Went to Fiona's for a coffee today. Almost cancelled on account of the guilty conscience, I feel like I am skiving off school when I take the morning "off" these days. Of course, so I need to remind myself, I also got the girls ready for school, packed lunch boxes, found John's driver's licence, fed the cats, put on a wash and stuck the chicken casserole in the oven, and all before 10:30 o'clock in the morning. So, really, by my cousin Bill's standards, who barely knows how to chop an onion, I have already done a week's work.
But I can't shake that gnawing feeling that I should be doing something more worth while with my morning. I don't have a job yet, after all.
Well, meeting your friends is worth while, my inner ME tells me. How wise I am. Yes, I will go to Fiona's, and meet Mary, Sharon and whoever else is able to turn up. We haven't met in over a month and a meeting is well overdue.
As per usual, Fiona has outdone herself and has put us all to shame. She has picked up fresh scones and rolls in the shop, as well as baking what my girls call Fairy buns (though they would have turned their heads away in disgust if they'd seen that they were not adorned with pink icing and smothered in multi-coloured sprinkles. The buns, not the coffee morning girls, of course). Fiona also opened my favourite peach jam, whipped up some fresh cream, made tea, coffee and - her piece de resistance, smoothies with her new smoothie maker. We are all delighted and secretly fearful of hosting the next coffee morning, it will probably be another four weeks before any of us dares to follow this fantastic spread.
As usual, Fiona is moaning about her husband, who was tasked with hanging the front gate by a fire-breathing Fiona - she is all smiles and baked good with us, but I have heard her spit bullets at poor Ronan when I arrived early visiting her one day and the front window was open... She definitely has a darker side.
Anyway, said gate does not look too healthy, it is coming off the hinges, and drags along the ground when you close it. I had first hand experience with it earlier when I was tasked with stopping Bobby the hapless lab from chasing cars ("Last one in closes the f*ing gate, Ame's!").
"So, Ame's [why does she insist on calling me that? All the baked buns in the world don't justify that! Henceforth, you shall be known as... Finn's!]... You saw it when you came in, didn't you [doesn't pause for nod in agreement] he was at it for the afternoon, and then he goes and leaves it there, hanging off the posts or whatever they're called, and sits on his fat you-know-what and switches on the football. Says it was this really important match between his beloved Man U and whoever they were playing. And five minutes later Bobby gets out on the road chasing Old Molly McGuire's Fiesta, you know, that battered old thing she tries to drive, and she almost crashes just cos his f*ing gate won't close and can't keep the dog in. Useless, I tell you... Who's for more coffee?"
It does bug me when she goes on about him. Their feud is so public, if he's so crap, then why doesn't she divorce him, sell the gate, eat all her cakes and move in with Bobby?
On the other end of the spectrum, there's Mary, harping on about the coal man, whom, I am pretty sure, she politely tipped 20 quid and sent on his way, and didn't, as she claims, invite him in for a coffee and three post-coital cigarettes.
Somehow I am not in the mood this morning. As soon as I can I high-tail it out of there. "Gotta go and make lunch, my sister's calling round at two and I've nothing cooked..." Bare-faced lie. But I can't help thinking that they either have husbands who have pretty good jobs, or failing that, have steady jobs themselves, and their husband-bashing bun-hugging worries won't pay my mortgage any time soon.
I should have gone with my gut instinct and stayed in front of the laptop, and not listened to the voices in my head. Begone, inner ME, I'll deal with you tomorrow!
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