Valentine Vignettes

We went out last night mainly just because, and hoping that we, who eat out probably twice a week, were not going to be inconvenienced by amateur Valentine’s opportunists. All was well; we got a table at our first choice venue, and even though an eyebrow was raised when they realised we hadn’t booked, a pointed glance around the 50% empty venue won the day. A wet, chilly, February Sunday was never going to work for many, though no doubt Saturday was busy.

Having sorted the wine, and ordered the food (calamari with a chili dip then spaghetti with chicken, prawns, chili for me; king prawns in a chili and tomato sauce then spaghetti bolognese for the boy) we settled, to discuss plans and for me to do a little people watching.

This was mainly triggered by the arrival of a young lad, who looked around 12 but must have been older. Full on goth/emo black, arse exposing jeans, bouffant and spiked hair (how do they do that?). He sat by himself at table in the window, and I intermittently worried about him in a vague way for 1-15 minutes as he fiddled with the menu, and looked a bit uncomfortable. Then he looked up and out and smiled, and then a beautiful goth/emo girl came in - all in black, mini skirt, stunning make up in that pale vampiresque kind of way, more bouffant spiked hair - with an enormous card for him. They looked very happy then, which maybe misses the goth/emo point, but is actually lovely to see.

The couple next to us looked very smart, very cool. Cutting edge hair, this season’s clothes (though what would I know -  they looked new though). He was also quite big and tough looking. They were aware of how they looked, a bit of posing going on. Until she handed him his Valentine’s present, whereupon they gave each other their full attention as he unwrapped it, and he was reduced to unselfconscious sentimental gooeyness and ‘awww’ noises by a small teddy in a mug. Teddy then was sat on the table between them for the remainder of the meal.

The people out with small children were dispersing at this point so things were quietening down a bit. I managed to curb channelling my Mother on the subject of small children, restuarants and school nights, because 1. I really don’t want to turn into her, I’m leaving that to my brother (similar theatrical and event driven tendencies) and 2. I remembered it was half term.

The next party to arrive was interesting. Two chaps, probably into forties, two children, boy 10, girl 12 or thereabouts. The lead chap was the father, and quietly arranged  menus, ordered drinks, sorted out the food, in a nicely negotiated and discussed manner – put the kids at ease, encouraged them to try stuff, but with a backout plan, and ensured everyone was happy with the final choices. Nicely done and not often seen. We can’t organise stuff like that at work and we’re supposed to be good at it.

The next time I was aware  of them was when I heard the word Thatcherism – always faintly alarming and on this occasion strangely out of context. It turned out the two chaps were explaining at a fairly minute level of detail what Margaret Thatcher’s government had done and why it was bad for society. The miners were discussed, as well as several other contemporary events, and the thinking behind them. It was also taken to the level of what effect it all had on an individual’s wealth, prospects and choices, and the kids were asked some pertinent questions and asked some back. From my somewhat elderly and ropey politics knowledge (undergraduate, 12 years ago) it all sounded fairly kosher, if from a resoundingly left wing standpoint. Quietly and thoughtfully discussed as well (obviously as I got the gist…).

It was all quite bizarre, but actually quite life affirming; we ended up having an extra glass of rather good red and feeling really quite optimistic…

Birthday requirements

Given that my immediate family were out of town on my birthday weekend, and that 45 is neither here nor there anyway, I had lowered expectations for my birthday, based mainly on eating my way through the (very good, not very healthy) canteen options at work, followed by more eating and drinking with my partner over the weekend. So I kicked off well with a bacon sandwich, followed by fish and chips for lunch, and shopping for supper – M&S had laid on a special meal deal for me, which was also available for people celebrating Valentine’s Day a couple of days later. If you’d have asked at that stage did I want anything else I would have said I wasn’t bothered.

So when I finally got home and saw stuff I was a bit overwhelmed. It’s taken me a couple of days to appreciate how nice and thoughtful it all was. I got:

• cards
• chocolates and good wishes from my colleagues
• flowers, books, and much attentiveness from the boy, who also sang Happy Birthday to me in the manner of Johnny Cash
• a lovely bottle of wine from his dad
• a full on birthday cake with icing and candles from his mum, and another cake, and a scarf, and jewellery – all tasteful and beautifully wrapped
• a voucher to spend on goodies from his sister and brother in law, with separate cards from them and the niece and nephew.

It was all lovely and on time and very touching. So thank you everyone, and I will be making extra efforts on other people’s birthdays as it was all so nice.

I also got to carry on the eating and drinking project, make my thank you calls, and catch up with people over the weekend – so all in all one of the best birthdays!

Birthdays and aging

It was my birthday on Friday. I am probably half way there, depending whether you take my maternal side (Mum 82 this year, Nana died at 98) or my paternal side (Dad 66 (prostate cancer so now he’d have lasted longer), his parents unknown). A bit of a strange one – I probably am slightly fitter than this time last year, less depressed, more optimistic, but I still dislike this number more – perhaps because it is the mid point of a decade – 45.  Probably however the biggest indicator, or acknowledgement of aging for me was getting about a foot of hair cut off 18 months back after having coloured it for 20 years, and going radically short and white grey over night. I figured at the time, being 43 and still having reasonable skin, a reasonable figure and dark eyes, lashes and brows it wouldn’t make me look too ancient.

In principle I hate that women of my age and older want to look younger, to conform to a particular set of stereotypes, and that this undermines the validity of us all at this kind of age. Also, having been a tomboy, then able to rely on strong general colouring and an era when girly style wasn’t the only option, I have little practice at or patience with the full on grooming regime.

However, there are moments when I catch the view, particularly just before a cut is required, when maybe it’s getting a bit mad old lady, rather than edgy, that are quite scary. Intimations of mortality and all that; plus an awareness that a stranger’s fleeting summary would put me in my 50′s. However having looked at the alternatives sported all around me, the other options are depressing in themselves for me. The dark colours were looking increasingly stark (arising from the grave) and the roots were increasingly white and growing through very quickly. The better alternative would be platinum blonde – I did this for my 40th. Great for a while but high maintenance and time consuming. Still a bit tempted though; and that kind of thing isn’t quite as desperate pretend as some of the options. Part of the problem is it grows so bloody quickly and is thick, and as the rather sweet male boy hairdresser said, is coarse! Any solution is very temporary. I just know that I am two days from a haircut and going a bit cold turkey… I think the key thing here is to make sure next time around the haircut is booked the week before not the week after. And buy something a bit cool and special.