I woke up early this morning, not because I was over-joyed at the thought of turning 55, but because the clocks went back last night and no-one told the pups. I like to avoid big celebrations on my birthday. I have learnt over the last half century and a bit that any plans to do something special, especially on those ‘significant’ years, tend to end in misery. For a start, it’s on Hallowe’en, the ancient Celtic festival when it was believed that the ghosts of the dead returned to Earth and people burnt sacrifices to ward off evil. Yay. Thankfully these days we don’t tend to carve up goats, just pumpkins, but any chance of going out to a restaurant without seeing spiders hanging from the ceiling or kids covered from head to toe in fake blood is pretty slim. Having said that, France doesn’t do the whole ‘trick or treat’ thing as this weekend is dedicated to visiting past loved ones and tomorrow is All Saints Day, a holiday. Traditionally chrysanthemums are placed on family graves so the shops tend to be full of brightly coloured flowers instead of gory costumes. I think my 50th year was probably the worst as I lost Macgyver and Arry put me in hospital which meant no big party. Tony thoughtfully booked a night out in a restaurant and invited my closest friends, two of which turned up three hours late completely blotto and a fight broke out between one and someone else’s husband.
Despite my lack of excitement at getting older, the past week has been a pretty special as I got to spend a whole 6 days with my bestie, Irene. We drove up to Toulouse and pottered about the city centre and all the shops, a first time for me as I had only been through the outskirts before. I can thoroughly recommend a trip there even if we couldn’t remember which car park I had stuck Josephine in which was a little stressful. We did the local market thing and took a long walk up through the vines with some of the woofers, plus my usual shouting at Arry to behave. A couple of neighbours popped over for aperos resulting in everyone having fuzzy heads the next day and my new pal Pip dropped in to say hello. As much as I loved letting Rene have a glimpse of my life en France, the best part was just being able to sit and chat over a few glasses in the evenings and the weather was kind enough to let us do so. I wasn’t alone in my appreciation for the visit, poor girl had woofers scrambling to share her bed every night. So much for loyalty.
As I’m not one for birthday cakes, my mother once made me one in the shape of a witch’s head when I was much much younger and covered it in liquorice for the hair which was a disaster as I hate the stuff, I suppose I ought to make a birthday wish without blowing half a ton of candles out. But to be honest, I’m not going to because a) my asks of the universe tend to go adrift and b) I can’t think of anything. Right now, I am blessed with a beautiful home in a country I love albeit with a bloody great pool in the middle of the garden and no deck or fencing yet, a son whom I adore even if he wants to go and live on the other side of the world, my mum next door whenever I need to rant about something and nine occasionally loyal woofers all of which are currently spread in comatose fashion around my little abode. Life might have dealt me a few lemons over the past three and half years but this girl who was born in the Year of the Fire Horse and a Scorpio to boot, is thankful for what she has.
As I hit the middle 50’s today, my amazingly wonderful niece turns 21. I’m sure Katie will be out in London town, in costume is highly unlikely knowing her, as I did all those years ago but mine was in New York. The less said about that particular occasion, the better. So Happy Birthday my mini-witch.
“You know you’ve aged when you read events you lived in a history book” (Will Ferrell)
Widow plus woofs 