Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1 (38 page)

The ball was held in a beautiful riverside banquet room in Wandsworth and the drinks reception in an annexe where we were entertained by stilt walkers, mime artists and magicians.

The evening went downhill slightly when Ned, Fenella, Josh and I found ourselves yet again on a table with Gestapo and husband (AKA ‘Rudeman’ now), the Gnome and Letchy Dad, Actor Wankor and Mel.

For my sins, I found myself trapped between Letchy Dad and Actor Wankor - big decision as to who to strike up conversation with.  Option 1:  Get dribbled over and ogled.  Option 2: Be bored to death by “Me, Myself, I.”

Went for Option 1 as I’m quite capable of handling a bit of harmless flirtation but was worried that I might tell Actor Wankor to go take a long walk off a sort pier.

Rudeman was next to Fenella who, try as she might, was unable to engage him in conversation.  His iPhone and Blackberry featured heavily again and, at one point, I heard Fenella say, “So of course I let the alien shag me and then zoom off home in his spaceship.”  She looked over at me and winked as Rudeman continued nodding intently as if he’d heard every word.

The attention was soon on Gestapo when she, quite loudly, called our waiter a “silly little twat” because he’d served her with potatoes while she wasn’t looking.  She was almost hysterical as she hissed, “Christ does no one understand the importance of
no carbs.
  Take my plate
away
and bring me one with just chicken
please.
”  She then threw another glass of Champagne down her throat, looking decidedly worse for wear.

Was greatly relieved when the dancing started up and people began to swap seats and chat to those they really wanted to.  Fenella came and sat next to me and was instantly in full-bitch-mode, “Holy guacamole!  Have you
seen
the trout pouts and Botox overdoses tonight?  The woman on the table next to us could barely chew her asparagus, her mouth was so much like a buggered monkey’s arse!  Think they must have all booked in for pre-Christmas top-ups.  Now
that’s
something Josh will never have to pay out for.  I’m just going to grow old
very
disgracefully!  Come on, let’s go and boogie!”

The remainder of the night was spent dancing to the excellent live band and successfully avoiding Letchy Dad - found out it’s not just tits he’s into - a handful of buttock will do quite nicely too.

Went to the loo for a much needed pee and fresh air and found Gestapo with her head down the pan throwing up, door wide open and glittery G-string on show to the world.  My instant reaction was to leave her to get on with it but the Florence Nightingale in me just couldn’t do it.  Must admit I had to struggle for a while before I could recall her real name. Then I remembered, “Araminta?  Can I do anything to help?”

A very pitiful and haggard looking face lifted itself very slowly and shakily from the toilet.  Once she’d focused she spat, “Oh, it’s Mrs Bloody Perfect, is it?  Like
you
could possibly help!” This was followed by another bout of violent up-chucking.

Thinking she’d mistaken me for someone else, I continued, “No, it’s Libby.  Libby Marchant.  Can I get you anything?”

“Yes I know perfectly well who you are, you stupid cow - everything’s just rosy in Mrs Bloody Perfect’s land, isn’t it?  Now sod off and leave me to throw up in peace!”

Never one to know when to let things lie, I stupidly continued with my offer of help, “Araminta, just let me get …
(couldn’t think of her bloody husband’s name and right now wasn’t the time to call him Rudeman) …
someone to be with you.”

After another heaving session, I was rewarded with, “Just piss off to your doting husband and crawl off to your little hice and live your charming
little
life.  I don’t need
your
help.”

Once I realised that she knew
exactly
who she was talking to, it still made no sense but I decided I wasn’t going to stick around for more unfounded abuse so went off to fetch Fenella.

Instantly, she became the head girl I knew she’d been in her past.  Black coffee materialised from nowhere and ‘no-nonsense’ armour was put firmly in place.  The sight of Fenella’s face in the ladies ten minutes later was enough to sober up the most hardened of drunks.

“Right, Araminta. Firstly, put your arse away.  It’s not an attractive sight despite all the cash you throw at your personal trainer.  Secondly, sit on the toilet and drink this coffee. Thirdly, don’t
ever
be so rude to my friend again.  She was trying to help you and, like the little bitch you are, you threw it back in her face.  Finally, get off the bog so that other people can use it for its true purpose and get yourself some counselling.  I think you’ll find your husband has a cab waiting for you.”

It seemed harsh but had the desired effect and Gestapo pulled down her dress, drank the coffee and staggered from the loo, out to Rudeman.

Tried to enjoy the rest of the evening but couldn’t help wondering why she’d got so pissed and why she’d called me Mrs Bloody Perfect.

Monday 15
^th
December  AM

Max and I spent the day putting up the Christmas decorations - leaving the tree until tonight when we’ll decorate it as a family.  Decided the manky one will just about survive another year, even though it would be lovely to have a real one with a proper scent, despite the hassle of dropping needles.

Fenella called to see how I was feeling after my run-in with Gestapo.  “Just take it with a pinch of salt, Sweedie.  Bloody woman obviously has some serious issues and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Golly, it felt good bossing her about though and did you see the bum on it?  I’d be sacking the trainer if I were her!”

Can always rely on Fenella to put things back in perspective.  I had been rather dwelling on the ‘Loo-gate’ incident and it had left me feeling puzzled - had she meant what she’d said?   And why did she think
I
had the perfect life?

Fenella went on to ask me what I had planned for Ned’s birthday and I explained that, as money was tight, we’d decided to just have a quiet meal in.

“Oh goodie.  I was hoping you’d say that,” she babbled excitedly, “Oops, didn’t mean I was hoping you’d say you were broke, just that you wouldn’t have anything planned.  Had a super idea.  Come to us and I’ll do a Stroganoff or something and we can have a ‘Room 101’ night - get your thinking caps on and each come up with three things you’d get rid of.  It’ll be a hoot.”

Had to admit it sounded like a great idea to have our own version of the TV programme and I was sure Ned would enjoy it, so I thanked her and agreed.

“Now just remember, Lib.  We
all
want to do away with Gestapo and her horrid bottom, so that’s a foregone conclusion.  Come up with three others, OK?  Got to dash, Charlotte’s trying to put her wellies on one of the dogs.  Speak later.”

Only
three
things to dump in Room 101?  Now
that
was going to be a tricky one.

PM

Ned arrived home with the most beautiful little
real
Christmas tree.  He said it was a bargain and that he knew how much I wanted a proper one so decided to treat us.

Spent a lovely couple of hours decorating it and, as usual, cursing the fairy lights that always decide to go on the blink the minute they’re taken from their box.

Max went to bed a very happy and excited little boy.  The house was bedecked and the tree up, so that must mean Christmas was close!

Ned and I shared a bottle of Cava, kidding ourselves it was the real thing, and contemplated our 101’s.  How we’ll ever decide I don’t know, because the list was endless …

Snobbery, 4X4’s, botox, Braille parkers, dogs in clothes, NM’s foul food, pushy mothers, people who have four holidays a year, holes in roofs, unexpected expense, redundancy …

Tuesday 16
^th
December

Still mulling over my final three but think I could almost be there.  As usual, Ned’s taking it all very seriously and drawing up short lists and then rating them out of ten to see if they stay on or get struck off!  Anal?  My husband? Never!

Fenella called to say that she’d decided we also need to take props to represent our bug-bears - that’s just taken the trout pout off
my
list!  And probably fake boobs off Ned’s.

Was amazed to find that I’d received an email from Gestapo:

‘Libby

I feel I owe you an apology for the way I spoke to you on Saturday night - it was very wrong of me.

I have a lot going on in my life at the moment - things I couldn’t possibly divulge to you because you would never understand.

Suffice it to say that I look at you and you seem to have everything and it all comes so easily to you.  I guess I was hit by the green-eyed-monster, which is very unusual for me.  I may appear to have the whole package but you have so much more and I suppose I resent you for that.

Anyway, I hope you’ll accept this apology.  I know we’ll never be friends because we inhabit different worlds but I don’t feel I should have spoken to you in the way that I did.

Araminta

PS: I would be grateful if the incident could stay between ourselves.’

A very
odd
apology but I suppose it’s answered a few questions.

At the same time it’s created a few more - how could she possibly be jealous of me?  What is it that she thinks ‘comes so easily’ to me?

And the nosey side of me asks, what are the things ‘going on’ in her life at the moment?