Imagine yourself in twenty years’ time. Where do you want to be? Who do you want to be?
Twenty years’ time! Will be seventy-one! OHMYGOD!
Immediately feel depressed and pervy for having spent rest of day fantasising about sexy new neighbour, mentally imagining him in Georgette Heyer hero mode, rescuing me from horrid wicked Sir Jasper type and clasping my delicate, fragile frame in strong male arms…
Anyway, I’d rather imagine myself twenty years ago… Two stone lighter, thicker hair, a belly like a supermodel’s… So okay, maybe I am exaggerating slightly…
Let’s see—in twenty years’ time I want to be like Tina Turner! As she is now!
Think of ten things you want to achieve before you reach your next decade birthday!
Think challenging!! Exciting!!! Innovative!!!!
Oh, yeah! Like what?
In a fit of irritation, reach for notepad and start to write down most implausible things I can think of!
• Learn to inline skate
• Be swept off feet by hero strikingly similar to new sexy neighbour at No. 14, just like in Georgette Heyer’s books!
• Be able to make melt-in-mouth pastry like smug busybody neighbour from three up
• Be able to look so sexy in quick-release thong and see-thru bra that no one cares about pastry!
• Learn to salsa
• Be picked as salsa partner by sexy new neighbour for very private one-to-one lessons
• Own bright red convertible with rude private number
• Discover sexy new neighbour is madly in love with self
• Discover boobs have miraculously un-drooped
• Discover husband has secret prescription for Viagra and burn it!
I read list and find I have the number I need. Well, I think I will forget about pastry-making—and husband!
Look further down list of life-coach’s bossy instructions:
And then think of ten more!
Then write down ten things you like about yourself!
Er…
Good sense of humour—even if Derek always complains that I never laugh at his jokes. Apparently Cheree laughs like a hyena at them—Jacki says that she looks like one as well!
Good friend—okay, so I didn’t tell Rosie when my son said that Rosie’s schoolteacher niece was giving boys at school hands-on sex education lessons. But how was I to know exactly what he meant? I was as shocked as everyone else when news broke in the papers that she had run away with twelve-year-old pupil she was supposed to be giving extra after-school coaching? Anyway, all the fuss has died down now, and Rosie’s niece has moved to another part of the country. She’s got a job there teaching at an all-boys boarding school.
I am a good mother.
Well, I have tried to be a good mother.
Not entirely all own fault that daughter has turned out so odd—probably takes after my mother, and therefore definitely not my fault.
Am an optimist—true. Look at the way am fantasising about new sexy neighbour!
Am good with money—well, I would be if I had any!
How many is that?
Could put down loads more good points, but am too selfless to want to bore on about own virtues!
Think what you would do if you won the lottery.
Would pay off enormous mortgage, for a start, and son’s student loan. Might even have droopy boobs fixed after all.
Whilst I was thinking, Derek rang to say he’d accepted an offer for the house. The only thing was there isn’t going to be as much equity as he’d hoped—but the good news is that once all the expenses have been deducted (apparently he had forgotten about certain unpaid bills), there should still be enough for me to put down a deposit on a small flat. And after all I wouldn’t need anything bigger than that, really. In fact small bedsit would suit admirably … Also v. generously said it would do me good to get a job, if I could get one, that is, at my advanced age!
I am trying to look for job. Rosie says new hypermarket is looking for shelf-packers and is favouring ‘mature personnel’ because they can read the labels on things and don’t spend all day on their mobile phones texting messages that say things like ‘RU there—txt me!’
But I would need a car to get there, since is out of town. Keep checking local paper for suitable work, and suitable flat, but so far haven’t found anything.
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