Week 1

The the first week of the new year is nearly over and we’re already striding purposefully into January. The Christmas decorations have come down – not that we had that many. Always planning on being away for the festive period our house was definitely lacking in the Christmas spirit, I had already decided a tree would only decline into a delightful kitty play gym, resulting in nothing but destruction and  a constant sweeping up of mess. 

As it was when we did hastily change our plans and retreat to a hotel in a former country manor house, I must have had the only child in the whole universe who complained about things coming down the chimney on Christmas Eve.  Unable to pacify a 21 year old with tales of Dancer and Prancer up on the roof, we concluded it was probably just hailstones knocking debris into the fire place.

Our halls are no longer decked with Christmas cards – birthday cards quickly replace those in our household. Yes, way back on New Year’s day in 1996 we made our mercy dash through the streets of Southampton at 3.00 am in the morning, weaving our way through hoards of drunken teenagers spilling out of the night clubs, on route to the maternity hospital. 17 years later and I have my own drunken teenager, arriving home at 3.00 am in the morning, with several others in tow. The party she had planned to overnight at had turned into another trashed house without a dry piece of carpet on which to lay her head, so she had decided to walk home. Probably very sensible in the circumstances, however her own legendary Halloween shenanigans have now been surpassed in the great party stakes. She had never seen so much mess – and her friend’s mum was even joining in the drunken fun.

‘Aren’t you lucky you have me,’ I pointed out. For once she agreed.

Of course it was totally uncool to open birthday presents until the motley crew she brought home with her had left – so birthday celebrations were postponed to the afternoon.  The L plates were gratefully unwrapped –  and more champagne consumed.

The husband finally made it home and is now back in the bosom of his family for the next couple of weeks.  We took a trip up to London to celebrate his return with daughter No 1 and a trip to the theatre to see the Woman in Black. While the teenager and her sister dutifully screamed, despite having seen the film and knowing exactly what to expect, I had to keep nudging my other half to make sure he stayed awake. ‘Jet lag...’ he kept mumbling in his defence.

After the show we walked around Convent Garden. The atmosphere was great and definitely beats anything we experienced in LA hands down. Pasadena might well have its New Year’s Day sunny smiley smiley Rose Parade*, but we had giant baubles and serenades from a busking budding opera singer. It was the perfect opportunity to recapture my lost Christmas spirit – and before I knew it I found myself wishing we’d booked a pantomime instead of a horror show. An old man in drag; a buxom young soap star dressed as a boy, lots of clichéd innuendo and look who’s behind you. Now try explaining that to an American!


*The Me Shopper Jan 2012 & The Rose Parade Jan 2011

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