Open Writing

My partner is blessed with a colourful cast of characters in her family, none more so than two English aunts, Doris and Joan. Related only by marriage, these two ladies, opposite in size and shape in their twinsets, but both with white, poodle-permed hair and soft, velevety jowls, give new meaning to the term sister-in-law; out-law is the word that comes to mind.

The best of friends, they fight like cats and dogs and, to all outward appearances, can't stand the sight of each other. But to keep them apart would be like achieving a peaceful settlement in the Middle East. They walk that blurry line between love and hate where, after a while, you're not sure what it is you're feeling, but you just can't live without it.

Joan would like to wear tracksuit pants but Doris won't let her. 'They look cheap, Joan,' she mutters disdainfully. 'The only thing for you is crimplene pants, like mine. Much more flattering.' So now their hair and their trousers match.

Doris has high blood pressure, while Joan suffers from migraines. Each knows more about the other's illnesses than their own, constantly searching out new remedies for each other, as friends do. But when it comes to scones, Doris is butter and Joan is margarine.

Joan married Jim, and Doris married his brother Fred. The latter followed their son from England to Australia, and Joan and Jim weren't too far behind. But something happened back home, a falling out between the two brothers, creating a rift that was never to heal in their lifetimes. Which begs the question why Jim would follow Fred--perhaps, like Doris and Joan, they too couldn't live without each other, even if it meant just being close enough to keep their distance.

Such bad feeling would be the death knell for an ordinary, run-of-the-mill relationship. But Doris and Joan were made of sterner stuff. Those Capulet and Montagu husbands weren't going to come between these star-crossed buddies. In fact, the bond between them grew stronger, as they were forced to meet clandestinely, scarfed and sunglassed, in out of the way cafes, or conduct whispered telephone conversations in the dead of night, hiding in the broom closet. Anything to keep the flames of friendship (and enmity) alive.

And then Fred died, which made it easier for Doris to see Joan. Actually, it was easier for Joan too, because she left Jim not long after. But did this leave them free to move in together and live happily ever after? Good gracious, no! They weren't going to ruin a perfectly good relationship, held together through thick and thin by the delicate tensions of love and hate, by living together. No, far better just to share the occasional weekend, to remind themselves of what it is they can't stand about each other.

So they continued to put on shows for, as they described them, the old people; the Andrews Sisters was their specialty, with costumes they made for each other. And Joan continued to knit toilet roll covers, complaining all the while, 'Ooh, these naughty puppies of mine! Always getting in the way of me needles!' Joan's response to this was always the same. 'You should be proud of your boobs, Doris. I wish I had 'alf of what you've got.'

And after months of planning and arguing and driving half a dozen travel agents barking mad, they finally boarded the plane for their longed-for visit back home. It turned out to be a relatively pleasant and uneventful trip, until the day of their departure. Doris's son, Mick was seeing them off. Well, that was if he could see them, for they had got lost in that swarming mass of humanity that is Heathrow.

''Ere, where's Mum and Joan got to?' says Mick, in his best Cockney cab driver voice.

Then he happened to glance out the window onto the tarmac, and a look of horror came over his face. For there, bobbing in and out of the giant landing gears of the 747s and Airbuses, were two white, poodle-permed heads, their soft, velvety jowls shaking vociferously at each other as they argued about which of the monsters towering above them they should be climbing into.

Finally, security were called and Doris and Joan were conducted through the regular channels for boarding aircraft. However, they hadn't finished with the old country yet. When Joan's take-on bag drifted across the x-ray screen in customs, it set sirens ringing and nervous customs officers reacting as if it was a terrorist alert. The picture presented on the screen showed a carving knife the size of a cavalry sabre, sitting innocently among Joan's bits and bobs, as she liked to call the 230 items she normally carried in her bag.

'What, madam,' enquired one of the officers frostily, 'are you doing with THIS in your hand luggage?'

'It was a bargain,' Joan replied cheerily. 'I got it at Sainsburys. There's nothing like it in Australia; not at that price, anyway.'

The customs man raised his eyes and lowered his voice.

'And WHY would you like to take it on the plane with you?'

And here Doris, as helpful as ever, cut in: 'It was me that told her not to put it in her luggage ... 'cause it might damage 'er crimplenes.'

© Joe Lee

Joe writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au