Get the party started...

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So.  Grand National Day.  Did you win?  As I write, I have a joint bet with all the Bird family which covers 72% of the horses on the start line, so a win of some description is on the cards. If there is little response from me tomorrow morning, I will probably be found in a 6* hotel being fanned by oiled slaves who will be feeding me peeled grapes (maybe not the grapes actually) while I decide which super yacht I am going to buy.  Alternatively, I might be trying to work out how to split £3.42 between the six of us.  Time will tell.

I'm having to write this blog on Saturday afternoon, because I have yet another Big Night Out planned.  My lovely neighbour and friend, Mrs R (she with the fancy waffle maker) reached her half century a couple of weeks ago, and tonight we are heading into the City of Dreaming Spires for cocktails, posh dinner and frenetic dancing.  There are ten beautiful ladies of indeterminate age (other than the birthday girl, who will probably be festooned with badges and balloons proclaiming her advanced years) going out, so support tights, Rennies, paracetamol, blister plasters and a warm coat for home time will be packed into sensible bags.

It's one of the good things about reaching the giddy heights of middle age in that you become almost invisible to everyone else around you.  Mind you, let's face it.  When you see what kids get up to these days, there is nothing we can do which will even raise an eyebrow, let alone a disapproving onlooker's temperature.  

For some reason, I am desperate to stay out till Sunday (ie, not get home till after midnight) as this shows I have stamina, but I have a feeling that I might just last till Cinderella o'clock.  This is probably just as well, because these days it takes three times the number of hours out to recover.  As we're all meeting up at 7.15 for what young folk call 'pre's', this means that I should start feeling human around 3.15 on Sunday afternoon, just in time for Antiques Roadshow and a nice cup of tea.

Picture me around then.  Still nursing a headache which will last till Wednesday if previous experience is anything to go by, feet plugged into my foot massager, trying to get some feeling back into my toes after dancing like no one was watching (which they won't be) and mourning the fact that I've blown Binland Diet Club on Monday (after several drinks, pudding is always on the menu).

But it will be worth it...



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