Bus chocolate is the best kind

My brother Robert came home from London today, he went over to see Type O Negative play and seems to have had a wonderful time. He brought me a nice picture of Bettie Page with some shoes, one that I haven’t seen before, which was quite kind of him. He never goes anywhere without bringing some sort of gift back for me. Whether it’s “bus chocolate” (ask me again), books or films he’ll turn up with something quirky but entirely appropriate.Robert and I are quite close – I suppose we’d have to be considering it’s just the two of us. My parents had Robert a year after they got married and I don’t think they ever intended having another child. When Robert was seven, however, my mother says she realised that if he died she’d be quite lonely and so they decided to throw (pre)caution to the wind and ended up with a bouncing baby girl. I’ve been told that Robert was quite put out by the fact that his specific requests for a brother and subsequently that I be named “Rosie” were ignored but he eventually accepted me. Like all little girls I looked up to my big brother and worshipped him but like most little girls I also kept this admiration hidden behind a veil of bossiness and generally erratic, annoying behaviour which ranged from the accidental (locking him out of the house, laughing at his naked form [I was only 3] and standing in his breakfast cereal) to the not-so-innocent (I swear, if I had know what lay in wait for me in my teens I’d never have used the term “pizzaface”).Of course the more serious rows happened when we were both adults and shutting us up with the threat of dad coming home was no longer effective. Of all of the people I’ve had steaming arguments with Robert has been the worst. We both have hot tempers and are as stubborn as mules. We’ve had fights where we’ve not only threatened to kill each other but have physically attempted it too.Robert is almost always first to extend the olive branch, he’s very like my father in that way. Both of them will storm off after a row only to soon after make an excuse to start a polite conversation and act as though nothing has happened. It may not sound like much, but to me this is an amazing skill – I could never swallow my pride in that way. My mother and I, on the other hand, are experts in the fine art of giving the cold shoulder. We remain tight lipped and cool until our (sometimes imagined) hurts have healed. We don’t apologise in our house, we just get back on track and get on with things.Looking back now I can see how many times in the past 22 years I must have driven Robert insane both intentionally and otherwise, but we’ve still managed to keep the bond between us as strong as it ever was. I find it sad when I see friends of mine who hardly speak to their siblings and several friends have mentioned how envious they are of the friendship Robert and I have. He’s funny, extremely intelligent, compassionate, generous, thoughtful and the best brother anyone could have……you can probably expect my next entry to detail our latest fight.