Firstly, I guess I'd better confirm that I am not dead. I am still very much alive (although you would hardly know it to look at me) and, so far, 43 has been reasonably kind to me�.not as kind as tstough mind you, who I am certain was joking with his "29" comment � not least because he HAS actually met me and can therefore attest to my decrepitude, but for the purposes of this exercise I choose to believe that IS actually how old he thinks I am. Vanity, thy name is Stepfordtart.
After having a pretty bloody piss-poor actual birthday, L came up trumps on the following weekend, throwing a little mini surprise party for me with a couple of sets of pals and a birthday cake that he made all by himself with hardly any written instruction from Jooj. He has never made a cake before, and has certainly never had to deal with ICING before. He says the instructions were at fault but I don�t suppose at any point the instructions said "take a bowl of icing sugar and add water by running it under the tap". He panicked, called my sister (who wasn�t in), called my mum (who helpfully said 'you'd best get some more icing sugar'), panicked a bit more and after a bit more panicking, produced a pourable icing which at least LOOKED right. Pouring it all ON the cake caused it to immediately run straight OFF the cake and all over the platter. By the time I got to see it, it looked something like a giant fried egg � a huge pool of sticky white, with a smallish disc of pale yellow in the centre. No matter, it tasted fine. I do have a picture but, like so many of the pictures I have taken in the last few weeks, you'll have to wait until the camera is back on speaking terms with the laptop before you are able to see it.
Later that same week I finally got around to spending the last of my redundancy pay-off. After bickering about it for weeks (by 'bickering' I mean me saying 'if you want to be so bloody specific about where we go and what we do, then you can bloody well pay', to anyone that made a suggestion), I finally bit the bullet and booked the sort of holiday I would never never normally book. Im not a good tourist. Im not keen on other people, especially English people and I find it difficult to cope with the utterly crap standards that go along with a package holiday � ghastly anglicised food, the horrors of the 'family room', pre-arranged excursions, the services of a plump orange-faced northern holiday rep called Carol, the 'welcome meeting' and its attendant plastic cup of warm sangria and hard-sell of overpriced coach trips. Meh. I am a holiday snob.
But I am also desperate for a break. A break where I am excused from cooking duties and tidying up duties and all the other duties which go with holidaying with Jooj and Treac and L. And I am also pretty keen on NOT spending all of MY hard-earned and long saved cash on THEIR icecream and beer habits. I don�t mind paying for the actual holiday � I am the only person in the household capable of budgeting, after all. To be honest, I don�t even mind spoiling the kids a bit when we're away but *whispers* this is the main thing��L drinks too much beer. WAY too much beer. Expensive beer. And he doesn�t slow down his drinking habits if he finds out the beer is more expensive than he is used to paying. He drinks exactly the same amount�and just bitches about it. Needless to say, HIS spending money gets used up quite quickly, while mine is stretched ever thinner trying to cover the shortfall. I know its not fair and I know Im being a mug by letting it happen, but, hey, shoot me.
This year, much against all my 'independent traveller' principles, I have shelled out for five star luxury, in southern Turkey. Two hotel rooms (I WILL NOT share a bedroom with my children. Neither do I think its wholly appropriate for Jooj and Treac to have to share sleeping arrangements with a man who isn�t their dad), which meant I had to pay adult rates for Jooj but, the best bit, its ALL INCLUSIVE! 24 hour bars, seven restaurants to choose from, icecream buffet, spa, four swimming pools, daily free restocks on the mini bar (in case you get bored of the other bars) and, basically, the sort of luxurious surroundings I was used to when holidaying with Shagnasty�.but without the downside of having to holiday with Shagnasty!
Shagnasty was a cock in many ways, but we did have good holidays. The Waldorf Astoria in New York, the Savoy in London, three weeks in Mexico for our honeymoon, a beachside cabin in Gulf Shores AL for two years running, the services of an Egyptologist when we went to Luxor, unlimited shopping sprees and often first class flights, too. There are very few things I miss about that life, but the top-drawer travel is top of that little list.
Anyway. Before I start sounding all bitter and twisted, we are off to Turkey in a few weeks time and ITS GONNA BE GREAT. I have enough cash salted away to spend some time in the bazaars and markets while my family consume their own body weight in free alcohol and dairy based desserts and all is well. Oh, and because I am a canny shopper, I saved around �400 EACH on the brochure price!
TripAdvisor had nothing but good things to say about both the hotel and the location�oh! Hang on, it did say that very few of the other holidaymakers were English ('mostly Germans and Russians' apparently), but to be honest I consider that a plus point! Not least because I speak pretty good German and can, if pushed, say "Thank You", "You're Welcome", "My name is Stepfordtart" and "I like football" in Russian. Im sorted, me!
Dumb things to do when you are 43: Dye your hair blue
Really dumb things to do when you are 43: Dye your hair blue the day before you realise you need new passport photos for your forthcoming trip to Turkey.
Once again, there are photos but etc etc etc. Alternatively, I could just show you my new passport which has a lovely picture of me with my blue hair in it. And will have for the next ten years. Truly I am Queen Moron.
Oh, and lest you be wondering, Im not talking "a sort of bluey silver", or "flecks of steely grey-blue", Im talking BLUE. Like Buh-Luh-Oooo. A blue never seen in nature, in fact, rarely seen at all since the 80s. Yes. THAT kind of blue. Electric blue, I believe its called. *shakes head at pitiful self*
Over the last week or so, the friends who weren�t able to attend the aforementioned mini-surprise-birthday-party-with-homemade-cake-made-by-someone-who-has-never-made-cake-before pitched up at The Palace of Many Sins to offer their condolences on my advanced aging and to amuse me and bring me gifts.
First up, Simon and Kelly. Simon got made redundant just after I did and came home to tell Kelly that not only had he lost his job, but he was required to go to a work function that night and Kelly was required to go with him. Obviously they were both a bit shell-shocked from the redundancy thing, and Kelly was as mad as hell with the way Simon had been treated and really REALLY didnt want to go and schmooze with his (soon to be former) work colleagues. There was only one thing for it � start drinking.
By the time they got back home again after the jolly, Kelly had drunk copious quantities of corporate booze and attempted to sober herself up by eating a couple of big bowls of corporate chilli. It was no use, she was completely mullered. She staggered upstairs, ran a bath and got in the tub to sober up. Then she threw up. Lots.
Simon, hearing 'noises of distress' went to investigate. Kelly is a big girl. Real big. Finding his big wife, naked, horribly drunk, covered in puke, in the tub was too much for poor Simon. He yelled "for fucks SAKE, Kelly!" and slammed the bathroom door on her.
We laughed so much. When we'd finished laughing, I said "Oh, Kelly, how COULD you?"
"I know" she said, ruefully "We were finding kidney beans for WEEKS."
Pip came over last night. He didn�t bring a gift (well, he brought 8 cans of beer but I don�t think that was for me) but he did amuse me greatly as he is a fine orator and very interesting to listen to. He's also half German so was telling us a number of tales to do with family dynamics and how, at 48, he is still expected to show childlike respect for his German aunts and uncles, to not enter into debate or contradict them because they are the 'grown ups' and he and his various middle-aged cousins are the 'children'.
On a recent visit to Germany he got into a heated argument with one of his uncles regarding the role of the catholic church during the early 30s, in supporting the rise to prominence of a little known politician called Adolf Hitler. By the time the 'debate' had got to the table banging stage, Pip had pretty much queered his pitch and was most definitely being awarded the Swartz Schaf award (I might have spelled that wrong. Its Black Sheep, anyway), much to the disgust of his own parents who were mortified at his 'arguing with an adult'.
The dust had started to settle by dinner time and the extended family (28 in number) sat down to eat. Needless to say, 28 people eating in one room necessitates a fair amount of squeezing in and just as Pip was doing exactly that, he caught the edge of his plate on the edge of the table and upended his entire dinner: steak, potatoes, gravy and all into his own lap. He couldn�t get up as there was no room and sat for a few moments swearing and having his knackers boiled off with a gravy and steak poultice.
Germanic politeness ignored his f-ing and blinding but then�.cousin Ulrika (respectable German hausfrau aged 50) laughed.
Pip was so furious that he picked up a serving spoon, scooped up a huge dollop of mayonnaise and flicked it across the room, straight in her face. Twice.
There was a horrified silence around the table.
"Pip!" I said "Its not just that you threw mayonnaise at a grown woman. But, TWICE?! That�s not right, dude. I can understand once, out of blind anger, but TWICE? Surely that shows a certain degree of calculation? You were REALLY gonna make her pay."
"Yes" he said "It was like 'you fucking BITCH. I've burned my fucking bollocks off and you're sniggering? How dare you?' ::flick::���'Yeh, and ::flick::�THAT's for the Lusitania! Boatload of civilians? Anchored off Ireland? � what were you THINKING?!"
I wish that story was as funny written down as it was in the telling.
Slaveboy (remember him?) has love life problems. He's been emailing Auntie Stepfie for relationship advice and Ive been doing my very best to help him extricate himself from a relationship that was getting a bit too heavy. Slaveboy doesn�t do commitment. To be honest, even 'that was fun, shall we do it again sometime?' is coming on a bit strong for him.
I emailed some 'kind but truthful' lines he could use to make the process of ditching his latest squeeze less painful. Yesterday afternoon he sent me an email stream with the subject line "done it". It was his entire conversation over the course of the day with said squeeze. The lazy little bastard had only cut and pasted just about every single line I'd written, absolutely verbatim! I emailed back "you could've at least PARAPHRASED!" Im meeting him for dinner on Friday night. I may have to kick his sorry arse up and down the street. Or at least make him pay for the cheesy chips.
When he's finished laughing at my hair.