Until Next Time

We’d agreed on drive-by goodbyes. The kind limited by parking restrictions where the passenger is left on the kerb with a case, a kiss and a heavy heart. Much less painful than the drawn out farewells in airport cafes or at security gates. It’s not really goodbye, it’s just ‘until next time’ ….whenever that may be…..but it hurts just the same. 

The aching in your heart that spreads to form a lump in your throat that ends in a waterfall of tears and an embrace so tight it’s hard to let go. It is so hard to let go.

Time is very precious. Invest yours wisely.

Spend it with the people you love, doing what makes you happy.

Please don’t wait because sometimes tomorrow doesn't come.

Too Old

More and more I find myself saying the words ‘I’m too old for that’ to which people reply with a list of reasons why I’m not old. I know I’m not old. If I get hit by a bus tomorrow and die people will say, ‘It’s terrible. She was only 37’. So let me explain what I mean and why at this stage in my life, being too old is something worth celebrating.

Yesterday, in a cold and rainy Glasgow, whilst queuing in a shop, I found myself looking at a young woman’s bottom. I prefer big strapping men with hairy chests so this was quite unusual, but it was hard to miss. As I placed my shopping basket on the floor my eyes were in line with her tiny shorts, where her peachy cheeks were on display for all to see. She looked great but I'm so happy that I'm too old to dress like that. My days of literally freezing my ass off in the name of fashion, and the self-consciousness that goes with it, are long gone.

I'm so happy that I'm too old to fancy boys in low slung, waddle walking jeans, with One Direction haircuts. My youth was spent fantasising about Michael Hutchence and Jim Morrison, and let’s not put the cat amongst the pigeons, with those double denim hunks from Bros. 

I'm so happy that I'm too old to go clubbing. My days of batting my eyelashes at the bouncer to try and jump the queue, paying a tenner to get in, and fighting for room on the dance floor are over. Nowadays I do my dancing at gigs, house parties and weddings.

I'm so happy that I'm too old to not be taken seriously because I'm ‘only young’!

Being too old is brilliant because it means that I have worn the mini-skirts, had the bad perm and found out the hard way that drinking Sambuca shots was not a clever idea. I've had my heart broken by a bad boy and know real love isn't like that. Being too old means I don't put up with any nonsense, I've stood up to the pushy people, and found my voice to say No when I was expected to say Yes. I've learned who my real friends are and stuck to them like glue. Some of these experiences were exciting adventures, others big mistakes or huge disappointments but I don't regret any of them. Most were great fun!

So perhaps I need to change my expression from ‘ I'm too old’ to ‘I don’t want to do that any more'.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I'm going out tonight and need to try on every outfit in my wardrobe, faff around for half an hour and then decide to wear the first thing I tried on. I might be too old for hot pants but some things never change …..

image via SomeECards.com

Singing in the rain - Take That

On Wednesday night  my friend Caroline and I boarded a packed train, joined a massive snake of hyper 30 - 40something women, who had swapped their killer heels for wellies and plastic ponchos, and made our way over the railway bridge, past the houses and mounted police and skipped and giggled our way to Hampden Park. Take That and Robbie Williams were playing to a packed stadium and the atmosphere was electric.

We were giggling like school girls, hand in hand, racing down the stairs to the packed arena. The massive stage looming over us as the big clock counted down the seconds to the performance starting, 30, 29, 28 , 27 ……scrrreeeeeeeeeaaaaam! Hands in the air, jumping up and down, feeling so alive and invincible.

The rain was torrential; it rolled down our faces, clamped our once styled hair to our heads and soaked through the ponchos until our clothes were glued to our backs. We didn’t care, not one little bit, it felt gloriously liberating. All these women, mascara stained cheeks, looking like drowned rats yet deliriously happy, jumping about like besotted teenagers, screaming “I love you Gary!” and throwing their arms around each other , one big strong sisterhood. All girls together.

I could write a review of the performance, of the amazing stage show, the dancers, the way that the ever arrogant Robbie Williams whipped the crowd into a frenzy, the costumes, the new songs and the old classics but the performance was only part of the experience for me and I’m sure all of the other women there would agree. There was something magic in the air that night, you could almost have reached out and touched the excitement, the positivity, the sense of freedom.

Take That have still got "it", the difference is that whilst I love their music I no longer dream of marrying them or have their babies like I did when I was 12. The thrill of the gig at Hampden stems from tapping into that feeling of being a teenager, of first love, of the friendships you make that survive the test of time and of being free. It’s now two days since the gig and I still have the butterflies in my tummy, the songs are on repeat in my head and the grin is still spread across my face.

Caroline and I have been friends for a long, long time and I’m so glad we shared that experience, when we are old grannies with perms and matching court shoes we’ll have a rare old time reminiscing.

It’s definitely true that as a woman in my 30’s I’m having a much better time than I did as a teenager but if I could capture that feeling, that anticipation for life, for love, that belief that maybe, just maybe all the words in the songs would come true, then I would. I’d put it in a bottle and pour myself a big glass of anticipation every morning and bounce my way through life head first.