Mam then set herself with a long pause to go in for the kill. Louie, who realized she had disturbed a lioness, froze, her mouth agape, waiting in fearful anticipation for old and overdue pent up feelings to flood out. Mam's remaining patience, if any, was abandoned, as bit by bit she started clipping Louie's 'wings', using memories of Louie's self-seeking aspirations against her, and ending by remarking how impossible it was for anyone to hold a conversation with such a boring hypochondriac. There were bitter tears, of suitable proportions to last them both for another year or so, and allow the ground of friendship to lie fallow for the appropriate amount of time     Louie's call of duty having been carried out.

Most families have recurring patterns of behaviour and accompanying verbal expressions that rarely seem to change.  We certainly did.  The sort of thing I mean can perhaps be understood if we listen in to another typical conversation:

"Alf, the kids need their shoes mended. They're through the soles already, and their heels want doin' an' all. Tell me what leather you want and I'll go and get it from Woolworth's," Mam ordered, to align his thoughts on the matter.

"I don't want any muck. That lot you bought last time was like cardboard. And I don't want somethin' I can't cut," he retorted.

Shoe repairing was something he loved, and hated, but felt he was good at. Besides, and as he often reminded us,

"I'll not pour good money after bad into the shoemaker's pockets."

"Well, why don't you get it yourself.  Other men do,"  she replied indignantly.

"I'm not other bloody men!  And don't give me your lip."

(We knew this ritual almost word for word, but it would run its course).

"How much shall I pay. Come on, stop your nonsense!"  she rebuked impatiently.

"And you'd better get some heel ball this time, while you're at it," he ordered.

"Look, Alf, I want a good job made of them shoes this time. I don't want any heel ball-in' filling over bad workmanship," she said defiantly, nearing her climax.  Now his turn:

"Send them to the bloody cobbler's now!  You can pay thro' the bloody nose, for your lip," he said, waving his arms about dismissively.

"Oh, don't be awful, Alf.  Isn't he awful, Ronnie?"

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