I have just read over my old school lined notebook diary entries from the last week or so since Christmas
Christmas day I declared I was an angry woman with mother in law issues: “Christmas with extended family leaves me stunned and confused then angry and craving vodka”
Daughter declared that our family Christmas song ought to be changed from the Fairytale of New York to Lilly Allen’s F*** You.
The following day I turned 45, smack bang on middle aged and decided that the second half of my life would be dominated by joy.
Nothing birthday related is open on Boxing Day generally – most restaurants are shut, so we have started a family tradition of eating at Hungry Jacks (open 24 hours!). There’s a choice of two in Ballarat. Both open. Both complete with slightly sticky tables and faux 1950’s diner décor. Perfect. No calories on your birthday.
In the afternoon I poured myself a champagne cocktail and watched The Usual Suspects and then an episode or two of House of Cards… birthdays with Mr Spacey… also perfect.
The next few pages of the notebook / diary become a little sketchy with difficult to read or remember entries such as:
- Mum visit… move furniture
- Email from 2013 reply RV
- Muscle Shoals – soul – that stuff coming out of your gut. That’s what I want, how I want to live, the work I do.
- Voice carved out of a bar room floor
- Beautiful day OMG! (no bloody idea what this was about)
- Andy – Wondering
- Steve Winwood… Same bucket at Peter Gabriel? Would he buy me a Vespa? I want a new bike.
- Mick and his promise to get fit and mine to write more
- Jewels my daughter and fella bought me
- The cat gave me a new piercing at 3am
- Aldi seem to be out of inlaw repellent
- A Corgi named Noddy and all his hair.
- Cats – Delta as fag hag
- Office window spider
- Things that happen on my birthday that I don’t give a shit about
- The wisdom of the daughter
We will explore some of these topics in future blog entries