An Evening With The Buddingtons

Mr and Mrs Buddington live in a lovely old home in the suburbs where most of the homes are, well, old and lovely. Big lawns and shady trees are merely par for the course. Many homes have interesting pets and the Buddingtons are no exception. They have a goldfish, an alarmingly loud parakeet and two creamy Labradors.

They used to have a tortoise named Bismark too. He was quite a hefty chap. But one day he ran away and was never seen again. The Missing Tortoise’ flyer is still stuck on the lamppost at the end of their road. Mr Buddington has been meaning to take it down but it is the only reminder they have of their beloved Bismark. That, and his empty plot in the corner of the garden that Mrs Buddington is not quite sure what to do with.

The Buddington have two sons, Neville and James. Neville is more like Mrs Buddington and while James looks like Mrs Buddington, he has the mentality of his father. Both have since left home but they return for awkward family dinners every once in a while. On this night, they invited their friend Dmitri to join them for dinner before they went out to party.

The drive up the old bumpy driveway with the dogs galloping and yelping either side of the car was a new experience for Dmitri, as was the smell that tickled his nostrils as he walked through the door. What a delectable smell it was.

Despite his career as a policeman, Mr Buddington had always fancied himself as a chef. No dish was too complicated to attempt. Ribeye, haggis, muscles and many other exotic things had come out of that kitchen and they were all equally delicious and took aeons to make.

Dmitri followed his nose though the house and arrived to find Mr Buddington standing at the stove with a dishcloth over his shirtless shoulder, a spatula in one hand and a whiskey glass in the other. Mrs Flowers greeted Dmitri on her way to the fridge to find another beer for herself.

The telly was full of scantily clad ladies strutting their stuff on the runways of Milan. Or London. Or Paris. No-one could ever tell the difference. This is Mr Buddingtons favourite programme and even though he had been in the kitchen for the last two hours, no-one daren’t change the channel.

There are many old things in the Buddington’s home. It made Dmitri feel like he had stepped into a time machine. Old guitars, old wooden boxes, old carpets, old photos and old furniture that looked brand new. But you weren’t allowed to sit on the vintage stuff even though the other couch in front of the telly was broken. There was even an old mostly dead bonsai tree with a green shoot sprouting out its base. It was hanging on to life like the Buddington’s were hanging on to a bygone era. 

Eventually dinner was served along with drinks. Neville and James drank sweet fizzy drinks while Mr Flowers sloshed more whisky into his glass and Mrs Buddington dashed off to the fridge again, all the while wondering if there was any more cold beer.

It was the tastiest meal Dmitri had eaten all year, though it was only January. Unfortunately for him, he had finished his dinner long before anyone else and Mr Buddington was only just getting through his first lecture on corruption in government. Everyone listened tentatively to Mr Buddington’s points that were sprinkled with dashes of light racism, though his silver moustache was holding some back.

He never asked what time the younglings had to be at their next engagement, because no matter what time that was, dinner would most likely be served about half an hour after they needed to be there in the first place.