Rude men, parties and thanking a lot of people

That’s the sort of week I like… Started with a party, ended with a party and a party inbetween! Also a trip to Nottingham, a midweek girls’ night out and a karaoke evening – and no, I didn’t show myself up I’m pleased to say.  One of my favourite memories will always be the night of my 40th birthday, about 2.30 in the morning when only about 15 people were still around, and we all sang Wonderwall, very loudly, very drunkenly.  I didn’t particularly like the song before that – take it or leave it sort of thing, but I’ve loved it ever since.  Thanks to everyone who organised/invited/baked and buttered through the last eight days, it’s been great!

Also during this week I came across two of the rudest men I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.  The first was at a funeral (sadly life’s not just one big party at our age) when this bloke said to Shelley, “Make me a tea love, men don’t do kitchens.”  Hmmm, and methinks men who don’t do kitchens have women who don’t do bedrooms.  Turns out I was right – 45 and never been married.  Wonder why…  Then, when I offered to update all the text for the therapy centre’s website, the delightful gentleman who has been maintaining it for years snapped aggressively “I won’t work with you love, here’s the stuff, do it yourself!” Charming eh?!!  And I couldn’t even be rude back to him because he provides the centre with free IT support so we have to keep him sweet.  As if.

And it didn’t end there: a twitter friend (are they called that?) moaned incessantly about his job last Friday so – social networking to the rescue – I offered to introduce him to yesterday’s party people who run a specialist recruitment agency for his line of work… and I was more or less told to mind my own business.   Then someone, we’ll just call him a Facebook friend, who thinks he’s on the verge of a heart attack, totally ignored my advice to call a cardiologist I recommended, preferring instead to wait until he actually needs CPR. Well let’s just hope that never, ever happens! 25 years of successful networking, matching up people with jobs/contracts/wives/doctors apparently now counts for little, the days of ‘who you know’ are being stomped all over by hopeful global uploaders. Well I can tell you for sure, nothing beats a personal recommendation.  So stop it you menfolk, wake up and smell the hot Ribena.

And now a word in private.  (Prospective clients may want to skip this unusually unprofessional paragraph…) I’m 42.  Kind people say I look younger.  Naked scrabble buddy says I can easily get away with 37 or 38 and at the karaoke evening a couple of blokes said late 20s… I really liked them!  But I cannot lie…!!  Oh to live in a soft-focus, short-sighted, blurry camera phone world.  Thank you to everyone who celebrated with me, sent cards, wrote on my wall, delivered flowers and bought beautiful gifts.  It’s quite amazing to have so many lovely people I can truly call friends. Especially the handful of long standing, really do know where the bodies are buried ones. (Some of you may be wondering if that’s just a metaphor in this case…) I’ve been so lucky to meet and keep friends through two schools, a college, three jobs and a freelance training and editing career, the OU, the therapy centre, the kids’ schools and of course those stolen from Steven.  But a special mention for the girls who have been there for me for over 35 years – Gill, Bev & Mel – I can never fall out with you, you know waaay too much!! Thank you for everything, I love you.

My friends don’t all read this blog, but other people do.  At one of the parties, the karaoke, the funeral and in the oxygen chamber this week, people told me they’re following it – so thank you!   All friends: old, new, ones related to me (that includes you, Bro-Lo), those I barely know and people I haven’t yet met, like Carole Kings says, “Winter, spring, summer or fall, all you’ve got to do is call…” Or email: Or tweet: @WeekendWitch.

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