STORM IN A COFFEE CUP?

Went for tea at the Ritz on Saturday night. Stop smirking! T'is true! Last Christmas, the four oldest children in my side of the family had bought it as a gift for Mother, Two Sisters and Self. It seemed such a long time in the future on Christmas Day 2006 , then suddenly it was the Next Day and I still had no idea what to wear. A couple of weeks before, Mother had informed me with all the grave seriousness of a judge pronouncing sentence that Jeans and Trainers WERE NOT PERMITTED. The teenage rebel that lies dormant in my fifty year old body strongly resented being told what I couldn't wear and I decided there and then to wear Jeans and Trainers. That was fine two weeks ago but by last Friday it had dawned on me that maybe I should re-consider. Only for the sake of my generous nieces and nephews you understand; not because the Dormant Teenage Rebel had had a change of heart. It just occured to me that I might be a tinsey bit embarrassed if, outside the gilt doors of London's poshest hotel, I got turned away whilst Mother and Two Sisters went in and lived the high-life - even if it was only for a couple of hours.

On the Friday, whilst finalising all the arrangements with Youngest Sister, I was reliably informed that she, Middle Sister and Mother were all wearing skirts and jackets and posh shoes. "What about you?" Youngest Sister asked. Dormant Teenage Rebel within screamed defiantly "I'll be there in my jeans and trainers ALL RIGHT!!!". Mature, responsible Inner Self replied "Oh I have some smart black trousers and a smart white top so I'll wear those." "I might wear trousers if it keeps raining, actually," said Youngest Sister. "Me too," responded Mother in background. "See you around 5 o'clock then," I said.

Saturday morning dawned overcast and threatening rain. "What time are you going to start getting ready?" asked Hubby mid-morning. "Oh, about three-ish I suppose," I replied. On the dot of three, I went upstairs and had a shower. I was towelling myself vigorously afterwards when hubby called up the stairs "Sarah's on the phone. D'you want to take it up there?" Sarah is the publisher who has taken on the burden of presenting my first childrens' book to the world.
"Yeah I'll take it up here," I called in reply. Swaddled in towels I traipsed from the bathroom to the bedroom and lifted the phone. Hung up over half an hour later. It was now quarter to four and I was meant to be leaving in less than an hour. And I still wasn't sure what I wanted to wear. At just before four the phone rang again. It was Youngest Sister. "We're just leaving. See you at East Croydon in about an hour." I decided now might be a good time to go and look in the wardrobe.

At half past four, dressed in Smart Black Trousers and Smart White Top, I left home. Mother and Two Sisters were on the Victoria train so said they'd wave at me from the train as it pulled in so that I would know to jump aboard. The train pulled in at ten past five and no amount of scrutiny revealed where on the train they were. Suddely I spotted Middle Sister running up the platform waving frantically. "Get on. get ON!" she screeched. I tried. The doors wouldn't open. I glanced desperately along the platform. Middle Sister had vanished. Oh God! Now the guard was blowing the whistle. "Stop. Stop." I screamed frantically pushing the button. "Let me on. Open this door! I am meeting people on this train! Two carriages down the doors opened and Middle Sister hung out. "Come ON!" she howled. I ran down the platform and leapt on just as the guard blew his whistle for the final time and the train jolted into motion.

I followed Middle Sister several carriages down through air that was blue from my swearing and finally sank into seat next to Mother. Not only was I stressed out, I was having a real hum-dinger of a hot flush AND all three of them were wearing skirt suits despite the rain. Felt utterly betrayed! Still, Dormant Teenage Rebel chimed in, it was TOO LATE NOW!

To be continued.

HOT FLUSH (of excitement or...?)

It is 9.05 am on Friday 17 August. I am fifty years, one month and two weeks old and I am a writer. Primarily. But I will go into that another time. Went out for a meal with the girls last night. One is only 17, one gets married in a fortnight, one is about to drop a baby, and the other two - myself included - are middle-aged (ish) and married and very happy with our lives. Over the first course - in my case Alfredo Mushrooms in a cheese sauce accompanied by garlic bread - the topic of conversation ranged from work (AAAGGHHH!!!), people at work (even bigger AAAGGHHH!!) and - um - work (groan). By the time the main course arrived (spaghetti in spicy tomato sauce for me - one of my favoutites), the conversation had moved up a gear or two. Work was forgotten. We discussed staff Christmas parties (Why? It is only half way through August) then Youngest Colleague's up-coming 18th, Engaged Colleague's up-coming wedding and Pregnant Colleague's up-coming first-born. I felt sorry for the guy at the next table when the pros and cons of breast-feeding were bandied about (loudly) for a good twenty minutes, followed by Birth itself. Other Married Colleague began to talk about when her son was born, followed by the inevitability of sleepless nights. Pregnant Colleague began to blanche and it wasn't helped when Other Married Colleague said "It'll be all right! Don't worry!" I felt left out of the conversation so began to gush about Granddaughter whose second birthday it just happened to be and how she'd picked up a Noddy game at Modelzone and plonked it in her buggy, thereby securing her first Christmas present of 2007. "She's definitely Granny's girl," I concluded proudly to break the stunned silence.
"Should I have a dessert I wonder?" breezed Engaged Colleague as the Main course drew to a close and I reached for my little fan to ward off another Hot Flush.

In the end Pregnant Colleague and myself settled for coffees, with Engaged Colleague claiming the little complimentary biscuits that came with them (to replace the dessert she had decided not to have, one presumes) and - at around 8.45 pm the meal came to an end. Pregnant Colleague gave Other Married Colleague and me a lift home in her new car - which saved us both worrying about trams and Being Out In Town At Night (which is sort of sad, but only to be expected these days, I guess).

I got in just before 9pm. Hubby had left for work and left me a note to say he'd missed me during the evening, so I fussed over Cat, slipped into dressing gown, curled up on the sofa and watched Spiderman 2 on the 5US channel before going to bed around 11.30. When I got up this morning, a title was playing in my head FIFTY & NOT OUT. A new book about cricket? Something about Percentages? No. The everyday meanderings of a 50 year old going through the menopause. Surely I am not the only woman who suffers from Hot Flushes?

I am NOT the only woman who suffers from Hot Flushes. And don't call me Shirley.........