A letter to the big man!
How are you? Good? Splendid! I know, I know, I don’t write, I don’t phone, I don’t pop round for a slug of wine and a wafer like I used to before I got slung out of the Girl Guides for throwing eggs at choir boys and calling The Captain of 1st Wanstead a fat Myra Hindley! And I am still feeling bit guilty about that incident during Midnight Mass in 1978. I don’t condone under-age drinking either but alcohol does funny thing to a young girl guide’s brain. I’m pretty sure none of the dry martini and lemonade I threw up would have stained the kneelers, though. And the crib did look lovely, even though we had a fit of the giggles because we thought the baby looked like Kojak. I know I didn’t do myself any favours as a bell ringer. Who’d have thought front-fastening bras could cause distress to my fellow campanologists. But I know it’s no excuse for not staying in touch. I don’t suppose you’re on Facebook? Or Skype? No, I thought not. Time just flies, doesn’t it. And there’s always something else to do. You know how it is. That pile of washing to do. That bin to go out. Those socks to darn. Not that I’ve suddenly turned into a 50’s housewife. It’s just better than saying I’ve probably over-done it on the Tia Maria and HRT.
Anyway, talking of time, well that’s really what I wanted to talk to you about. Is there anything you can do about slowing it down a bit? I feel like life has become one of those comedy time-lapse calendars. I’m sure I’ve only just left school. And now this year’s birthday has come round much quicker than expected and I’m somewhat unprepared emotionally. Yes it’s that birthday. The one with the big numbers in it that you used to think was really old when you were a child! I know there’s the obvious way of staving it off but I’m not quite ready for a face-to-face yet. For a start, I’m dreading those stairs. My knees are ruined. Years of trying to attempt step classes and wearing unsuitable footwear, no doubt! And white so doesn’t suit me unless I’ve got a tan. And don’t even think about getting me to learn the harp. I may be a grade 8 cellist (with merit) but that was only 4 strings!! Old dog, new tricks, etc.
You see, I’ve still got some unfinished business here. I’d like to see my kids get married and have children. And then I’d like to go round to their house, pretend I’m deaf, leave my knickers on their bathroom floor and at least 3 pairs of shoes positioned to cause maximum injury. It would be a shame for them to miss out on that! Before they have me institutionalised!
I’d also like to see a bit more of the world that doesn’t start and end with 2 hours on an easyjet flight with the obligatory screaming baby and the complimentary tea/coffee (and I don’t mean either/or. I can’t often tell which one it is). But there’s countries I’d love to visit and seas I’d like to sail. I want to sit on remote beaches and explore interesting cities. I’m not looking to do anything overly stressful. I don’t want to go backpacking across India or paddle a canoe to reach remote Amazonian tribes (mainly because they never seem to wear any clothes and I never know where to look. Some of those poor women really do need a good supportive bra). Plus there’s nowhere to plug in a hairdryer. Neither do I particularly want to hang out with Polar bears and penguins. I’ve been ski-ing and I couldn’t be doing with an endless runny nose and unflattering outerwear. I just want some time to look out of the window of my 5 star hotel and wonder at the world. I mean, if you went to the bother of creating it, I think the least I should do is have a look round. I just seem to have run out of time. Again!
Talking of time, I must dash. These nails won’t paint themselves you know. But maybe have a think. And if you do get any bright ideas – tweet me?