Criminal damage and co-conspirators

If the police had come knocking this morning, I’d have opened the door and put my hands up – yup, Sarge it was me. Reports of abuse should never been taken lightly even when the accuser is your own body and I’ve really made mine suffer over the last three nights. It’s not that I’m a stranger to excess but what my internals could stand once upon a time no longer apply when you are a certain nearly 60 year old blonde – I just can’t party like it’s 1999 anymore. One look in the dreaded bathroom mirror at an irrationally early hour for a Sunday was enough to make me swear off anything except salad and seriously large quantities of water if I want to be in any sort of fit state for a birthday boogie.

I would however point out to the court that there were aiders and abettors in this criminal escapade – namely Xavier, Lisa and of course, Denis. Xavier started it, Lisa encouraged it and D didn’t do anything to stop it. You see the whole caboodle began earlier in the week with a visit from the first co-conspirator to discuss catering for the big event. Then, as is the norm in such situations, me and the other two would-be assassins were invited to taste what could be on the menu over at Xavier’s emporium. A place that just happened to be hosting a guinguette on Thursday night – basically an outdoor knees up with lashings of grub and the grape. So we went and after a few minutes of catching up with old friends, a heaving dish of heartiness was set in front of me which naturally, I politely ate. The whole lot. Delicious. Half an hour later, my empty plate was removed only to be replaced by another. Then another plus a bottle of very nice and far too easy to swallow white wine. By the time we left, I could have been mistaken for a hippo who’d had one too many at the local watering hole.

Now, I love food but you’d think I’d be planning soup for supper the next day but no. Seeing how it was a Friday and with a yen to be social, I invited a few friends over for dinner. Lisa and Denis included. Last minute decisions mean having to make a meal out of whatever is left in the freezer and come up with a chicken and leek pot pie – a very large and very tasty one. I must have still been under the influence of the night before because otherwise I would not have accepted Lisa’s request about opening that bottle of Baileys. There is a reason why such lethal liquids are kept in the back of dark cupboards with seal intact. I got to bed at 2 a.m.

As I said, I love food but having inhaled the equivalent amount of calories needed to last me through next year, I turned down D’s offer of my usual go to pizza last night in favour of me cooking the two of us a light repas instead. Which I did and whilst my stomach was thankful for the favour, the rest of the body wasn’t. Reliving one’s youth through decades of music was probably not the best way of loosening neck knots, nor was leaping about the lounge until well after midnight. Especially when I had to get up at that irrationally early hour this morning and join a disgustingly bright and bouncy Lisa so I could give my opinion on a house she might be renting.

So you there have it Your Honour and learned jury. The accused did not act alone and as you can read from my testimony, she is a very easily influenced idiot but I shall take my punishment, guilty as I am and serve out my sentence of salad, soda and sleep. And keep well clear of my less than angelic accomplices…

“I complain that the years fly past, but then I look in a mirror and see that very few of them actually got past.” (Robert Brault)

Eyeballing the age

I know I’ve only myself to blame for the state of my internal organs at the moment but I did throw a flipping good party last night which didn’t finish until 3 o’clock this morning. I realise it has been a while since I’ve hosted such a soirée but judging by all the aches and pains and bleary sleep-deprived eyeballs, this body can’t do what it used to be able to do apparently. Still, it was the perfect way to introduce the latest addition, Lisa, to our social circle and a chance to show-off the bijoux collection in the now-completed showroom which in turn added a few euros to my piggy-bank. Oh and Abraham, under my insistence, bought his new ‘amie‘ Antonia with him who is not only fabulous but a gynaecologist to boot (I’ve yet to ask how they met) so we are already bosom buddies.

To be honest, apart from the small matter of thinking I could have a few drinks after being off the booze for a month and get away with it, I’ve been feeling quite well of late. Whilst I’m sure this is partly down to Spring’s sunny outlook and the blossoming floral abundance everywhere, getting the Witch Wackle wares out of my kitchen and into the downstairs space has kept me busy all week which always cheers me up. That and re-discovering the delights of the mini trampoline that hasn’t seen the light of day for at least a decade. Bouncing around to the groove blasting through my headphones does wonders for the mentals let me tell you even if Denis found the sight and sound (singing is mandatory) of yours truly bobbing up and down so hilarious, he repeated his observations to the entire village – you can imagine the number of winks and head wobbles I now have to endure. Mind you, he’s needed the mood lift – his beloved dog Gaia passed away suddenly on Monday night. She wasn’t a young dog and had had quite a few health problems lately but it’s never easy to lose your furry companion whether you expect it or not. He’s buried her in his front garden which shouldn’t be funny except that the outside space isn’t exactly grand and the burial plot is – with a nice top of sparkly white gravel and a wooden picket fence surround. Artemis II could’ve used it as a landing pad.

As mentioned, the weather is definitely on the up and now that I’ve finished what needed to be finished in the buy the bling department, the rest of April is blissfully appointment free. Nephew Louis is off on Tuesday to continue the renovations in his new house up in La Creuse, a mid-France region a good 7 hour drive from here and won’t be back for a couple of weeks so I once more will have the place to myself. Bless his young cotton socks, he’s kindly cut our very spacious lawns so I can enjoy pottering around the plethora of flora and fauna without worrying about what I might step in. I’m also going to get out my camera trap and see if I can snap a pic or two of a couple of returning residents to our shores; the Eurasian Scops Owls are back. I know this because, due to the warm night hours, I have to open my bedroom window and can hear their gentle hooting – a conversation they seem to prefer having at one a.m and finish at sunrise. I’m going to have to start taking siestas…

“Inside every older person is a young person wondering what happened” (Terry Prachett)

Resolutions and wrinkles

Well, there you go, another week over and another year older. Yup, I’ve had my last birthday in my 50’s and, not being one to shy away from a good knees-up, I did it in style and suffered for it. My mind may think I’m still in my youth but the body does not. Still, knee joints aside, I had a cracking good night boogieing into the wee hours whilst consuming my body weight in pizza. And, aside from Denis providing my favourite nutrition, the weather stayed just about perfect so we could dine al fresco on my terrace surrounded by tripping hazards in the form of prone woofers.

I have to say I don’t feel 59 but then again I’ve never been 59 before. Whilst I’m sure the wrinkle count is doubling daily, I tend to avoid lengthy conversations with mirrors and being flat-chested, I’m lucky nothing’s sagging in that department. Callum tells me I look ‘pretty good’ for my age which is why he is the centre of my world, unlike brother Simon who pointed out I was really 60 minus 364 days yesterday – I should remind him that he is my older sibling. I suppose one should think about birthday resolutions and all that but, considering all the ups and too many downs over the past 12 months, I don’t think so. Maybe stop stressing so much and enjoy the now if my out of whack synapses will let me.

So, we’ve reached November and with it, chilly mornings and disappearing daylight. With not much to do in the garden and a workshop idling whilst I try to drum ideas for Christmas baubles, I decided to give the terrace a bit of a make-over. Admittedly, it’s probably not the season for adding what can only be described as summer lounging to the apartment’s exterior but it does give it a bit of a wow factor. Not that you can sit on any of it, the woofers have ruled out any chance of claiming a cushion and as everyone knows, my posterior doesn’t have a take a load off mode. That being said, I don’t think there is a more perfect place to let the mind wander in the peace of nature for a while. Actually, it’s not that peaceful – the garden is teeming with migrant visitors at the moment; the avian kind but the chatter is oddly welcoming as we head into Autumn’s last month. Winter may be around the corner and a new year beckoning but that’s yet to come and as the saying goes, age is just a number so me and 59 are going to be just fine. I’ll just try and keep myself away from my reflection and remember mornings after night befores…

“We don’t stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing.” (George Bernard Shaw)

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