In lieu of smoky jazz clubs, Parisian garrets and unsuitable boys, Simon took me out for birthday tapas last night and I got a bit more drunk than I meant to. I did achieve the inappropriate skirt and the whisky, though. Sadly, the whisky was just part of a cocktail in a very wanky hipster bar. I fear hipster bars are probably the new smoky jazz clubs anyway, now that smoking is banned everywhere.
Anyway, Simon might deny checking out the au pairs’ arses when he picks up the children, but he’s blatantly lying, it is impossible not to notice the au pairs’ arses. The mummies in the playground spend much time discussing if we ever had arses like those of the au pairs. On reflection, we suspect probably not, due to being British and so spending our formative years drinking cider and eating chips, unlike the healthy Continental people who eat salad and go cycling.
Maybe I should have bought Jane the £35 umbrella, and then perhaps she would grow up to be a well-rounded and functioning adult who would not still think ‘when I’m a grown up’ even in her late thirties? Bollocks, I have failed in my parental duty again.
So he binned his job, sold his flat and went off to travel round India, which was where he found himself as Bardo. ‘So I built a fire on the beach, man, and I burnt everything that had belonged to Kevin, and I took this new name, and I left Kevin there.’ Basically, he got completely off his tits on drugs and set fire to all his stuff and we are supposed to somehow think this makes him deep and profound, instead of a pretentious tosser.
The testosterone in the room was palpable, as Man faced down Man over the holy grail of Power Tools. Simon’s love for his power tools is not a force to be underestimated, though.
When people pass my house, they don’t see a woman who wonders if she has made the right choices in life, who is sure she is a terrible parent, who doesn’t know if her husband loves her anymore – because he certainly doesn’t seem to like her very much right now and they barely talk or have anything in common these days – and who doesn’t know how long she can keep plastering on the bright smile that says to the outside world that everything is fine, it’s fine, it’s all marvellous, before she cries drunkenly into the dog’s ears because nobody understands her.
Buggeration. I thought we had established that I hadn’t been avoiding him by me saying I hadn’t been avoiding him. You are supposed to accept that at face value, even if it is a blatant lie. I am starting to wonder if Charlie is British at all. Didn’t he do a gap year in America? That was probably where it all started, this desire to communicate instead of living a perfectly happy life of awkward silences and speaking only in clichés.
so I took pity on Simon and said, ‘Why don’t you come too? Louisa can make herself useful and babysit.’ He perked up straightaway and said, ‘Really? You wouldn’t mind? That would be lovely!’ Poor Simon. It is a dark day when he actually feels going into the company of People is preferable to the sanctity of his sofa.
My review of Why Mummy Drinks