Final Flush of Parties, then Plankton Slump
December 24, 2011 § 43 Comments
Well, phew. The parties are over. I shouldn’t say that, but it’s been something of a marathon. I know, I know, I am very lucky to have been asked to so many in the first place. And I did enjoy them. But now thank fuck I can slump.
Yesterday I did some last minute shopping and spent money I don’t have but that is an occupational Christmas hazard, surely. I drank coffee at my local cafe and my headache finally fucked off. Took its time. I decided that my two days without my usual latte are what caused the cracking headache in the first place.
I went to Charlotte’s house for tea with her and her family, plus Mr and Mrs Standard Bearer and theirs. Of all the parties I have been to, that was the best. The nine of us sat cosily in their Christmassy house and laughed till we were nearly sick and it was the most uplifting hour and a half I have had in weeks with some of my favourite people in life. One of my blessings is that Charlotte and her heavenly husband live so close to me, a five minute walk. That is a blessing I can exploit on a daily basis (sometimes I fear he might think I am taking up permanent residence!).
Onto a drinks with sausages thingummy. Middle-aged couples cheerfully getting pissed and teenagers too, but them on a special Christmas charm offensive bringing round delicious smoked salmon sandwiches and somehow filling the space like yetis. A wonderful sectarianism going on between two worlds rubbing together in a house which manages to glow warmly despite, perhaps because of it. The festive indulgence of one generation to another. I love all that stuff. No men available, natch, but didn’t matter. Good friends and fun as a thing in itself.
On to a rather formal birthday dinner party of about fourteen. The single man had a face the colour of stewed Victoria plums and marmalade cat-coloured eyelashes. He was very sweet, but admitted to a complex about how thick he was which didn’t augur supremely well, admittedly. He had gone to a good school but had left after O’levels because he was so unlikely to make the grade. This had bothered the poor fellow ever since. He was so straight I could have used him to measure my kitchen cupboards. Sometimes I am taken with straight. Sometimes straight is inordinately reassuring. I liked him because you couldn’t not. That sort of disarming honesty. But I fear I would defy a woman to fancy him.
I sat next to my completely charming host of whom I am very fond. He said some of his ghastly neighbours only ever want to talk about the economy and he did not. I have had my fair share of conversations about the economy myself over the past few weeks and am rather Eurozoned out, so I told him that even if he did, with me, the conversation might be rather exhausted. Instead we merrily got down to the nitty-gritty, which I adore, and talked about the very edges of human emotion, namely grief and sexual jealousy. Shakespeare, Zola et al. We went right into it. I love it when that happens. I forget myself. Good, cracking conversation obliterates my tedious status for a while.
The plankton opposite me later said over the cheese that she was so used to being on her own, the scary thing for her was the idea of ever giving up the aloneness, the selfishness.
Me? I do so not wish to get to that point. Fucking hell no. There are some benefits to being on one’s own, I agree, but the thought of being scared about being with someone again scares the shit out of me. But maybe not as much as being without someone for ever? Whole different league, Baby. Though after so much society these past few weeks, and not a single twinkle, oh so fucking likely.