“You could have been more careful with your big feet walking up the newly tiled steps,” I said accusingly to Chris, my husband, who had been up for hours before me.

“But I didn’t even walk on the steps… I stayed at the bottom and dragged off the sheets of plastic from there,” Chris answered a little horrified that I could think him so careless, especially after all my hard work the day before.

“Oh, well it wasn’t me,” I said huffily and my mind wandered swiftly to our guest, Roland, who seemed to be the only other likely candidate, considering there was nobody else to blame in our house and Hilda’s place next door (with which we share the lower steps) was empty.

We looked at the damage – several gouges and scuffs, shaped like the toes of shoes, in the still soft new concrete covering the risers of the bottom steps – and we agreed that it could have been worse (it might have been on every step!). At that moment two workmen came out from Hilda’s upstairs front door and the penny dropped… over breakfast a little earlier I had noticed, from our kitchen window, the same workmen going in through the bottom – accessed by the shared steps.

It began to rain yet again so Chris and I replaced the large sheets of plastic across the new tiles with their soft grout and risers.

“I had better make a sign for the workmen and put it at the top of the steps – DANGER OF DEATH ~ YOU COULD BE MORTARFIED!” Chris laughed.

(And shh! Please don’t tell Roland that he was under suspicion – he would be mortified!)

We hosted the bookclub meeting yesterday afternoon. Actually, Chris isn’t a member of our bookclub (he’s not a “clubby” person – cuddly, yes, clubby, no!), nevertheless, I use the term “we”  because the group came to our house; and, whilst I saw to the edible refreshments beforehand (thus enabling me to devote my entire attention to book matters), Chris was in the background but on-hand as tea-and-coffee-boy for the duration.

As always, our book club meeting was informal and friendly. The bookworms sat in the lounge-room and enjoyed my butterfly cakes (which hadn’t suffered too much from their three day spell in the freezer) as they began the discussion on “The Long Walk to Freedom”, the brilliant book by the late great Nelson Mandela.

Our treasured fellow bookworm, Robin, phoned to say that he had difficulty finding our house and Mary (my sister) and I went out to the road in order to hail him down.

“Your hair looks nice!” I said by way of a greeting to Robin.

“Oh, it’s just the rain – made it curly,” he answered.

Once seated in the lounge-room and handed a cup of coffee and a cake, the subject again turned to Robin’s hair.

“Gee your hair looks nice!” said Katie.

“It really suits you longer,” agreed Diana (or was it Elizabeth?).

“You look like a Greek God,” said one of the other male bookworms (perhaps a little facetiously).

“I don’t know about Greek God – more like ‘Oh God, the Greek!’ replied Robin, maybe a little embarrassed, and we all laughed.

Bearing in mind that Robin is a leading light of the bookclub, he might also have been called a “Geek God” but nobody said it, not even our non-clubby coffee-maker, who was doing his bit in the kitchen at the time.

Actually, it was a case of a false fingernail hanging on me! I don’t know why but strange things always seem to happen to me…

Now I don’t normally wear false fingernails (which would be apparent if you saw my nails) but I thought I would put false nails on my thumbs to protect my natural nails, which have been suffering from the effects of pushing the photo-card adapter in and out of my computer. A short while ago I was just applying the glue to a false fingernail for my left thumb when I suddenly realised that the false nail had already adhered itself to the inside of my middle finger; I was also aware that the glue they use for false fingernails nowadays is “Superglue”. Oh dear!

“Quickly, put it in white spirit,” suggested Chris, no doubt afraid that I wouldn’t be able to cook dinner with a false nail stuck to my finger.

“Put some margarine or butter on it,” said Roland (our friend from Australia).

As I was in the studio at the time, and closer to the white spirit, I did as my husband recommended and poked my finger with the nail stuck to it in a new bottle of thinners – twice! Nothing happened so I went into the kitchen and poured olive oil over my finger, again to no avail.

Meanwhile Chris, with great alacrity and presence of mind, had been reading the instruction leaflet that came with the false nails and, in particular, the part concerning what to do if the glue should accidentally adhere to skin. Apparently, surgery was “not recommended under any circumstances” (thank goodness!); it suggested soaking in sunflower oil or solvent, failing that we should try soaking in warm soapy water – for up to two days.

As you can see from the photographs, the latter treatment worked (after ten minutes or so of prising with a bar of soap) and the false nail is now in place on my thumb where it had been intended. You could say that I nailed it finally.

This morning Chris brought me in a nice weak cup of tea and drew the back the bedroom curtains as usual. It was hot (as it has been recently) and he opened the window fully before joining me in bed for our ritual “cuppa” and a chat. Now our bedroom is on the ground floor of our house and you may remember that our house is built into the cliff just above the seawall; you may remember also that, at present, the seawall is closed to the public while re-construction work is being carried out on the seawall after the damage from the February storms.

Just as Chris sat down on the bed we heard a voice from the seawall below us.

“Stop p**ing against the wall!” a man shouted.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Chris (well, he is a tad deaf).

“Yes,” he answered (slightly unsure, I thought).

“Did he say, ‘Stop p**ing against the wall’? Did I hear right?”

“Surely he said, ‘Stop leaning against the wall'”, Chris replied.

We didn’t have to ponder long over it because the same rather high-pitched voice, like the actor Steven Seagal (not seagull, which might have been apt), shouted again, this time even louder:

“Stop p**ing against the wall!”

There was no mistaking it this time and Chris and I looked at each other and laughed.

“Well, one thing is for sure,” laughed Chris, “we won’t be clamouring to the window to look down and see the outrageous behaviour!”

This news just came in from Geoff, my brother-in-law-in-the-law (he used to be a policeman!).

Apalling

Absolutely disgusting behaviour observed yesterday. I was on the seafront at Teignmouth when I saw a man and a woman having an almighty row in front of their child, then suddenly the woman smacked the bloke around the head and it all kicked off. They started slapping and hitting each other then someone must have called the Police as a policeman turned up on his own. He had to take his baton to the man but the guy managed to snatch the baton off the policeman then he started whacking the policeman and his wife…… I couldn’t believe what I was seeing because then out of nowhere a crocodile crept up and stole all their sausages!…..

(And if you aren’t familiar with traditional English seaside entertainment  you may be surprised to know that English children have been enjoying Punch and Judy shows since 1662.)

History[edit]

This article needs additional citations for verification. Please help improve this article by adding citations to reliable sources. Unsourced material may be challenged and removed. (October 2007)

The Punch and Judy show has roots in the 16th-century Italian commedia dell’arte. The figure of Punch derives from the Neapolitan stock character of Pulcinella, which wasanglicized to Punchinello.^[1] He is a manifestation of the Lord of Misrule and Trickster figures of deep-rooted mythologies. Punch’s wife was originally called “Joan.”

The figure who later became Mr. Punch made his first recorded appearance in England on 9 May 1662, which is traditionally reckoned as Punch’s UK birthday.^[2] The diaristSamuel Pepys observed a marionette show featuring an early version of the Punch character in Covent Garden in London. It was performed by an Italian puppet showman, Pietro Gimonde, a.k.a. “Signor Bologna.” Pepys described the event in his diary as “an Italian puppet play, that is within the rails there, which is very pretty.”

In the British Punch and Judy show, Punch wears a brightly coloured jester‘s motley and sugarloaf hat with a tassel. He is a hunchback whose hooked nose almost meets his curved, jutting chin. He carries a stick (called a slapstick) as large as himself, which he freely uses upon most of the other characters in the show. He speaks in a distinctive squawking voice, produced by a contrivance known as a swazzle or swatchel which the professor holds in his mouth, transmitting his gleeful cackle. This gives Punch a vocal quality as though he were speaking through a kazoo. So important is Punch’s signature sound that it is a matter of some controversy within Punch and Judy circles as to whether a “non-swazzled” show can be considered a true Punch and Judy Show. Other characters do not use the swazzle, so the Punchman has to switch back and forth while still holding the device in his mouth.

In the early 18th century, the marionette theatre starring Punch was at its height, with showman Martin Powell attracting sizable crowds at both at his Punch’s Theatre at Covent Garden and earlier in provincial Bath, Somerset.^[1] Powell has been credited with “largely responsible for the form taken by the drama of Punch and Judy”.^[3] In 1721, a puppet theatre that would run for decades opened in Dublin. The cross-dressing actress Charlotte Charke ran the successful but short-lived Punch’s Theatre in the Old Tennis Court atSt. James’s, Westminster, presenting adaptations of Shakespeare as well as plays by herself, her father Colley Cibber, and her friend Henry Fielding. Fielding eventually ran his own puppet theatre under the pseudonym Madame de la Nash to avoid the censorship concomitant with the Theatre Licensing Act of 1737.

Punch was extremely popular in Paris, and, by the end of the 18th century, he was also playing in Britain’s American colonies, where even George Washington bought tickets for a show. However, marionette productions presented in empty halls, the back rooms of taverns, or within large tents at England’s yearly agricultural events at Bartholomew Fair andMayfair were expensive and cumbersome to mount and transport. In the latter half of the 18th century, marionette companies began to give way to glove-puppet shows, performed from within a narrow, lightweight booth by one puppeteer, usually with an assistant, or “bottler,” to gather a crowd and collect money. These shows might travel through country towns or move from corner to corner along busy London streets, giving many performances in a single day. The character of Punch adapted to the new format, going from a stringed comedian who might say outrageous things to a more aggressive glove-puppet who could do outrageous—and often violent—things to the other characters. About this time, Punch’s wife’s name changed from “Joan” to “Judy.”

A Punch and Judy show attracts a family audience

The mobile puppet booth of the late 18th- and early 19th-century Punch and Judy glove-puppet show was originally covered in checked bed ticking or whatever inexpensive cloth might come to hand. Later Victorian booths, particularly those used for Christmas parties and other indoor performances, were gaudier affairs. In the 20th century, however, red-and-white-striped puppet booths became iconic features on the beaches of many English seaside and summer holiday resorts. Such striped cloth is the most common covering today, wherever the show might be performed.

A more substantial change came over time to the show’s target audience. Originally intended for adults, the show evolved into primarily a children’s entertainment in the late Victorian era. Ancient members of the show’s cast, like the Devil and Punch’s mistress “Pretty Polly,” ceased to be included when they came to be seen as inappropriate for young audiences. The term “pleased as Punch” is derived from Punch and Judy; specifically, Mr. Punch’s characteristic sense of gleeful self-satisfaction.

The story changes, but some phrases remain the same for decades or even centuries: for example, Punch, after dispatching his foes each in turn, still squeaks his famous catchphrase: “That’s the way to do it!” Modern British performances of Punch and Judy are no longer exclusively the traditional seaside children’s entertainments they had become. They can now be seen at carnivals, festivals, birthday parties, and other celebratory occasions.