from Waitrose, I bumped into a courier on the driveway. He was delivering four tins of Most Beige. With the hallway paint disaster resolved and feeling somewhat emboldened, Mr M reminded me that during our last ‘life assessment’ he had mentioned we would benefit from a joint interest. Regular readers will know of Mr M’s passion for tinkering, spending hours taking things apart seemingly simply to put them back together, and not always successfully. His latest project is an old Norton motorbike and he suggested that perhaps I could help by holding a spanner or passing him a nut or some other vital part. I agreed, THE ENGLISH HOME 111
