Three days to go before I get married for the third time. I know “you must be mad” I hear you cry! This time I know it will be good. I know this man better than I know my own children!
I am surprisingly calm – or so I thought. Everything’s bought and paid for, the cars are organised, I have my frock, the buffet is booked as is the entertainment and I have two pairs of shoes, just in case and everything in the garden is rosy. Until I go to sleep that is.
Now sleep for me, is a loose term to describe what happens to a menopausal 53 year old, who is overweight (or under-tall depending on your way of looking at things), when she turns in for the night. As I have blogged before about my menopausal madness I won’t bore you with the detail, you can search for related posts. It is not really sleep in the true sense of the word though.
While I am seemingly calm, my sub-conscious is wreaking havoc with my sleep patterns and I keep waking frequently thinking I have missed the wedding because I have not booked the cars, or I can’t find my dress or the latest because I fell asleep on the beach and woke up at 5.45 when I was supposed to be there at 4.00pm! All this in between flushes, chills and frequent trips to the loo…I have already got my luggage for the Funny-moon, the bags are under my eyes!
I have been awake at 04.00 for the past three nights and I counted the hours of sleep I have had in the last three days… 12 hours of broken sleep this is not good and my memory is now shot to pieces? Who am I? Who am I marrying? What honeymoon?
I have to work up until Thursday and I have Friday off, one day before the wedding for last minute running around. I’m sure it will all be ok on the day but I just wish I could sleep so that I look half human on the photographs…keep calm and carry on….Granny!
In the land of Soggy-Boggy
Where the soggy boys are born
Lived a soggy boy called Yoggi
And his soggy dog called Bjorn
When it rained in Soggy-Boggy
All the people rushed outside
For they loved the rain in Soggy
And with tears of joy they cried
One day when it was foggy
In a heavy shower of rain
Young Yoggi and his doggy
Went out walking in the rain
In the streets of Soggy-Boggy
Where the puddles quickly spread
They ate their soggy picnic
Made of soggy jam and bread
Onward into Boggy Wood
The soggy boy and dog did roam
They sploshed around in mud
Till they were wet enough for home
So back to Soggy-Boggy
Went the soggy boy and dog
Leaving trails on mud behind them
From the paddling in the bog
They reached the soggy cottage
Where the soggy boy was born
And Yoggi and his doggy
Let out a Soggy-Boggy yawn
They drank their soggy cocoa
And they dunked their soggy bread
Then Bjorn and soggy Yoggi
Made their soggy way to bed
They dreamt of mud and puddles
As they curled up snug and tight
They snoozed and snored contented
As they slept throughout the night
Granny – 2012
I remember it well, Sunday night listening to the chart show on the radio, Mam combing lumps out of my long red hair looking for nits. Eating the left-overs from Sunday lunch for supper and watching my Dad making his sandwiches for the early shift down the pit. They looked old to me then, even though they were both not yet 30! My Dad unfortunately died at the age of 52, so he never actually got to be old…my Mother is now 74 years young and apart from some aches and pains she is doing well and still looks pretty good for a wrinkly! The drudgery that caused premature old age is now thankfully long gone for most of us.
So what should we do with the extra time we now apparently have because we are all living longer? Should we calm down and relax into our dotage, do a bit of knitting maybe or join a senior citizens group and go to tea dances, (perish the thought)? Or should we plan for more exciting times when we finally finish work at 67 or there about?
When I got to 40, which is where life is supposed to begin, I decided that I was going to do something each year that I had always wanted to do…the first thing was to get a tattoo. So I did, I’m not sure that my children approved but if they didn’t, they never said it out loud. I started dying my hair all manner of colours and I still do. At the moment it is copper with, blonde, orange and purple bits and I have no intention to ever go back to boring blonde highlights. This though, is where my intended brave new world stopped and now my friends, it needs a kick start again.
Working on the ‘life begins at 40 theory’ I am now 13, so really I should be an antagonistic, spot squeezing grumpy teenager. I should be playing on any one of my electronic gadgets, texting constantly even when it’s not allowed (e.g. in lessons), lying in bed until 3pm at weekends and giving my parents ‘lip’ about anything and everything. Oh and getting drunk in the park after persuading some adult to get me some booze from the local supermarket.
By the time I reach 60, I should be acting like a 20 year old. So I think I will book myself a club 18-30 holiday, start drinking shots after every glass of wine, dress in a pelmet, vest top and 6 inch heels in the middle of winter and vomit on a pavement, after leaving the Pub and missing my taxi home.
Following this, I will get myself arrested for flashing my boobs to every Policeman in the vicinity. I would then put the pictures on Facebook and have my so-called friends (some of which I won’t even know) embarrass me by tagging me in their pictures with my tongue down the throat of the bouncer (sound familiar)?
After thinking long and hard about the growing old thing, I have decided I would not want to be a teenager or a 20 year old again but as for being over the hill…I’m not even half way up. There is so much more I want to do, so pass my iPad, I must log in to Twitter find out what’s going down in the world. I will then text my friends and update my Facebook profile…there’s life in the old dog yet. I could be the next born again Screenager! …………………Granny