Golden Girls

Shelley and I went out to Bar 62 on Friday night.  We have drunk in there for years and we were discussing over a champagne/G&T or 15, how the clientele had changed over the course of our frequenting.  Everyone these days in there looked a little bit old... and Mummy-ish.  Wasn't it funny how their client-base had changed?  The realisation dawned soon enough that we were not actually looking at these people in the correct light however.  We belonged to that group and the ambience of the bar seemed to have grown older, as we had and we fitted in perfectly.

I was telling Shell about how when I went out with my Uni mates in the summer, (and I really can't remember if I told them this or not on the night, so I may get a few rude comments if they are reading), I came back from the loo, (pissed, obvs.), and was cross that our table in the pub had been taken over by a load of older women.  Oh no, but it hadn't.  It's just in my head my Uni mates are still aged between 18 and 21 and not between 36 and forrrrttt....(s'alright Lyns, I stopped myself).

The differences are subtle in mine and Shell's nights out together, but are most definitely there.  Neither of us puked or had to carry the other one into a taxi at the end of the night. There was no freezing our arses off in the garden for a cigarette anymore.  We made a decision to leave just BEFORE last orders rather than having to be peeled off the bar and thrown out the door as they were locking up.  We ate a proper meal, instead of the 'eating's cheating' philosophy and the 'why waste good booze money on food' idea that we held in our twenties.  Nobody snogged anyone, took any of their clothes off, or did anything illegal.  Yet, I still managed to have a brilliant night!  Oh dear - I'm officially old.  :-(

We still were disgusted at the cheek of the drunk, really old ma, (totes at least 45), that came to chat us up.  We're not that old.  He was definitely punching way above his weight.  Fortunately, I am swift to deal with such unwelcome intruders.  It went something like this:

DROM:  'Am I interrupting anything?'

ME:  'Yes.'

*PAUSE*

DROM:  'Should I go away then?'

ME:  'Yes.'

*PAUSE then slow, uncomfortable saunter away by DROM*

Cue uncontrollable laughter from the completely unhelpful Mrs Williams...

I think we are beginning to realise that we aren't 21 any longer, or even 25.  It's taken a while.  On the plus side it meant that we could wake up on Saturday morning knowing that we hadn't been sick/snogged someone/been thrown out of any bars/done anything illegal.  On the minus side it did mean that we didn't need a hilarious cringing phonecall to fill in the blanks from the night before.  I always enjoyed those phonecalls much more than Shelley as I never had the three hour black holes that she did the next day.

There is a lot of reminiscing in our conversations when we're out these days.  Do you remember the night of the rotating sick/naked star jumps across the road/ugly blind date man?  It does make me wonder what we will talk about in ten years time?  We really aren't creating any gossip any longer and I can't imagine us recalling the night in Bar 62 when we had a lovely meal, great catch-up and went home before closing...  Maybe the stories from our twenties are good enough to keep us entertained forever?  Or maybe, just maybe, this is a temporary blip of sanity and once we have shed the shackles of small dependents we may revert to prancing about half-naked and puking again?  For everybody else's sake, I sincerely hope not.

Enter Stage Left

Sebi has been to his first drama class this afternoon.  I've sold my true drama soul and signed him up to one of these glitzy franchised weekend stage schools that I've secretly always despised.  Why then?  Because, I'm afraid my littlest all-singing all-dancing performing seal may actually bloody love it.

Stu wasn't a fan of the idea at all at first.  He accused me of trying to create a Mini-Me and pointed out that one Drama Queen in the house is more than enough.  I think unfortunately it is too late for that; the monster has already been created.  We might as well channel the show-off's energy therefore otherwise he will only start exposing himself in public again.  (Just in case there is any doubt here, I am referring to Sebi and not Stu.) Seb was cast as the donkey in this year's play, hardly the most auspicious part.  When I asked him how the rehearsals were going just before Christmas, he told me that he made sure that when he came on he did it in slow-motion so that everyone in the audience would definitely be looking at the donkey.  Point proven - to try and guide him away from 'showing-off' at this juncture would definitely be shutting the stable door after the donkey had bolted (in slow-motion).

I'm paying the crippling fees.  I don't think I can inflict rinsing the joint account on my poor husband as well as helping create a son who is more dancer than defender.  Then there is the 'kit' that you need.  Tap shoes AND jazz shoes.  Really?  At four years old?  Yep, apparently so.  Oh well, in for a penny, in for £245 I suppose!  Owch.

Do I really want him to get the bug for this though?  Will I be kicking myself in 14 years time when he is trying to get into drama school rather than reading Law/Medicine/anythingthatmightactuallygethimajob at Uni?  I hope not.  One of my old work colleagues, when I was working in Marketing, used to refer to my Performing Arts degree as 'Muppet Studies and Underwater Basket-weaving' as he thought that would have been equally as useful.

Let's just see how we go I guess.  He came out of two hours hard-graft today declaring that he had loved it.  I'm not sure how much of that might of been having his own forty-pence to spend on sweets in the tuck shop at break though.  I'll add that to the bill then shall I?  A friend pointed out this afternoon that surely being a drama teacher, I could just teach him myself couldn't I?  I suppose I could but I have a feeling that we might clash a little and sod doing that on a Saturday anyway.  I may reconsider though at some point if his drama classes become more than my salary.

A star is born?  I don't think so for a minute but my goodness I look forward to the first time Sebi tap-dances in front of his Grandad. ;-)

NYE

Oh what a night.  Where to start?

As I was cleaning the house in preparation yesterday, I realised it was completely futile, scrubbing floors for people to walk on in dirty feet and cleaning a loo for people to piss and vomit all over - pointless!  However, I'm obviously turning into my mother and can't let people walk into a dirty house.

Fraser was the first to arrive.  He'd legged it and let his dear wife wait for the babysitter - good skills.  Everyone was extraordinarily generous in their gifts last night but when Frase turned up with two bottles of champagne AND a bottle of red wine AND some chocolate brownie bits AND some vintage cheddar, I suggested that he might have gone slightly over the top.  He immediately agreed and told me he'd tried to keep the cheddar but had been outvoted by his better half.

I have a serious love/hate relationship with our dear friend Ralph.  It gave me great pleasure therefore to rip a shred or two off him for daring to place his champagne flute on the polished wood when there were a hundred coasters at his disposal.  I went to town and bollocked him unnecessarily loudly and completely until he told me that actually it wasn't his glass at all.  Oops.  I apologised begrudgingly, it doesn't come easily, and then nearly decked him later when he said it was his glass after all!

Stu and I had 'discussed' earlier in the day that maybe everyone would be better behaved if the spirit cabinet stayed locked.  The boys obviously decided that this was not the correct order of play and farcically broke into the spirits' cabinet every time I wasn't looking.  They retrieved a bottle of Calvados but it was like a game of Grandmother's Footsteps and every time I looked their way they tried to style it out by dancing.  It was not a pretty sight.

We had a fabulous surprise visit from Tina and Al, all the way from Hastings.  Thankfully Ralph was having a piss at the time and so let them in.  Otherwise I think they could've been at the door all night!

We were complimented on the good behaviour of our unseen children by everybody all evening.  Poor kids.  I got my husband's permission to go and wake Zak up for midnight as I thought he would love to get up in the night; (we all know better than to wake Seb). When I went up to Zak's bedroom and asked him if he would like to come down and say 'Happy New Year' to Mummy's friends, he rolled over and said he would rather stay asleep thank you very much.  Fair.

This morning they pretty much fended for themselves as a parent didn't arise until 10am, ish.  Luckily they are slightly more self-sufficient these days.  I still feel the teeniest bit guilty about our last New Year's Eve party three years ago when we came down in the morning to find our three year old Zak foraging stale left over rolls from the kitchen table. MOTY.

As I arrived for our annual family/best friends lunch today, I suddenly remembered that I had texted the host at 3am the night before to let him know that all was well and I had prepared the required puddings.  I hoped he might have forgotten but apparently it was quite fresh in his memory as he had gone to bed at 10pm with his ill wife and then been woken by me.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I couldn't have asked for a more fabulous group of people to see the New Year in with. Good job you lovely bunch. xxxx