Sorry I have been a bit quiet of late, but with Christmas and New Year (plus working hard on my novel), it's been quite a busy festive period. I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and a drunken, debauched New Year. Mine was actually very quiet in terms of alcohol. Kristin and I didn't even make it to midnight on New Year (how sad us parents are). Anyway, in lieu of an actual blog, as I don't have the time at the moment, here is another sneak peek at my novel, This Thirtysomething Life: A Diary. It's going well and I'm hoping to have some exciting news soon!
Sunday February 5th, 10:00am
In kitchen. Peeling spuds. Emily lying down. Bright, blue skies (no chance of rain). Squirrel outside with another squirrel. Still no response from Jamie.
Seriously, why are weather people never right? It’s probably the only profession in the world where you can be wrong most of time and still keep your job.
Squirrel outside with another squirrel and they seem to be quite amorous. Good for them. Steve, Fiona and their brigade of ankle biters will be here at noon. I’m not looking forward to it. I’ve spent most of the morning child proofing the house. I had to move all of the alcohol into the shed.
6:00pm
In shed. Having a cigarette. Drinking a cocktail (Sex on the Beach!). I might as well enjoy the fact that the alcohol’s now in the shed. Plus, I finally get to use the cocktail recipe book I got two Christmases’ ago. Steve, Fiona and ankle biters just left. My nerves are frayed.
I plied myself with red wine and then we told Steve and Fiona our good news. They went berserk. At one point Steve screamed, while Fiona just kept yelling. “OMG! OMG! OMG!”
They already have us down at a birthing class, family therapy session, pre-birth playgroup and something (if I heard them correctly), which sounded like a week away together to Cornwall, but that couldn’t be right. Emily did most of the talking, while I just smiled a lot and said things like. “It’s unbelievable. Really exciting. Doesn’t seem quite real yet.”
Emily was in her element and spent ages talking to Fiona about baby names, types of nappy and a whole hour about the importance of breast feeding. Steve even went out to their car to get their spare breast pump and then gave us a demonstration (on himself!). Emily got out the calendar, so we could see how many days our new babies are going to be apart. Apparently, they were going to be very close, which was fantastic news.
Luckily, I spent most of the time preparing lunch and so I managed to avoid the majority of the baby talk. I did, unfortunately, get stuck with Steve, while I was trying to sneak in a cigarette outside.
“It’s great news, old boy.”
“Yes, we’re very excited.”
“You know there’s this book...”
“The Bloke’s Survival Kit for Being a Dad?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I have a copy.”
“Oh, it’s a must read, really quite, you know, true. I think that us blokes need that little bit of extra help, don’t you?”
“I suppose.”
“And if you have any questions, anything, just let me know. Even the delicate stuff.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t want to ask what kind of ‘delicate stuff’ he was talking about.
“And we have that week in Cornwall, which will be great.”
“Right, yes, wait, what?”
“You know, we’re going to Newquay for the week in May? We’re thrilled you’re coming. The kids can’t stop talking about it.”
“Yes, of course, can’t wait.”
Emily had pulled a fast one and agreed to go on holiday for an entire week with Steve, Fiona and their clan. I must stop this disgrace. How could she do this to me?
The next few hours passed extraordinarily slowly. I played with the kids for a while, mostly to get away from Emily, who still didn’t know that I knew about Cornwall. Eventually, they all left and I came outside for a cigarette and a cocktail (Irish car bomb!) to compose myself, before I confronted Emily about our sham of a holiday to the West Country.
8:00pm
Apparently, we had a conversation about Cornwall last week and I agreed to it! I find this very hard to believe. I have no memory of the conversation in question. Was Emily using my ‘man-tention span’ against me?
“I don’t remember any conversation about Cornwall. I think I’d remember.”
“Last Wednesday, we were having dinner.”
“What did we have?”
“I don’t know. Pork chops I think.”
“Nothing’s coming back to me, Em.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
“OK, yes, I grant you, my memory’s a bit...”
“Shit?”
“Yes, but I think I’d remember a whole conversation where I agreed to go to Cornwall for the week with Steve, Fiona and their gaggle of J’s.”
“You’d think so.”
After our conversation, I started to wonder if maybe she’s right. Had we had a conversation about Cornwall? Was it possible that my ‘man-tention span’ was getting worse and I was losing whole chunks of my life? What else had I agreed too? Time to pop out to the shed for another cocktail.
Blog soon x
