Tuesday, April 26, 2005

I am definitely starting to get sensible in my dotage. I have been house-hunting. Pride and the desire not to be homeless has finally gotten the better of me. I also stumbled upon a property marketed as "ideal for the active fitness enthusiast!" It may as well have been called Chez Chez!

It's fab! 26' party room, 24' purpose-built gym, double garage, 3 beds, utility, dining kitchen and downstairs loo, rural aspect and set well back from the road. It even comes with its very own house-trained Japanese Akita if I'm really lucky.

It was the first one I'd looked at so I've been to view a few others and convinced myself it's the one for me. Now I just need to persuade a major lender that I'm a good risk and use all my charms on my ex to try and raise a deposit ( and a little more besides to install the sauna and hot tub that are just crying out to fill a couple of empty corners).

I've really thought this through. If the mortgage repayments prove a problem, I could always charge the local hunks to use the facilities and at weekends, hire out the space for swingers parties ( I'd simply be there as site manager and not take any active role in the festivities).

It would have been the perfect venue for my informal birthday get-together the other night. I wouldn't have had to strip the lounge of virtually all its furniture ( the festering aquarium has finally gone - hurrah!) and everyone could have stayed over on the sprung floor that the lovely Richard will be installing for me as soon as the keys become mine.

I continued my sensible streak and stuck to Pimms all night. It served me well once before in Rome when it was vital I kept my head whilst those around me were losing theirs ( you know who you are!) Jack didn't follow my lead and after cartwheeling around the room from having received a kiss from the lovely-but-frighteningly-young Emma as she left, he promptly fell into bed, only to be hauled out of it spewing all over the place at 6.30 this next morning.

He was a bit sceptical when I insisted that the best cure for a hangover was to don a rugby strip and proceed to run up and down a steeply inclined pitch for the next 4 hours but it paid off - he scored a cracking try and helped his fellow teammates romp some very pleasing victories at the last tournament of the season.

I'm not sure if it's the prospect of nothing to do on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings for the next few months or the very real threat of monthly mortgage repayments and increased household bills that is depressing me slightly. Could also be the passing of yet another year and still no signs of the return of any semblance of my former figure. That and the fact that the promise of Neil Diamond tickets for my birthday failed to materialise.

Maybe it's just that I'm a mardy cow.


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