Thirteen for dinner

Isn't that so wonderfully Agatha Christie? Really this should be the story.

Not long after the party is assembled one of the dinner guests (a rather voluptuous, yet not entirely principled heiress to an international lingerie manufacturing conglomerate, called Miss Scarlet) mysteriously disappears. Brigadier Tartan quickly organises a search - all that can be found of her is a ruby red stiletto on the roof terrace next to her spilt Chanel No. 5 Rouge Noir nail varnish. Just as the hostess, Lady Walsingham, is about the call the local constabulary one of the guests volunteers that the world famous detective, Hercules Pilot, is not only a personal friend but is co-incidentally staying a matter of a few miles away. The well manicured detective arrives promptly and systematically sets about revealing the hidden secrets of all the guests. Cue long shots of anxious aristocracy nursing tumblers of whiskey before slowly confessing how they all had links to Miss Scarlet and a reason to do away with her....

Alas this was not my dinner for thirteen. Mine had no disappearing guests or Belgian detectives. Just lots of lovely food, laughter, a loud chorus of "Happy Birthday" at a rather inappropriate hour of the morning, some crazy plans to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, a pink watering can and several interesting stories about cling film.

The after shot...

Incidentally ask no further questions about Miss Scarlet and Brigadier Tartan....

This weekend...

...I have been mainly sitting in traffic jams in a boiling hot car with two boiling hot children. Not one traffic jam but three separate ones on three separate days. Needless to say the car has no air conditioning and we chose one of the hottest weekends this year to visit my mother in Smallgrimtown-upon-Slagheap. The only saving grace of travelling at 3 miles an hour on the motorway was that we could wind the windows down in an attempt to cool down in some car fume infested breeze.

...I also discovered that zero key on my laptop has stopped working. This had two consequences. First I could not get online at the cut price hotel we were staying at because to do that I would have to pay £5 per hour and to do that I would have to put my card number in which of course contains a zero. Bah and double bah. Second my parentheses now have no end. I can start like so (but I cannot finish . So henceforth I am designating this - ^ to be my close brackets. For example: I thought £5 per hour for internet access was eminently reasonable (who am I kidding - what a bloody rip off!!^

...I was relieved that mother lived up to reputation of supplying at least one good line per trip. Last time she informed me that she had been to the cinema to see "Alcoholic Shopping". I thought it sounded like a brilliant idea for a film, or possibly a way of life, until I realised that she meant "Confessions of a Shopaholic". This time she told me that I didn't look like I was going to be 37. Which was a lovely compliment , especially since I will be forty next week. One might think that of all people you could rely on your mother to remember your age but apparently not so.

...I am currently praying to the god of traffic jams that we have done our time and that we can go on holiday tomorrow without being stuck in any more queues. While I am at it I have also asked the packing fairy to pop by and sort out our bags.

...I am wondering whether it is possible that someone has broken into my house and stolen only the suitcases.

Things I have bought myself for my 40th birthday....so far

I have discovered that one of the chief pleasures of not having a significant other (detest that phrase, husband, boyfriend, bedwarmer, snuggle bunny, wine bottle opener what ever you prefer) is that there is absolutely no guilt in buying yourself birthday presents. I never thought to buy myself presents when the husbands were around. Not to say that either of the husbands was bad at presents. Its just when you buy your own you get exactly what you want.

Anyway, moving on to the list:

1. Two holidays, one after the other. Cheesy tacky caravan (the chief pleasure of which is the "clubhouse" where all food comes in a basket and the entertainment consists of a man in a giant chicken costume - best enjoyed with several large glasses of pinot grigio and a healthy dose of irony) followed by slightly more refined lighthouse weekend (will post some pictures for Polly)


2. Satnav in order to get to these places without having to rely on map reading by 12 year old.


3. Dog -theoretically for children but all the pester power in the world would not stand a chance if I wasn't secretly fulfilling my lifetime ambition to own a dog.


4. Ticket to Copenhagen to partake in the madness/creative frenzy that is Blogcamp. Could be the only chance I have in my life to learn belly dancing and knitting in one weekend whilst eating/slurping a gin and tonic sorbet.


5. Tattoo. Dragonfly on hip. I am very pleased with it especially since it meant I got to wrap myself in clingfilm - something I have always wanted to do although not necessarily whilst youngest daughter watched me with a look of mild surprise on her face.

It's still a couple of weeks away so doubt there will be more excuses for presents to me....me....me