AIDA AUSTIN

AIDA AUSTIN: "My driving is a safe kind of chaotic. Scatty but slow..."

MY SISTER is driving me to Stansted Airport. Right now she’s navigating a junction on the M11, so that we might merge with traffic on the A120 and she is getting sweary, London-driver style.

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AIDA AUSTIN: "If you start yakking about polka-dots, it’s over"

ANY STORY about a sister goes far, far back. Back to the time when you’re both just preliminary sketches of the people you’ll become,says Aida Austin.

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AIDA AUSTIN: "I don’t think she rates email as an invention at all"

ALL IS suspense and tension upstairs in bed; we are watching the final episode of The Last Tango in Halifax, series two, on Netflix. 

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AIDA AUSTIN: ’Got my tongue pierced this morning’ my eldest says.

SIX-THIRTY pm and the girls are due to arrive home from college.

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AIDA AUSTIN: "Nice one granny, you’ve cleared the jelly! High five"

MY DAUGHTER is sitting in the conservatory looking over my mother’s shoulder. My mother, who has come to visit along with my sister, sits beside my daughter on the sofa, reading.

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AIDA AUSTIN: "Actually, they’re vegan. And Leo doesn’t drink"

A FRIEND arrives in the kitchen, bearing a plate covered in tin foil. “Scones,” she says, “just out of the oven but they might need a bit more cooking.”

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AIDA AUSTIN: ‘I knew two windscreen wipers would come in handy’

Having argued his case for road safety with great ease, economy of effort and conviction — like the lawyer that he is — and banned me from picking him up from Cork airport in my “mobile skip,” my brother-in-law arrives in a hire car.

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AIDA AUSTIN: "Lick it off the wall is right," I agree, licking my lips

HOME, 8pm, and we’re watching Masterchef. “Lucky judges,” I say, “never mind the pickled cauliflower — it would be worth having to taste them just for those shallots.”

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AIDA AUSTIN: "The ‘ends well’ bit, I shout. "I want the ‘ends well’ bit. I want the ‘ends well’ bit now."

HOME ALONE, and waiting for a call from my husband. 

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AIDA AUSTIN: "Our wedding anniversaries are cursed, I vote we forget presents"

Wednesday night, upstairs, and my husband is resurrecting his Spiderman Scuttle - something to do with muscle flexion, I seem to remember - which involves scampering sideways, like a crab, back and forth across our bouncy floor-boards so that the bed shakes.

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