...in other words: Party

Sunday, January 10, 2010

10th of January 2010 (ready, steady, go!)

10th of January, Milky Way, Earth, Europe, UK, England, London, Lee, Upwood Road, sitting room...

Bloody freezing!

Still...

No need to panic...Life is not a box of chocolates but a skating rink at the moment.
I slide from one day to the next on shorter breaks of light and memories of summer and smells of BBQs.

New resolutions? Do you really want to know them? Sure:

* Happiness, if you hear me hit me as hard as you can, whenever you can, as soon as you can, as merciless as you fancy...I shall not dodge any of your punches or kicks or bullets, in fact I’ll run towards anything you throw at me. I promise! (‘call meee!’)

* A glass of Cabernet! (what do we say?) – NOW!

Thank you..:)

So, here it is…Another year!!!!!… says my calendar, my personal alarm, my mobile phone, my lap top, my passport, my husband, my children, my Mum, my diary, my friends, my microwave, my colleagues, my cousins, my driving license…

‘says who?’ – asks a voice inside my head...'

‘I like you, whoever you are...muwahahaha’…

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Moya's 40th Birthday Party

* Warning: this is a true story. Some images may be disturbing for viewers younger than 40.

***

‘Two full English please’ he says..

and these are the first words that make sense the morning after the night before.

Is 11.00 am, I am sitting in The Wish Tower cafe and the sun glasses are dark but not dark enough…so I close my eyes, for another minute until a piercing sound hits from the left:
“Mummy, Alex is throwing stones at the fish..”
Then from the right:
“Mummy Nicky hit me in the head...”

***

Yes I am a parent of two and so is the man in front of me who looks ill but managed to somehow order and pay for a couple of brunches.

We are both quiet, we don’t move much, our bodies hurt and pain is written all over our faces. I cannot yet decide which part I would like to dispose of first: my head or my feet. Men are lucky, it must be only their heads taking the blame. For everything...

Food arrives.
Forget ‘mama’s specialite de la maison’ or oysters or Xmas pudding or brownies and cream. This is IT: it’s grease and we need it. The coffee is not great but is hot and probably black.

Something is pushing through, images behind my eye-balls are coming back to hunt me. Brain becomes the Enterprise (to infinity and beyond!) penetrating a field of flashbacks. There’s no ‘beam me up, Scotty’ button, and probably no alternative transport would allow a body saturated with alcohol to travel any distance, not a yard, not an inch. So I sink deeper in my chair and remember...

***