It's my party...

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The countdown has started for the 'hen weekend' planned by daughters one and two.  

I have to confess to being slightly nervous as to what surprises they may have in store for me, especially after the husband muttered 'Naked butler' under his breath last night.  He later admitted that he was winding me up, but still, if some bloke turns up at the bar with cocktails and a small pinny, I shall be telling him to 'buttle off' in no uncertain terms.  

Having been the recipient of a stripper when I left a car sales job many moons (excuse the pun) ago, I spent my final afternoon at the garage locked up in the manager's office while a bloke in beige cords pleaded with me to open the door so that he could fulfill the booking.  'It's all been paid for, you might as well let me take me keks off', were his words if I remember rightly.

So no strippers please.  I also put the kibosh on any sort of sash, cheap veil and L-plates (I'm that old that surely I've achieved 'P' status by now).  But my biggest fear is the 6ft inflatable appendage which Miss R has been threatening me with all week.

I'm hoping that she has been deterred by the fact that we are going to Bournemouth (home of the blue rinse) on the train with The Mother and Mrs Jangles.  The last thing I want is to appear on the front page of the local paper having been responsible for the demise of Marjory and Derek who'd fancied taking a bit of sea air, but who instead had spent an hour sandwiched between aforementioned inflatable and four ladies who'd been necking Prosecco since Maidenhead and who had now moved onto telling dirty jokes.

But the weather looks nice.  

And you know, if we go to the beach, at least I won't have to buy a lilo...

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