My Godparents and I

For five or six years of my childhood, I would live with my godparents every fortnight. I would go there on a Friday and then leave Sunday evening.

On my first car journey to her house, both of her kids were in the car with me. At that time I was a huge fan of The Real Ghostbusters, the cartoon spin-off of Ghostbusters (and if that doesn’t date this blog, I don’t know what does). I would sing the theme tune all the time. I was pretty good as far as I knew. I thought I was good. Her kids copied me and what come out of their mouth was basically a monotone “Na-na na-na na-na na-na Ghostbusters! Na-na na-na na-na na-na Ghostbusters!” I remember thinking how they could not hear the tune as I skilfully rendered it  from between my youthful lips. No doubt I sounded exactly the same as them but at the time I was a little peeved at this copycattery.

At first I shared a room with her two children who slept on bunkbeds while I slept in a sleeping bag on top of a thin camping mattress. The only light a Thomas the Tank Engine nightlight. It was then that I learnt that I couldn’t sleep in a strange bed, or rather a strange house.

I would sing to myself. To comfort myself, to try and get to sleep, I don’t remember. All I know is that I did not like sleeping there. The other two fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow but I would stay awake for what felt like hours.

After maybe a few nights of this, over the course of two months, they moved me into the spare bedroom where I was alone but on a bed. The walls were light blue and it was dark as ink. Again I found it hard to sleep there.

I asked to be put back in the other bedroom and the older child got the spare bedroom (where they promptly were given a cabin bed) and I got the bottom bunk.

I also got the duvet that had a strong smell of urine on the bottom half. I seemed to always get that duvet. It kept me awake. The smell was overwhelmingly spicy in my wee nostrils (pun intended). After being given the pee-stained duvet over and over again, I finally started sniffing at the whiffy duvet when I arrived at the house. Sometimes I would be lucky and I would not get it (no doubt it was downstairs being washed in fresh new wee-wee), and other times I would not be lucky. When I was given it, I would simply sleep only under the non-whiffsome part.

I recall one morning when me and the younger child must have been a little noisy and she stormed into the bedroom completely naked. I didn’t know where to look. She told me to look her in the eye but I had learned at that point to never look her in the eye for reasons I will shortly come to. Anyway, her nakedness startled me. Luckily I don’t remember much of this except for that mound of black pubic hair over her nether regions. Scary.

Oh, did I mention that she was incredibly Christian? As was her husband and her children? No? Well, they were. When I say Christian, I mean Church of England. CoE was basically created in order to allow Henry VIII divorce as many of his wives as possible. Ironically, a lot of modern CoE folks frown on divorce. Such sweet irony!

When my godmother was angry with someone, she would move her head in close to yours and her eyes would look all over your face as if you had spiders running about and she was trying to follow them. This was even scarier than her aforementioned genitals.

I am not sure if this was because of her faith but she thought the words ‘cunning’ and ‘ninja’ were evil. You think I am kidding? Not at all. She said those words to me. Mind you, if I asked her today if she thought those words were evil, she would just give me a blank stare and wonder what I was talking about.

Her and the kids have the worst memory ever. I would ask questions, sometimes about the last time I was there, and she would not have a clue what I was talking about. It was like her brain was reset every five days. It got to the point that I wondered if I had travelled to a parallel universe where what I remember had never happened in this universe. Yes, even then, I was a nerd.

Every Saturday, we would be taken to the woods or the beach or to Exeter Zoo to laugh at the atheists locked up in the cages. That was good. I enjoyed that massively. But I always felt a little disgusted on the car journey back to their home because the children would fall asleep. That always shocked me. How can you sleep when there was so many interesting things to talk about and see outside the car. But as regular as clockwork, they would both be in the land of Nod before we got back to Exeter. Maybe I resented them for that?

Then on Sunday, the joys of Sunday School and blind faith. Any question I had would be answered with “God moves in mysterious ways.”

Me: If the flood happened, how did the kangaroos end up in Australia?
Teacher: God moves in mysterious ways.
Me: Why are there no kangaroo skeletons in the Middle-East where the ark set sail from?
Teacher: God moves in mysterious ways.
Me: If only people descended from the 12 tribes of Israel will be taken to Heaven in the Rapture, why do Christians think they will be coming too?
Teacher: God moves in mysterious ways.
Me: Why were there lambs in the stable with Jesus? Aren’t lambs born during the Spring?
Teacher: God moves in…screw it! Sit in the corner and say not a word, you heathen spawn of the devil’s black-hearted goat!

I think I managed to make six or seven teachers retire within a two years. Yes, fun times!

Other memories as a rubber Pink Panther, her colourful staircase carpet which had a few coins hidden on one of the steps, being given a shampoo set based upon the Christmas TV show The Snowman, loads of think children’s books (which I loved), being made a Fungus the Bogeyman birthday cake years before I was aware of the book (which you must all read as soon as you finish this blog), Winnie-the-Pooh painted onto the walls of the spare bedroom…

I also remember crying on Sunday evenings when I had to go home. I didn’t like that.


About greebohobbes

All-round irritant, expert swordsman (loves lopping off the heads of ghouls), professional charlatan and outrageous wearer of black cocktail dresses...
This entry was posted in BekHobbes, Christians, family, godparents, memories, opinion, reallife. Bookmark the permalink.

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